Comanche Moon

by Virginia Brown

  Zack expelled a short, angry breath. “I don’t think we’ve got a lot to say to each other, Diamond. I don’t work for you anymore.”

  “No. You never did collect your wages.”

  “You sent the other horse back. That was enough.”

  “Yeah, figured as how it was your lady-friend’s horse and all, it was the least I could do.”

  “She appreciated it,” Zack said after a short pause. His voice was flat. He flicked a glance at Deborah, and she felt it all the way to her toes. There was a message in those dark blue eyes that shook her, and she must have made some sound, because Dexter was pulling her even closer, his hand openly caressing her breast.

  Shaken, she gathered her courage and pulled away a bit, turning to face Dexter, her voice cool and composed. “I’ll wait for you in the wagon, if you like.” “Sure thing, sugar,” he said easily, but his dark eyes burned with anger.

  “Albright will go along with you to make sure nobody bothers you.”

  “Thank you.” She turned back to Zack and gave him a polite nod.

  “Good day, Mr. Banning.” As she walked away with Albright at her side, she could feel his gaze on her, and wondered if she’d make it all the way to the wagon. She was shaking, and her knees were so weak she stumbled. Albright caught her, his gloved hand grabbing her arm.

  “You all right, ma’am?” he drawled, and she caught the sardonic inflection in his tone. That served to straighten her spine, and she pulled away. “I’m fine, thank you.” Albright slid a sly glance back the way they’d come. “I hear Banning ain’t as fast as he used to be.” Deborah didn’t reply, and as Albright moved to help her up into the wagon, she shook away his hand. He stepped back and looked at her, this thin face angry.

  “Any woman who hangs around with ’breeds shouldn’t get too uppity.

  Miz Diamond.”

  “Is that so? Strange advice, coming from a man with your background, Mr. Albright.” Her voice was cool, and she sat stiffly on the wagon seat, staring down at him.

  He took a step closer, his eyes pinpoints of fury. “You ain’t nothin’ but a lightskirt, the way I see it. Diamond’s my boss, but he done gone and got hisself hitched to a woman who likes lyin’ under some buck’s robes. It ain’t nothin’ but your claim to Velazquez lands that keeps you safe, and I reckon you know that.”

  “I’m certain my husband would appreciate the fact that his hired hands gossip so freely about his business,” Deborah said in the same cool tone that seemed to infuriate him. “Perhaps I should tell him, so he can be sure to thank you properly.”

  She saw Albright flush. He knew as well as she did that Dexter Diamond’s stiff pride wouldn’t allow him to stomach men who laughed at him behind his back. And he was just as likely to send a man into an ambush as he was to fire him. It was one of the things she’d learned about her husband that distressed her most.

  Albright backed off, his voice a low snarl. “Maybe I’ll bring you back Banning’s scalp when I’m done killin’ him. I know a few Comanche tricks myself, and I can tell you, I’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

  “I have the feeling that Zack Banning is not as easy to kill as you’d like to believe,” Deborah said. “If he was, he’d already be dead.”

  “He ain’t got much longer, I can promise you that.” Deborah just looked at him, then lifted her chin and turned away. She saw Dexter striding toward them, and from the look on his face, she was certain he would be very unpleasant on the ride back to the Double D.

  There was no moonlight to betray him this night. He lay still and quiet on his belly. Not far away lay one of the guards, his throat cut ear to ear. Zack had no intention of taking any chances this time. This time, Don Francisco would have no warning of what was to come.

  Rising to his knees, he reached for the large sombrero he’d taken from the dead guard. Stuffed into the deep crown, he felt the rough wool of a serape. He pulled it out, slid it over his broad shoulders, then tugged the hat on over his head and reached for his knife. It shone dully in the absence of moonlight, long and lethal and ready.

  With the knife in one fist and half-hidden beneath the long wool folds of the serape, he picked up the rifle the guard would never use again, and walked calmly into the main courtyard of the Velazquez hacienda. Other guards nodded or ignored him, and he continued on his way.

  “¿Quien es?” someone growled at his side, and Zack half-turned.

  “Pedro.” A common enough name. There were probably a dozen Pedros employed by Velazquez. The man grunted acknowledgment, and peered closely at Zack.

  “¿Qué pasa?”

  “Nada de particular.” Zack shrugged carelessly and gestured with his stolen rifle. “¡Yo soy hambriento!” A faint laugh was his answer, with the mocking reply, “Allá haba—fríjoles.”

  “¡Bueno!”

  After an instant’s hesitation, the man moved on, and Zack continued walking toward the kitchens. It was a stroke of luck that he’d smelled the beans cooking, or he might have given himself away. With his dark hair and skin he could pass for a Mexican if no one got too close. And he didn’t intend for anyone to get too close.

  Around the next corner, Zack saw three guards lounging casually just inside a doorway. Behind them, a curved arch divided a long walkway from a main sala. He figured it was a safe bet that Don Francisco would be inside on a chilly night like this one, and walked leisurely in that direction.

  “¡Hola, compadres! Salir al encuentro de el jefe.”

  “¿Hasta donde?” one of them asked, and Zack shrugged.

  “Por allí.” He pointed back the way he’d come, and the men grumbled, but moved in that direction. This was easier than he’d thought it would be, and Zack stepped to the arch and stood in the shadows. Don Francisco sat inside, a pewter goblet in one hand, a map in the other. He sat with his back to Zack, bent over his desk and concentrating on the large map spread out.

  With a last glance over his shoulder, Zack slipped into the room. He pulled the open door closed behind him, shutting it so softly Don Francisco never turned around. He did not turn around until Zack was right behind him, and then he turned angrily.

  “¿Quin es?”

  “Un amigo.”

  He saw Velazquez stiffen, and the goblet lowered to the table as he barked, “¿Qué?”

  “I said, a friend. What’s the matter, Velazquez, don’t you have any friends?” Zack mocked. “Ah—that wouldn’t be wise. If you try to shout for help, I’ll have your throat slit before they get to the door.” He gestured with his knife, and lamplight skittered along the razor-sharp blade with splinters of reflected light.

  Don Francisco wheezed slightly, his face paling. “If you do, you’ll never get out of here alive.”

  “I’m dead anyway. Remember? And if you think I care about your threats, you’re wrong. Dead wrong. Come on, nice and easy. You and I have some talking to do.”

  “What do you want with me, Banning?” Don Francisco was shaking.

  “You intend to kill me. I know you do. I will not die like you killed Alfredo and Javier.”

  “That’s not your choice. Your choice is if you die here, or if you take the risk and live a little longer. Anything can happen before you die. ¿ No es verdad?”

  “Sí,” Don Francisco moaned, “that is so.” He licked his lips, and at Zack’s quick gesture with the gleaming knife, put trembling hands in the air.

  “It was a mistake. I never meant that you should truly die.” Zack’s voice was hard. “In case you haven’t noticed, my Spanish is excellent, Don Francisco. Now please—walk just ahead of me, so that none of your men will suspect anything. If you are asked a question and do not give an answer that I like, I will gut you like a dead pig and you can take the next three days to die. Think about it. Now, let’s go.” Don Francisco shivered as they stepped out of his sala. His thin shirt and dark pants would provide little warmth in the night wind. Zack stayed close behind him, nudging him with the tip of his knife when he faltered.

/>   “Por favor,” Velazquez gasped once when the blade dug into his skin, “do not cut me!”

  “No whining,” Zack muttered. “And no talking. Just keep going, and I’ll tell you when to turn and when to stop.” No one delayed their progress, and in a few minutes, they had reached the adobe wall at the back of the courtyard. A wooden door was cracked open, and Zack pushed it wide with one foot.

  “After you, señor,” he mocked, and Don Francisco hesitated briefly before the knife spurred him forward.

  A creek ran behind the wall, and Zack forced him down into it. They walked for a mile, until the lights from the hacienda were behind them. In that time, no one had seen them, and Don Francisco was almost frothing with frustration, fear, and fury.

  “My guards are not as vigilant as I was told,” he said once, and Zack laughed.

  “Some of them were. Those are dead.” Don Francisco shuddered, and didn’t offer any more comments. He said nothing until Zack tied him to a horse, then mounted his own.

  “Where are you taking me?” Zack didn’t bother to answer, but spurred their mounts into a hard gallop. He rode across the rolling hills and rocky ridges, leading Velazquez’s horse, not caring how hard it was for the Mexican to stay on. He felt a grim sense of satisfaction. One lone man had done what an army of men could not have managed, and that was go into the sanctuary of the hacienda and take Don Francisco out without a single shot being fired. It was incredible, and had been so easy as to be laughable. He wondered why Diamond hadn’t thought of it.

  Finally, he reined in his horse and dismounted, walking back to the obviously nervous Don Francisco. He swept off the sombrero he wore, and shrugged out of the wool serape, then reached up to pull Don Francisco from his horse.

  The Mexican shot nervous glances around him when Zack set him on his feet and untied his hands. “Where are we?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” With a deft twist, Zack unsheathed his knife and threw it so that the blade sliced into the ground between Velazquez’s feet.

  He gave a sharp cry and leaped back. “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you a chance. That was more than you gave me.” Zack eyed him. There was very little light. Dark shadows surrounded them, and in the distance a coyote howled to the night sky. Don Francisco stared at him, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the murky light.

  “I cannot fight you!”

  “Let me explain it to you this way, then. You can go for that knife and have a chance, or you can wait for me to pick it up and start slicing you into pieces too small for the coyotes to find.” There was a thread of menace in Zack’s tone that not even Velazquez could miss, and he quivered with fear. Zack saw him glance around desperately as if looking for help, then suck in a deep breath. Zack smiled, and knew from the sudden look of terror on Don Francisco’s face that he must look at least as savage as he felt at this moment.

  This was vengeance, pure and simple, and he relished every moment of it. He waited, muscles relaxed, eyes intent, and when Don Francisco finally made a move for the knife, Zack took a step forward. His foot slashed through the air and caught the Mexican in the face, sending him staggering backward. The knife still jutted up from the gritty desert floor, the handle gleaming an invitation in the night. Zack didn’t even glance at it. He waited for his quarry to get up and try again.

  Groaning, Don Francisco lurched to his feet, one hand held to his face.

  He wiped his sleeve over his bleeding nose and straightened slowly. His eyes glittered with hate this time, and Zack smiled.

  “Come. Try again. You are so fierce, no? You are such a brave man, you hit others who are tied up and helpless, and you terrorize women. Come on, Don Francisco. Show me what a man you are. Show me how you can die bravely.”

  “You are a damned half-breed!” Velazquez spat. “Mestizo bastardo!”

  “Yes,” Zack answered coolly. “See if you can kill either half. I know I am not tied up, but you might manage to frighten me a little, eh?” Velazquez dove for the knife, and again Zack kicked him back, his foot catching him in the throat and driving him to his knees, gasping and retching.

  When he got to his feet, Zack taunted him into trying again and again, each time kicking him away from the promise of the knife. Finally, Don Francisco lay bleeding and half-conscious in the dirt, his face battered almost beyond recognition.

  Zack felt a sense of justice. Crouching down beside the dazed Velazquez, he jerked his head back by his hair and gazed at him dispassionately. He could only blink and gasp for breath as Zack studied him.

  “You are a pathetic excuse for a man, Don Francisco,” he said softly.

  “You prey on the weak and helpless, but cannot defend yourself.” He drew the tip of the knife along the curve of Velazquez’s cheek, watching him shudder and whimper at the blade that chilled but did not cut.

  Velazquez began to sob, tears mixing with blood and running down his face, and Zack felt a surge of disgust.

  “I should kill you, but you are not worth the trouble it would cause.” With a swift slash, he brought the blade through the air and buried it in the ground beside Don Francisco. “If you value your life,” he said softly, “you will not be foolish enough to come near me again. Nor will you cause Deborah any more trouble. If I hear that you have—and I will—I will come after you. And this time, you will die by inches, do you understand?”

  “Sí, sí! Do not kill me, and I will do anything you say to do, I swear it!”

  Zack’s lip curled slightly. “I am sure of it.” He stood up and went to his horse, and when he stepped back to Don Francisco, he held a piece of paper in one hand. He hunkered down on his heels beside him. “I have something here for you to sign, Don Francisco. When you have signed it, I will put you on your horse.”

  Without bothering to read it or ask what it was, the Mexican signed with the pen Zack gave him, scrawling his name across the bottom of the paper.

  Then he looked up.

  “Are you taking me back to my hacienda?” Zack folded the paper and tucked it into his saddlebag before replying.

  “No. I have a pleasant surprise for you, Don Francisco. I am sure you will like it.”

  Blanching, the Mexican babbled protests as Zack put him atop his horse, tying his hands again.

  It was almost daylight when Zack left Velazquez behind, and a grim smile curled his mouth. When he reached the crest of a rocky ridge, he reined in the gray and looked back.

  Don Francisco Hernando Velazquez y Aguilar was stripped and gagged and tied to a post like a sacrifice. He would be the first thing Dexter Diamond saw when he stepped out of his ranch house that morning. Zack wondered what the rancher would think—and what he would do with such unexpected bounty. It should be interesting to find out.

  Laughing, Zack wheeled his gray and rode down the other side of the crest. What a temptation for Diamond to resist.

  Chapter 26

  “Dexter, you can’t!”

  “Why not?” His tawny brow rose, and a malicious smile curled his mouth. “It’s a gift.”

  Deborah shook her head. “It’s murder.”

  “It’s too gawddammed good to be true, is what it is,” he said gleefully, raking a hand through his hair and looking back at Don Francisco.

  Velazquez cowered in a parlor chair, keeping a wary eye on Frank Albright’s drawn pistol. “She’s right, you know,” he dared to say. “If you kill me, you will be arrested for murder and probably hung.”

  “Damn, Velazquez, you’re here on my property! Who in the hell do you think would arrest me for shootin’ a man that’s trespassin’? Carpenter? Naw, I don’t think so.”

  “Aren’t you curious about how I got here?” Velazquez licked dry, split lips and peered up at Diamond through his one good eye. Bruises and gashes distorted his once handsome face into an unrecognizable mess. Someone had given him a pair of trousers and a shirt, but they were too large and hung shapelessly.

  Deborah shuddered and looked away. Part of her felt no sympathy
for the man, but the humane part recognized that he should be dealt with by the authorities.

  “Yeah, tell me who brought you here,” Diamond was saying with a grin.

  “Must be a good friend to risk doin’ this for me.” Velazquez gave a short, sardonic laugh. “Perhaps. And perhaps he is a better friend of your new wife.”

  “Just what the hell do you mean by that?” Diamond growled, and Deborah felt a chill trickle down her spine at the glitter in Don Francisco’s eyes. His gaze moved to her, malevolent, dark, and bruised. “I mean, señor, that Zack Banning was the amigo who thought you might like to be made a present of me. So you see, if you do what he intends that you do, it will get rid of me and you both. He is very diabolical, Señor Banning, no?” Diamond swore horribly, and Deborah winced. When he slammed a fist against the wall and bellowed, “I’ll get that damn ’breed if it’s the last thing I do!” she stood up.

  “I’m going to my room now,” she said quietly, but he moved to stand in her way.

  “Did you know about this?” She met his angry glare calmly. “No, of course not. How would I? I’m not allowed more than a foot from any of your watchdogs.” For a moment she thought he intended to make her stay, but then he swore again and signaled to one of his men to go with her, and Deborah left the parlor. She was aware of the man behind her, following at a discreet distance. At least it wasn’t Albright. She hated him. He made her feel dirty.

  This man was fairly young, but wore a well-used pistol slung low on his hip as so many of the other gunmen her husband employed.

  She turned at her bedroom door, and he paused. A chair stood in the wide hallway, and she gestured to it. “Make yourself comfortable. I intend to go back to bed.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I hope you rest easy.” Deborah had started into her room, but turned back. He sounded as if he meant it, and his voice was quiet and respectful. “What’s your name?” she asked.