Jacey's Reckless Heart

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  With that, Zant turned away from his grandfather and knelt beside Jacey. He laid his gun down on the floor, pulled her away from the fireplace, and gently turned her over. His heart all but stopped. A thin line of blood trickled from her temple, her mouth slacked open, her black eyes were rolled back in her head. A tortured sob tore from the depths of Zant’s soul. He pulled her limp body against his chest and held her there.

  Not even the sounds of Don Rafael stirring behind him could make him look up. Jacey was still so warm, so soft. Maybe she wasn’t dead.

  Just as Zant found her pulse, just as joy spread through him, an explosion of pain in his head sent him Sprawling forward atop Jacey.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Manuel heard the gunshot in the salon. Hand to his mouth, his eyes widened, he looked from one servant’s face to the other in the dining room with him. They silently pleaded with him. Manuel began herding them all outside. Panicked, they nevertheless grouped together and fled out through the courtyard. There they silently parted for Manuel, allowing him the lead. Then, as one, they raced for the heavy gate to the camp.

  Manuel fought the slowing effects of fear on his starved lungs and pumping heart. He raced on. By the time he reached the gate set in the adobe walls, the only thing that kept him going when his legs wanted to collapse was his determination to reach Señor Blue. That and the herd of servants pushing him from behind. Tearing his flesh in his haste to open the gate, Manuel kept telling himself that Señor Blue would know what to do.

  Upstairs, on the villa’s second floor, Conchita, Paco, and Esteban all jumped at the echo of a gunshot from downstairs. Esteban clutched tighter at his grandmother. She looked to Paco. He gave her the signal they’d worked out earlier. She was to hide with the boy on the bed’s far side. Conchita nodded and complied. Paco took up his place behind the room’s door. From this position, he had the slim chance of surprising their guard, should this be the beginning of the end and he came in to carry out his orders.

  Giving them added hope of living through the night was the knowledge that Señor Zant was home. But he was downstairs. They’d both heard him, seemingly only minutes before, speaking gruffly to their guard before his echoing footsteps told them he’d gone on to his room. But then, less than a minute later, he’d stalked back by their door, without hesitating, and had proceeded down the stairs. Had he fired the shot? Or had he been shot?

  They had no way of knowing. They could only hope and do what they could to save themselves. So, tense and alert, the adults waited for the sound of the key turning in the lock. If this was truly the beginning of the revolución, and if Señor Zant was still alive, he may not have a chance to send someone to free them before one-eyed Norona, their guard, could kill them all.

  Those were his orders. If trouble started, he was to kill them all three.

  * * *

  Down in the salon, Don Rafael stared down at the limp bodies of his grandson and the Lawless bitch. His fingers clutched Zant’s pistol. The old man bent over to feel for a pulse. He found one, a good and strong one, in Zant’s neck. Good. He’d hit him on the head only hard enough to knock him out, which was his intention. But sometimes, he didn’t know his own strength.

  How had it come to this? He shook his head. He had to save the boy from himself. And from this woman. He gazed at her, cocking his head from side to side. Was she really dead? On an impulse, he reached under Zant and felt her neck. A pulse beat there as well.

  Don Rafael’s eyes narrowed. The Lawlesses did not die easily. He raised the pistol, aiming it at Jacey’s head. But just then, the front door opened. He jerked toward the sound. If they knew what was good for them, it had better be Miguel and Victor. They were late. If they’d been on time, none of this would have been necessary. Sure of himself and of the Colt fisted in his hand, Don Rafael hurried to the room’s entry and peered down the hall. It was them.

  Stepping out into their view, and frowning his displeasure at their lateness, he spat out, “Where have you been?”

  Miguel opened his mouth, but then closed it, looking from Don Rafael’s face to his right hand. To the gun. He frowned as he strode purposefully down the hall. As always, Victor was right behind him. “What has happened here, Don Rafael? Have you killed them?”

  “No. They’re alive. Help me get Zant upstairs before he awakens. Victor, you will stand guard over him. And Miguel, you will bring the woman and come with me.” With that, Don Rafael turned and entered the salon.

  On his heels, the two men rounded the corner, but while Don Rafael proceeded over to the two unconscious bodies by the fireplace, Miguel and Victor stopped where they were. And stared. Don Rafael turned back to them.

  He watched them exchange a glance with each other. Then, without comment, they strode over to him. Victor easily lifted Zant, tossing him across his broad and heavy shoulder. Once Zant was lifted off his lover, his body no longer protecting hers, Miguel scooped her into his arms and stood with his burden. They both faced their chief, awaiting his next order.

  “Victor, take Zant to his room, put him on the bed, and then find the key and lock the door. You watch him closely and you stay with him until I tell you differently. Do you understand that?”

  Victor nodded dully and walked heavily across the room with his burden. He turned left, in the direction of the stairs to the second floor, and disappeared from view.

  Satisfied, Don Rafael turned to Miguel and considered the fate of the woman in his arms. “And now, what to do about her? Ahh. I know. Take her to the chapel. We shouldn’t be disturbed there. Wait with her until I join you. There are some things I need to get from my office, things Miss Lawless should find very interesting when she wakes up.”

  * * *

  Zant became slowly, painfully aware of the world again. What had happened? He struggled to bring the memory forward. It wouldn’t come. But as the darkness receded, as the stars cleared from his mind, he realized he was lying on a bed. Weakly he clutched at the covers under him. He then realized he was lying on his stomach. So he was lying on his stomach on a bed and his head hurt like hell.

  What else? As if in answer, a sudden noise at his bedside, that of a chair scraping across the floor, stilled him. He wasn’t alone. Zant opened his eyes. He saw two huge black eyes and a bulbous nose about an inch from his face. Zant jerked back in mind-numbing startlement. Waves of pain warned him not to move so quickly again. Carefully, he sat up. Holding his aching head, he took a second look. “Victor, what the hell are you doing?”

  “I am watching you closely.”

  “I can see that. Back off some, will you?”

  Victor promptly backed off, scooting the chair back.

  Zant sat up a little straighter. “How long have I been out?”

  Victor frowned at that one. “The sun was down when I brought you up here.” He looked over his beefy shoulder to the night beyond the balcony’s doors. “And it is still dark. So, five minutes. Maybe an hour.”

  “That’s good, Victor. Just great. Can you get me some water?”

  As the big lumbering man stood up and turned away, Zant clutched fistfuls of the bed’s covers as the room spun. Just then, tepid water splashed into his face. As rivulets ran down his nose and chin and soaked through his shirt, he scrubbed a hand down his face. “What the hell was that for?”

  With a dripping washbasin dangling from his hand, Victor replied, “I am getting you water.”

  “I meant to drink, you—” Zant cut off his own words. What did it matter? At least he was awake enough to realize that it was strange for Victor to be with him and not with—“What are you doing here?”

  “Don Rafael.”

  A jet of fear and urgency stabbed at Zant’s gut. It all came flooding back. He had to shake off this weakness in his limbs, ignore the pain in his head—put there by his loving grandfather—and get out of here. He had to find Jacey. She was alive. Or had been. But first, he had to get around Victor.

  He eyed his companion. The simple giant
was supposed to be sympathetic to him, but making the pistolero understand that he was, was another thing entirely. He’d been following Don Rafael’s orders all his life. Could he go against his grain in just one night? Well, there was only one way to find out. “What are your orders, Victor?”

  “I am to carry you up to your room and find the key and lock the door and watch you closely and stay with you until Don Rafael tells me differently.”

  Zant nodded. Victor’s speech was probably word for word what Don Rafael had said to him. But he’d probably meant for Victor to lock the door from the outside … he chanced a peek at the door’s keyhole … and not from the inside, like he’d done. The key was still in the lock. Zant looked up at Victor’s dull, staring face and thought about the man’s orders, the exact wording. It was worth a try. “Give me your gun, Victor.”

  Victor promptly handed over his gun. Not surprised, but still relieved, Zant hefted it in his hand, getting a feel for it. Nice. Balanced weight. Fully loaded. It’d do. He then looked up again at Victor, sizing him up. There was no way he could best this man in a fight. And he couldn’t bring himself to shoot the unarmed giant in cold blood. But there was also no way Victor would allow him to leave this room … without him. So, “You ready to go?”

  Victor’s frown creased the skin between his eyebrows. “I cannot go. My orders are to watch you closely and stay with you until Don Rafael—”

  “Tells you differently. I know. But I’m leaving now, Victor. If you want to follow your orders to watch me closely and stay with me, you’re going to have to come with me.”

  Victor’s frown intensified as he gave every sign of thinking this through. Zant seethed with the need for urgency, but he was helpless in the face of Victor’s slowly turning mental wheels. Just when Zant decided that maybe he could shoot the man, his broad, swarthy face cleared. “Okay.”

  Zant slumped. “Good. Let’s go.” As he dropped his legs over the side of his bed and stood to test his balance, he reminded himself that Victor could just as easily go the other way on an order from Don Rafael. He’d have to watch Victor more carefully than the giant watched him.

  Feeling increasingly steadier on his feet, Zant swiped his sleeve over his face to dry it more and then stuck Victor’s long-barreled pistol in his waistband as he headed for the door. Victor tailed him like a huge puppy. Once at the door, Zant carefully turned the key in the lock. Before opening it, he looked over his shoulder and asked Victor, “Is anyone posted outside this door?”

  “Me,” Victor assured him.

  Zant looked at him. Twice. He then shook his head, telling himself to pay attention to what was ahead of him, and not who was behind him. After all, he didn’t know how long he’d been out or who might still be in the villa. One misstep could see him dead.

  Opening the door, he eased out just enough to look down the hall. Sure enough, there was Norona. But he was practically hanging over the hallway’s railing as he peered down to the first floor below. What or who was so interesting down there? Zant stepped back into his bedroom and spoke quietly to Victor. “I want you to go ahead of me. Norona’s out there. He won’t—”

  “Norona is guarding my friend Esteban. If he hurts him, I will kill him.”

  Zant stared at the big man. Earlier Norona had told him he wasn’t guarding anyone, that Don Rafael had posted him up here in case there was trouble. Obviously, Norona had lied. Sighing, hating the delay, but fearing to let any detail go, afraid it could cost him his own or Jacey’s life down the line, Zant resigned himself to getting to the bottom of this. “Who is Esteban? And why’s he in there?”

  “He is Conchita’s grandson. She is in there, too. She took the spur from Don Rafael’s office and told Esteban to put it in the señorita’s room. He came with Conchita when they did the lady’s bath. He made sure he was the last one out and put the spur on the bed and then hid under it. He is very brave.”

  Stunned, Zant tried to absorb this startlingly significant story. “How do you know all this?”

  “Esteban is my friend. He told me his story only today. He is not too smart, though. He fell asleep and then you and Paco scared him and he ran away. After he told me this, he hid for the day. But when Don Rafael said to find him, I did. I know Esteban’s favorite hiding place.”

  Poor, dumb, simple bastard. He’d betrayed his friend, but he’d never be able to understand that. Zant thought quickly. He had to get rid of Norona, so he could free Conchita and Esteban. To leave them here was to sign their death warrants. “I want you to go ahead of me. When you get to Norona, take his gun and knock him out. We’re going to free Esteban and Conchita—”

  “And Paco.”

  Suddenly feeling he was more the simpleton here than Victor was, Zant repeated, “And Paco? He’s in there, too?”

  “Yes. Do not worry, Señor Zant, I will get them out.”

  Zant put a hand on the man’s arm. “I don’t doubt it for a minute. Let’s go. We have to hurry.”

  Victor nodded and turned out of the room. Almost wedged up against the big man’s back, Victor’s gun in his hand, Zant followed his every long stride. When Victor reached Norona, he simply grabbed the unsuspecting man by his throat, lifted him off the ground, ignored his gagging and kicking, jerked the one-eyed guard’s gun out of his holster, and sent him flying and screaming over the railing. He landed with a sickening thud on the floor below.

  Only silence followed. No feet running to the scene, no screams, no yelling voices. No one climbing up the stairs. Stunned as he was by Victor’s straightforward methods, a part of Zant’s mind registered the fact that, except for them, the villa apparently was empty. That was good. And bad.

  Recovering somewhat, Zant looked at the gun in his hand. It hadn’t been necessary. When Victor turned to him, Zant took a cautionary step back. “Well, Victor, that wouldn’t have been my first choice, but … effective. Very effective.”

  Victor nodded. “Here.” He thrust Norona’s gun at him and held out his bear-sized paw for his own. Zant didn’t even blink before making the trade. “Now, Victor, let’s get Esteban out. The key’s in the lock, so—”

  “Okay.” Victor turned and kicked the door in. Inside, someone grunted, another one screamed, and a third one whimpered and cried.

  Zant looked at the ruined door. “Or you could just kick the door in.” He then hurried inside to see Paco holding his forehead with both hands. Apparently he’d been behind the door. He then saw Conchita and the boy Esteban huddled together across the room. Conchita’s look of terror changed to one of joy. “Señor Zant! It is you! Oh, thank you, God. We are saved.”

  “Victor!” Esteban screamed. He pulled away from his grandmother, jumped up and ran to embrace his big friend. Victor happily pounded the boy’s back with resounding thuds.

  Fearing the long, gushing reunion that loomed, Zant raced over to Conchita and helped her to her feet. “Come on, get up. It’s started. Hurry! Victor will take you to the camp. Go with him. Paco, you come with me.”

  Conchita pulled at his arm. “Miss Lawless—she is in the chapel with Don Rafael and Miguel Sereda. You must hurry.”

  Surprised, Zant stared in momentary silence down at her. “The chapel? How do you know?”

  “Paco saw them out the balcony doors. It is the only place they could be going. Don Rafael was leading the way. Miguel Sereda carried her.”

  Zant spun to Paco. “How long ago?”

  Still rubbing his forehead, Paco answered right away. “About fifteen minutes, my chief.”

  Fifteen minutes! He might still be in time. “Victor, take Esteban and Conchita to the camp.”

  “No. I must stay with you. Those are my orders.”

  The man chose now to get stubborn. Zant looked at Victor, who was armed, and at Paco, who wasn’t. “All right, you come with me. Paco, take them to the camp, get Blue, get yourself a gun, and meet me at the chapel.”

  “Yes, my chief.” He pulled Esteban away from Victor and herded the boy and his grandmoth
er toward the door.

  “Victor and I will go ahead of you downstairs. I believe the villa’s empty, except for us. Conchita, you’re going to have to step over Norona down in the hallway. He’s dead. Just be brave and do it. We’ll stay with you as far as the camp’s gate, but after that, you’re on your own.” He looked from face to face, trying to assess if everybody understood. Satisfied that they did, he nodded and said, “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Jacey sat on a front pew of the tiny chapel. She refused to do so much as flinch at the blinding, throbbing pain on the side of her face. Or wipe away the trickle of blood that rolled down her temple to her jaw. She’d show these men no weakness. All she wanted was a chance at her knife. But against two armed men? Maybe she’d get one of them before she died.

  She flicked her gaze up to the holy cross above the altar. She kept expecting it to fall from the ceiling, from having two such evil presences in its nave. Looking back down, she caught Miguel’s gaze as he stood, feet apart, arms folded over his chest, to one side of his leader. The man’s sly, leering grin made her gut roil.

  Don Rafael stepped up to stand in front of her. “Now that you are fully awake, señorita, we can continue our conversation from earlier.”

  “Go to hell.”

  With a snarl of anger, Don Rafael drew his hand back, as if to slap her again. Jacey tensed for the blow and met his black-eyed gaze with her own unwavering one. Just as suddenly, Don Rafael chuckled and relaxed, bringing his arm down to his side. “No. You can no longer make me angry. But here, I have some things to show you that I think you will find very interesting.”