Comanche Moon (33 page)

“Please, Zack.”

Zack had no illusions. These men had no intention of scolding him and letting him go. He moved swiftly, taking a step forward as if to surrender, and bringing up one foot in a smooth, almost casual motion that caught the closest man between his legs. There was a shocked exclamation that changed into a retching sound, but Zack had turned in the same motion and aimed another kick at the shadow next to him, sending his weapon flying from his hand. He heard it clatter, and somehow he had his knife in his other hand and his pistol cocked and aimed.

Shots shattered the night air, and he felt something tug at his sleeve. A hot wind zipped past his head, leaving a burning trail. His pistol bucked in his hand, and one of the shadows fell. He could hear, as if from a great distance away, women screaming. It set his teeth on edge.

There was the stinging smell of gunpowder and the rusty smell of blood, and he tried to turn to find Deborah but for some reason he couldn’t. His body would not obey his command to turn.

Zack stared down in disbelief as his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground. He managed to get one leg up under him and stand, but some force stronger than he kept pushing him back down, and he couldn’t even see anyone near him. He heard, vaguely, Deborah crying out his name over and over, but he couldn’t answer.

And then there was an explosion, a shuddering roar that made the earth vibrate and the walls tremble. He knew it was too late then, that he’d gambled and lost. Regret surged up in him, but the regret was for Deborah, not himself.

“How could you!”

Judith looked away from Deborah’s accusing gaze. “He’ll hurt you. You just won’t believe it.”

A lump clogged her throat so that she could barely breathe, and Deborah couldn’t say anything else. She watched as Don Francisco had two of his men lift Zack and carry him inside. They tossed him carelessly on her bed, and she saw the bright strings of blood flowing behind him. She closed her eyes.

“If he dies, I’ll never forgive you, Judith,” she said tonelessly, and heard her cousin’s soft sob. It was true. If Zack died—her imagination failed her at that point. He could not die. She wouldn’t let him.

Turning, Deborah faced Don Francisco. “I insist that you allow me to see to his injuries.”

“And I already told you, I will see to them.” His voice was brisk and impatient, and he turned to snap out an order in Spanish to one of the men behind him. Then he turned back to Deborah. “I worried about the wrong man, I see. I thought Señor Diamond had your favor. Apparently, your taste runs to gunmen instead.”

“My tastes, as you so quaintly put it, Don Francisco, are none of your business. And that is not the reason Zack Banning is here.”

“No? How curious.” Don Francisco smiled, flicking a glance toward Judith. “That is not the explanation I heard.” Deborah felt another spur of betrayal. She inhaled deeply and said,

“None of this matters at the moment. Zack is hurt and needs medical attention. If you will not give it to him, then I will.” When she took a step toward her bed, her gaze shifting to Zack, Don Francisco stopped her. His hand caught her arm and he jerked roughly.

“If you wish him to die,” he said softly, “you will go to him. I’ll have him staked out on the desert and left there.” Whitening, Deborah felt a cold flash rip through her. He meant it. She saw his determination in his eyes, in the icy sneer twisting his mouth.

“No,” she got out in a breathy whisper, “don’t. Please. I won’t—go near him.”
“Bueno.
I thought you might change your mind if I explained it properly.”

Deborah stood only a few feet from where Zack lay on her bed, unconscious and wounded, and she couldn’t help him. It was the most frustrating, helpless feeling she’d ever had in her life.

When Don Francisco had his men drag Zack from the room as if he were a sack of meal, she heard him groan as they treated him roughly. It tore at her, that mutter of pain, even though he wasn’t conscious. She couldn’t help it. Tears spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks, and she shut her eyes against Don Francisco’s malicious smirk.

“Oh please,” she heard herself whisper, “don’t hurt him.” Don Francisco only laughed.

Zack already knew all about pain.
He’d learned at an early age. Pain could control a man, or a man could control pain. It wasn’t easy. And there was a trick to it that had taken him a long time to master. But he had, and the lesson helped him endure.

“Tell me, Señor Banning,” Don Francisco said, facing him. “Did Diamond send you for her? Why?” Zack refused to look at him. He could taste blood in his mouth from where he’d been hit. One eye was closed from the fists that had plowed into his face, and he thought his nose might be broken. He kept silent. And waited.

The next blow sent him reeling back, and the chair in which he was tied toppled over so that he crashed to the floor. Lights exploded in his eyes, bright and blinding, spiralling to pinpoints. He heard a roar, like the rush of wind in his ears as pain splintered throughout his entire frame. He lay there and waited. They’d pick him up again. It had become an endless cycle in the past hours, the questions and fists and falling to be picked up for it to begin again. Rough hands dragged him up with the chair. His arms were bent back behind him and tied around the back, putting pressure on his shoulders and the wound he’d suffered. It still bled, the bullet hole high in the fleshy part of his left arm. The bullet crease on his scalp had stopped bleeding for the most part. He thought so, anyway. It was hard to tell which bled now, since they opened up new cuts and gashes on his face.

The sharp pain had subsided into a dull ache, a throb that seemed to renew with each beat of his heart. He tried to focus, and finally Don Francisco’s face swam into view again, a little blurred, but recognizable.

“Señor,” he heard him say as if he was far away, “I can do this much longer than you can suffer it, I am certain. Will you not tell me what I wish to know? Diamond is behind the blowing up of my dam—a waste of his time since I will only rebuild—but why send you? Does he intend to steal Señora Velazquez to hold her hostage?” He leaned closer, and there was a soft menace in his voice that caught Zack’s undivided attention. “She has agreed to this, has she not? I wish to know. I
must
know. Tell me, and I will set you free. No harm will come to you if you will confess to her part in this.” Zack must have looked doubtful, because Don Francisco gave him a wolfish smile. “Don’t be a hero, señor. It will cause me an irritating delay, and you a great deal of pain.” For a long moment, Zack considered his options. There was no question of admitting that Deborah had known he was to come for her He’d never risk her that way. But telling Don Francisco some trivial fact might help his situation and save him more bruises. He dragged in a punishing breath that made his ribs ache, and blinked to clear what little vision he still had.

That was when he saw the paper Don Francisco held, a neat white piece of parchment that had writing scrawled on it. He didn’t have to read it to know what it said, and he felt a sense of impending doom.

“I would greatly like for you to sign this paper.” Don Francisco’s smile was encouraging. “A confession, of such, you see.” Zack blinked. His eyes stung. Blood. Or sweat, maybe. He wasn’t certain. His mouth was sore and his lips were puffy and split. Even if he wanted to talk, he wasn’t sure he could. So he settled for staring at Don Francisco without speaking, blithely ignoring the paper he held out.

The slender Mexican sighed dramatically. “Ah, you are so stupid. What difference does it make if you tell me or if I wait and find out myself? The outcome will not change. And if you cooperate, perhaps I will let you go free, heh?” When he didn’t say anything, Don Francisco shrugged. Zack braced himself for the next blow. This one was aimed at his belly, and the pain radiated outward in intense waves that took his breath. He barely felt the chair go backward, or the sensation of falling. Then the floor slammed into him and he heard something crack. He wondered if it was one of his bones.

Slowly, he regained his breath. It came in short little pants for air, each one painful and feeling as if his chest was in a vise. The air seemed thick, like soup. He dragged in another short breath. His ribs hurt. Maybe that was what he’d heard crack.

But then he heard Don Francisco’s companion— Alfredo?— cursing in Spanish, and realized the chair had broken. He was hauled upward again and untied. The rush of blood back into his hands made him suck in a sharp breath between his teeth. He flexed his fingers, relieved to find they still functioned. He’d wondered.

His relief was short-lived.

“Did Señora Velazquez know about this?” Don Francisco was asking again, idly, as if the answer did not matter. Zack felt a wave of renewed doom.

He blinked again, heard the question come at him—“Were you supposed to take her to Señor Diamond?” and tensed, waiting.

He wasn’t disappointed. The fist crashed into his midsection again, doubling him over to meet the fist coming at his face. He managed to duck that one, and heard a curse.

“Madre Díos—
hold him!”

Someone grabbed his arms. His muscles seemed numb, from lack of circulation and the pain that slowed his reflexes. He tried to shake off the grip, but couldn’t. There was barely enough time to brace himself before the next blow came, and he had the vague thought that it shouldn’t matter so much to Velazquez who had sent him, as who might try to get Deborah. Not that anyone would, but Francisco did not know that. Maybe he feared an attempt would be made.

When he was finally released to slide to the floor in an aching sprawl, he heard a man’s sharp voice. “What in the hell are you doing, Velazquez? I cannot condone this!”

The voice was familiar. It took him a moment, but Zack placed it when the man spoke again.

“Dammit, this is against the law!”
Macklin.

“It is more illegal to kidnap than it is to beat the truth from a man, señor,” Don Francisco retorted. “I am trying to get him to sign a confession that he came here on Diamond’s command to kidnap Señora Velazquez in order to hold her as a hostage until I remove my dam.” There was a short silence. Zack opened the one eye still able to focus, peering up at Macklin. The attorney was staring down at him with a frown.

“There are better ways,” Macklin said finally. “If you continue with this, you will have to find a new attorney.” Zack shifted to get a better look. The movement almost wrenched a groan from him as his tortured body protested, but he clenched his teeth against it. Don Francisco looked angry. Macklin looked angry. He turned his attention to his surroundings, his first chance since waking up to hell.

The room was small, furnished with a table, the broken chair, and another chair. A high window bisected one wall, and the door was opposite.

It wasn’t the best of conditions. Two men stood behind Don Francisco, one of them the man called Alfredo. Both were armed and looked capable of murder if called for. Right now, Zack realized, Macklin was all that stood between him and death.

Cursing, Don Francisco argued with Macklin, but the attorney was adamant. Either the beating stopped, or he would leave the hacienda and withdraw his legal advice. With a faint sense of dazed relief, Zack heard Velazquez reluctantly agree to stop.

“But I will find another way to the truth about this,” he added.

Zack smothered an oath. He needed time to gather his wits and strength and focus on escape. And he needed to know where Deborah was and if she was all right.

“Tie him up,” Don Francisco ordered tersely, and Zack braced himself.

Alfredo and the other man jerked him to his feet to retie him. He crossed his arms behind him wrist to wrist when they spun him around. Alfredo wrapped a length of rope around them, then bent to tie his feet at the ankles.

Zack didn’t resist. He willed his aching muscles to a taut stretch, and ignored the taunts directed at him in Spanish. He understood them, but chose to act as if he did not. He half-stumbled as they pushed him back to the floor, only partially because of his bruised condition.

Chest heaving, his breath still coming in strangled pants, Zack tried to keep his attention on what Velazquez and Macklin were saying instead of his own body’s screaming demands. Waves of pain receded slowly, and he shoved himself up against the wall.

“Dammit, Don Francisco,” Macklin was grating, “I didn’t count on any of this. You hired me to establish your undisputed claim to these lands, and I’ve established it fairly well. I never anticipated this.”

“Neither did I,” Don Francisco shot back, “but Señor Diamond forced my hand. What am I to do?”

“I told you—fight it in court.”

“Bah! I know about courts. No, I will fight him my way, but I will listen to you.”

“Good. Then come with me, and release this man.”

“He is a spy.”

“And if you kill him, you will be a murderer.” Don Francisco paused, then said something softly in Spanish.

“Excuse me?” Macklin asked. Don Francisco smiled.

“Sorry—I said, you are right. I will comply.” He turned to Alfredo and rattled off a command in Spanish, then turned back to the attorney. “I’ve given orders to release him. Now come with me. We will discuss what can be done.”

Zack felt his gut tighten with anticipation. He had understood Don Francisco’s order quite clearly: “Take him to the desert and kill him.”

Chapter 21

Deborah paced back and forth, her nerves stretched tautly. It was almost daylight. In the east, the dark sky bore a trace of gray that signaled the rising sun. She was alone. Don Francisco had not returned, and Judith had gone to her own chamber.

A lump clogged her throat. Judith. Perhaps she’d truly meant well, but it was hard for Deborah to think of that now. Not now. Not when Zack was suffering, maybe even dead. If he was . . .

Her mind shrank from the thought. No. She could not bear it if he was.

Thank God Jeremiah Macklin had listened to her. If anyone could stop Don Francisco, it would be he.

Deborah crossed to the patio and stared at the guards lounging just outside the door. More guards were stationed at her hall door. Did they think her a dangerous criminal? If she hadn’t believed Zack before, she definitely did now. He was right about the danger, and right about Don Francisco stopping at nothing to keep his land. Now she was truly frightened, whereas before, she’d only been concerned about the possibility of danger in an all-out range war.