Desert Dreams (25 page)

"Please! Don't do this! This isn't the way to
settle anything!"

Jose grabbed her arm and hauled her to the door. She
turned as they reached it and gazed pleadingly into Jose's hard, cold eyes.
"Please. Don't let him do this!"

Jose said nothing, just shoved her out the door and
slammed it shut, turning a key in the lock.

Rafe jerked around at the sound of her fist pounding
on the door.

"Damn you!" she cried, her voice barely
audible through the thick wood. "Damn you!"

Rafe rose carefully and walked to where the boy stood
just inside the door. The naked fear in the youth's wide brown eyes disgusted
him.

"You too,
amigo
, out," Rafe said to
Jose, without taking his eyes from the boy.

"But,
amigo
—"

"Get Annie away from the door." When Jose
didn't move to comply, Rafe turned a murderous glare at him.

The Mexican backed away, muttering under his breath in
Spanish, and opened the door. Anne nearly fell into the room. Jose grabbed her
and backed her out into the hall.

"Please
don't do this!" Anne cried as Jose dragged her
away.
"Listen
to me, Rafe!"

The door closed with a loud crash. Rafe waited for a
few moments until the sound of scuffling moved down the hall and dissipated.

He turned back to the boy. Without a word, he moved to
the bureau and retrieved his revolver from its holster. He hated himself for
enjoying the sense of power he felt in the boy's fear. Slowly, he started
removing cartridges from the gun while the boy watched in mute terror.

As he returned to the boy, he spun the cylinder,
saying, "There's one bullet in this gun. Now, I'm going to start pulling
the trigger. Who knows when the bullet will come up? Where is your
cousin?"

He pressed the gun to the boy's temple. Carlos Delgado
squeezed his eyes shut tightly, his entire body convulsing with fear as
perspiration beaded on his forehead.

Rafe pulled the trigger and Carlos cried out. His eyes
filled with tears that spilled down his cheeks. "Please! Don't kill
me!"

"One down and five to go—oh, unless it’s in the
next chamber. Answer my question. Where is your cousin?"

"I don't know!"

Rafe pulled the trigger again. "Wrong answer.
Four chances left."

Carlos was sobbing now. "You're crazy! Why are
you doing this?"

"Ask your cousin, if you live long enough. Now,
start talking."

"I can't!"

The hammer clicked again. "The odds are
narrowing. Three left."

"He'll kill me if I tell you!"

Again Rafe pulled the trigger. "And I'll kill you
if you don't."

"All right, all right, I'll tell you! J-just
don't shoot. Don't pull the trigger again. H-he's in Chihuahua."

"City or province?"

"Province."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

Rafe fired again. "Just one left."

"Madre de Dios!
He has a fortress near the Rio
Conchos. He will kill me if he finds out I told you."

Rafe held the gun to the boy's head, his eyes
narrowing as Carlos Delgado trembled. He pulled the trigger for the sixth time,
and the boy fell to his knees on the floor at the hollow sound of metal against
metal.

"You are loco!" he sobbed.

"I must be," Rafe agreed. "Otherwise I
would have killed you."

***

The door to Diego Munoz's room banged open, flooding the
small space with light. He shielded his eyes as Carlos Delgado flew through the
opening and landed at his feet. Behind him stood Rafe Montalvo, his face grim.

Without a word, the bounty hunter grabbed Diego by the
arm and hauled him toward the door. Stumbling, nearly falling, he struggled to
keep his balance with his hands tied behind his back.

They didn't stop until they were outside. Rafe
Montalvo dragged him toward the stable where Rafe had left one of the outlaw’s
horses saddled and ready to ride.

When they reached the horse, Rafe shoved Diego's chest
against the animal and drew a long knife, which he used to slice through
Diego's bindings.

"What are you doing?" Diego asked, rubbing
his wrists as he turned to face the other man.

"What does it look like? I'm letting you
go."

"I don't understand."

"You're going to Chihuahua," Rafe said
casually. "I've got a message for El
Alacran
,
and you're going to deliver it."

"But I don't know where he is," Diego said
nervously.

"Well, that's too bad because there's a little
town about a day and half's ride from here called Concepción. If El
Alacran
isn't there in four days, his cousin's going to
die. Maybe I should just kill him now."

"
Perro
!
If you kill the boy, El
Alacran
will kill me."

Rafe smiled. Fear could be a powerful weapon when used
correctly. "If you're lucky."

Diego's eyes widened and he paled noticeably.

"Better get going," Rafe said as he sheathed
his knife. "You've got a lot of territory to search. Four days, then the
boy dies."

"What about my gun?"

"What about it?"

"You can't expect me to leave without it."

"You'll manage."

Diego hesitated, studying
Rafe's
eyes as if searching for some sign of weakness or mercy. Finding none, he
cursed under his breath and swung up in the saddle.

"I'll tell him,
amigo
. And when El
Alacran
finds you, he'll make you sorry you were ever
born."

With that, he wheeled the horse around and galloped
through the stable yard.

###

Rafe rose before dawn the next morning and dressed in the
darkness. Then he took up his saddlebags and bedroll, wincing with pain as he
straightened up. He was becoming accustomed to the ever-present discomfort.
Like the pain in his soul, he was learning to adjust to it.

His horse whinnied softly as he entered the stable.
After dropping his saddlebags over the stall door, he petted the animal on the
nose, pushed the door open, and led the horse out. Farther down the row of
stalls, he found Carlos Delgado's roan and led it out, too.

As he saddled the roan, he thought of Annie with a
bittersweet pain. He remembered teaching her to saddle a horse, her tenacity
and courage in the face of her fears. He remembered how she'd grabbed the
saddle and tried to carry it to the horse, in spite of her weakened condition.
Once she set her mind on something, there wasn't a power on earth that could
sway her.

Crazy woman. Crazy, stubborn woman.

He didn't want her to care about him. He didn't want
anyone to care about him. To care about him was to be in peril. Annie had
almost found that out the hard way.

With a weary sigh, he slipped the bit into the roan's
mouth.

The only thing he knew with any certainty was that he
had to get away. He had to put as much distance as possible between them. She made
him feel things he didn't want to feel. Better not to feel anything, he
decided, than to allow himself to care about her.

It seemed he couldn't cut off a single emotion—such as
pain—without shutting them all off. Similarly, he couldn't feel a single emotion—such
as joy—without feeling them all, and there were things he never wanted to feel
again, ever.

He finished saddling the roan and was throwing the
blanket over his own
horse’s
back when he heard soft,
measured footsteps on the hay-strewn floor.

"Running away again?"

Chapter 17

Rafe closed his eyes
as her voice
trembled up his spine. He turned slowly to see Annie standing behind him, her
face a study in pain and betrayal. Swearing under his breath, he turned back to
his task before he started remembering everything that had happened between
them.

"That's right," he murmured.

She walked slowly toward him. He could hear her movements,
though he didn't turn to look at her.

"You were going to leave without even saying
goodbye?"

He could tell by her voice that she had come to stand near
him. Ignoring the pain in his ribs, he lifted the saddle and swung it up on top
of the blanket with a grunt.

"Right again."

"You don't need me anymore," she said to his back,
each word a stone on his heart. "I told you what you
wanted to know."

He turned and walked toward her. She retreated until
her back met the wall and she could go no farther. Guilt twisted in his heart
at the fear in her eyes, but he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't face her
questions. He'd hoped to get away without seeing her again. It would have been
so much easier that way.

"Right the third time," he said. If he
confirmed her accusation, maybe she'd be so hurt and angry she would leave him
alone. "I seduced you. I used you to find out where the gold is, and now
that you've told me—"

The crack of her palm against his face almost felt
pleasurable. It sobered him, braced him for what he had to do.

"Bastard!" she cried. She drew back to slap
him again, but he caught her wrist and held it still.

"You should have believed me, Annie," he
murmured against her ear, trying to ignore the softness of her hair and the
sweet scent of her flesh. "I am what you see, nothing more. You try to see
something good in everyone, but sometimes it just isn't there. I'm empty
inside. I use people, I kill people, and I just keep on living. I have no
conscience."

"I don't believe you," she managed to say,
running her tongue over dry lips.
"You're going after that man, El
Alacran
, when you can barely move."

"It's none of your concern."

He reached beneath the horse's belly and found the
girth, then worked at securing it. He had to get away from here, from her, from
the tears in her voice and the comfort in her arms.

"It
is
my concern. If someone saves your life, you're their
slave forever, remember?"

In spite of his grim mood, he smiled, remembering when
he'd told her that. "Not in Mexico. Besides, I'd say I'm still one up on
you."

Anne reached out and grasped his arm, her touch
searing his flesh through the fabric of his shirt. He turned to look at her and
winced at the pain in her eyes.

"You could have been killed, and for
nothing," he muttered, his voice trembling with emotion.

"For you."

He jerked away. "For nothing. For a dead man. I
have nothing to live for. You have everything."

"How can you say that? Why can't you let go of
whatever is eating you up inside?"

"There is nothing in here," he said,
pounding his chest and causing a physical pain that did nothing to lessen the
pain in his heart. "That's what I'm trying to tell you, Annie. Your life
for mine is not a fair trade. I can't stand the pain of living. Damn you for
what you've done!"

"What have I done besides love you?"

He didn't know how to describe it to her, this feeling
of powerlessness. He didn't know how to tell her that because she was willing
to die for him, he now felt a strange obligation to live for her.

"I don't care if I live or die, but you do. You
do, and... God, I don't know how to explain it. Your caring forces
me
to choose life, or your life becomes meaningless. Do you
understand?"

"No, I don't understand. I don't understand why
you would want to die or why you would think yourself so worthless. I know you
still love your wife. I know you still grieve for her, but—"

The laugh that rumbled up from his chest sounded
hollow and maniacal, even in his own ears. "Still? I never grieved for
her. I never had time. I was too busy trying to survive and forget."

"Forget? You’ve done everything possible to make
sure you never forget, that no one ever forgets. You’ve let it eat you alive.”

"I killed her," he said. "I killed my
own wife!"

His whole body shuddered, his breath coming in great
gulps. It took him a full minute to regain the control he usually kept over his
emotions.

Her own breath hung suspended in her throat. Her
entire being trembled with dread. She searched his eyes, but they had turned to
stone. "It's not true. You're lying."

He backed away with an inhuman growl. His face had
gone deathly pale. His gray eyes were as hard as granite. He ran a hand through
his hair, and she saw the pain flash across his face as he expelled a ragged
breath.

She waited, her heart still, her mind whirling, waited
for an explanation, but when none came, she created her own. "You... you couldn't
save her. You went after them, but you got there too late."

She searched his eyes for confirmation of her words,
but there was none.

He turned away with a bleak expression on his face and
continued saddling his horse, throwing the right stirrup over the animal's
back.

"She was on her way back to Fort Bliss from Las
Cruces," he began, his voice so soft she had to strain past the thundering
of her own pulse to hear. "She'd been visiting my brother."

His powerful back expanded and contracted as he took a
deep, painful breath. It was a long time before he spoke again, and as the
brittle silence stretched on, she realized he'd been transported. He was
reliving the past now.

"She was traveling under military guard, as
always," he finally continued. "But that didn't matter to El
Alacran
and his men."

They had abducted his wife. They had abducted her and
killed her. Rafe hadn't been able to save her. That was the source of his
guilt. She closed her eyes, trying not to imagine the horror of being kidnapped
by men whose brutality knew no bounds. How terrified she must have been, how
profoundly helpless.

Her skin crawled as she tried not to think of the
things they must have done. She looked up and met his gaze, knowing he could
read her thoughts on her face. The expression in his eyes confirmed her worst
fears and spoke of things beyond her realm of understanding.

"Christina and her escort were late arriving at
the fort," he went on, his voice soft and calm, though the muscles in his neck
strained to the breaking point.

Turning back to the saddle, he worked the girth strap
through the metal ring.

"The day after they were supposed to arrive, I
took a party and we scoured the road from Las Cruces."

He gave one last jerk to the cinch.

"When I arrived at the scene of the ambush, one
of the soldiers was still alive – barely. He lived long enough to tell me that
El
Alacran
and his
comancheros
had taken Christina with them."

He turned to face Anne again with the eyes of a man
who has seen things no one should have to see.

"They crossed into Mexico," he said quietly,
his voice taut. "The rules had changed since the last time. He knew the
army wouldn't pursue, and he knew I would."

The muscle in his jaw tensed and flexed as he paused
to rein in his emotions.

"And I did, even though I knew it would mean a
court-martial. I trailed them through the desert for days."

She didn't know if she wanted him to continue.
Moisture beaded on his forehead and he wiped it away with his sleeve, the
motion causing him to wince in pain. His chest rose and fell with labored,
rhythmic breathing. The violence in his eyes terrified her, but she dared not
stop him now that he had begun.

"I kept coming across scraps of her clothing
along the way." His voice trembled and nearly broke, as a shudder ripped
through him.

"They wanted to make sure I didn't lose them. By
the time I found her I was wild with fear and worry and anger."

Anne slid down the wall and sat on the floor, unable
to support her own weight any longer, clenching her fists until her nails bit
into the flesh. But the pain did nothing to protect her from the impact of his
words. Tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped unheeded to her blouse.

"They'd left her in the back of the wagon they'd
stolen when they took her," he said, his voice coarse and dry like desert
wind.

He'd begun to massage his wrists in an unconscious
gesture. She doubted he even knew she was there as he continued to relive the
horror of that day.

"The sky was full of buzzards." He covered
his ears with his hands as if to block out the sound. "I've never seen so
many in one place," he added, shaking his head in wonder.

He raised his gaze toward the ceiling as if he could
see them hovering overhead, watching, waiting. Then he dropped his hands from his
ears.

"There must have been thirty or more."

Rafe looked back down at Anne. Nothing was left of the
mask he had worn so carefully for so long. Lines of strain creased the corners
of his mouth. A naked torment shone in his eyes, the eyes of a wounded animal.

"She was alive," he said softly, as if he
still couldn't quite believe it.

There was a long fragile silence. His whole body
seemed to slump. Anne had to strain to hear his words. His dead voice chilled
her.

"Somehow, I don't know how, she was alive. They...
they'd skinned her.... They'd skinned her alive from the neck down."

His words shattered her. A sob broke through her
control and her body convulsed in reaction, trembling with horror at the images
that flashed in her mind. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. She
wanted to cry or run away or cover her ears and pretend he hadn't said it,
pretend she hadn't heard.... It hadn't happened. It couldn't have. Things like
that didn't happen.

"They were so careful," he went on, in a
voice that trembled slightly.

"Please stop." Tears trailed down her
cheeks, and she covered her ears to block out his words.

He reached her in two strides. He took her by the
wrists, hauling her to her feet, pulling her roughly against him. She shrank
inwardly from the awesome devastation in his eyes.

"They'd skinned her alive," he said between
clenched teeth. "Is your curiosity satisfied now? I didn't know what to
do. I don't remember how it happened, but I had my rifle in my hands. I raised
it and put a bullet in her head."

"Let me go," she whimpered. "I don't
want to hear—"

"It was a trap. They captured me and staked me
out in the desert to die, and I would have died if not for Jose. The buzzards,
they were in such a frenzy—"

She screamed to drown out his words.

"Not a night goes by that I don't think of her
eyes staring at me as I pulled the trigger."

He released her and she fell against the wall. Then he
walked to his horse, lifted the bridle, and slipped the bit into the animal's
mouth.

"You didn't have a choice," she whispered.
She felt too battered inside to offer more.

"Don't," he said, his back stiffening.
"I had a choice. I had a lot of choices and I made all the wrong ones, and
an innocent woman paid a terrible price for my stupidity. I thought I could
change the world. I thought I could crush a man like El
Alacran
.
I was a fool. You have to think like a monster in order to kill one, and that
is what I have learned to do."

She walked up behind him and placed a trembling hand
on his shoulder. She felt the shudder that ran through him before he jerked
away.

"Don't, Annie," he growled. "For God's
sake, don't."

He pushed her hand away, struggling for control.