Lazaro's Revenge

In the bath Zoe soaped and scrubbed, feeling sullied after the trip, the abduction, the kiss. She didn’t understand how she could feel so many intensely conflicting emotions. She was afraid of Lazaro Herrera and yet intrigued.

Toweling off, Zoe knew she had to act to get word to Dante and Daisy, knew time was of the essence. She’d look for that phone as soon as she could.

Dry and wrapped in a robe, she faced the open closet in her adjoining bedroom. Someone had unpacked for her. She couldn’t imagine it was Lazaro.

Zoe didn’t like feeling naked in this strange house and dressed quickly, putting on comfortable jeans and a well-washed yellow sweatshirt. She’d just started to put on socks and sneakers when a knock sounded at the door.

Opening the door, Zoe discovered a tiny old woman, no taller than five feet, with gray-streaked hair and an extremely wrinkled olive-complexioned face. “Hello.”

“¡Vamanos!” The unsmiling old woman crossed her hands over her stomach. Her voice sounded sharp. “La cena.”

Definitely not a warm welcome. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Zoe answered slowly in English. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

“La cena. La comida.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

The older woman exhaled noisily, tossed up her hands. “¿Que dice?”

“I…I don’t know what you want me to do. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“¿Que?”

“Señor Herrera. Ask Señor Herrera, sí?”

The elderly woman muttered something beneath her breath and stalked off. She made it halfway down the hall before turning around.

With short, curt gestures she motioned to her mouth, and opened and shut her mouth in an exaggerated chewing motion. “La comida. La cena. La cena.”

Understanding dawned. “La cena.” Food, di

Zoe shut her door and it slammed closed far harder than she intended. Wincing, she climbed on her bed, grabbed a pillow and buried her face in the pillow where she let out a muffled scream of frustration.

This was a nightmare.

She couldn’t stay here. Nothing made sense. Everything was off kilter, from the brandy to the marble bathroom to the kiss. She felt lost…confused.

Her door banged open less than two minutes after she’d slammed it shut.

“¡Por Dios! What happened?” Lazaro demanded from the doorway. “I’ve never seen Luz so upset.”

“Luz?”

“My housekeeper.” He braced his hands on his hips, indignation written all over his hard, dark features. “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing.”

“Yet clearly you’ve offended her.”

Zoe mashed the pillow between her hands, squeezing the pillow into a ball. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“No. She said you spit in her face and slammed the door. I heard the door slam, too.”

Zoe flushed. “I didn’t spit. I wouldn’t spit. That’s rude.” She swallowed hard. “And I didn’t mean to slam the door. It closed harder than I expected.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his jaw tight, his mouth compressed. He seemed to be considering her, the situation, Luz’s version of events. “Que joda,” he ground out after a moment.

“What did you say?”

“I said, what a nuisance. You don’t want di

He knew she wouldn’t join him for di

He used to think it was poverty that killed her. The two of them were always hungry, and despite the fact that she worked every job she could secure, there never seemed to be enough money to get them off the streets.

Luz entered the dining room, reached for his plate, saw that he’d barely made a dent in his di

Luz had befriended his mother before she died. Luz had been poorer than his mother, too, and yet she had fire, and a fierce spirit which made her fight back against those who would oppress her. She’d tried to teach his young mother, Sabana, to stand up to the aristocratic Galváns but his mother was terrified of the powerful Galván family.

“I’ll have coffee and something light later,” he said, leaning back so she could clear his place.

Luz held the plate in her hands. “Who is she, the girl?”

“A friend of a friend.”

Luz made a rough clucking sound. “The truth.”

“It’s half truth, and that’s enough for you to know.” Lazaro pushed away from the table. “Thank you for di

He walked out, headed for the living room and discovered the fire had burned low. Sitting down on the couch, he put his feet on the massive iron and wood coffee table and stared into the glowing embers.

He’d built this house for his mother. Of course she’d been gone nearly twenty-five years when he had the plans drawn and the house finished, but the attention to detail had been for her, in honor of her. He’d insisted on the best of everything. Crystal chandeliers, silk window hangings, marble bathrooms, French antiques.

She’d been a beautiful girl when Count Tino Galván took her against her will. Just seventeen. Not even out of high school.

But taking her i

But Lazaro had.

Since his mother died, he lived for but one thing. Revenge. Revenge on those who hurt his mother, and revenge on those who’d shut their doors on him.

Zoe went to bed hungry and woke up ravenous at three in the morning. Between the time change and the growling of her stomach, she couldn’t fall back to sleep. Lying in bed awake, her thoughts quickly turned to Daisy. Daisy would be worried sick and Zoe knew she had to reach her sister as soon as possible and reassure her everything was fine.

She also needed to alert Dante to the danger Lazaro posed, without getting Daisy involved.

Throwing back the bedcovers, Zoe slid out from between the warm sheets and reached for her thin white cotton robe that matched the pink-sprigged nightgown.

It was a girlish set, something she’d had forever and yet refused to part with despite the cotton wearing thin and the rosebuds fading to peach and cream. The sleep set had been a gift from her dad years ago. Daisy got one like it, only hers had been blue.

Opening her bedroom door, she peered down the darkened hall. She wasn’t sure where to begin searching for a phone. She knew there had to be one somewhere, and not just a phone, but a fax, a modem, a cell phone. Lazaro Herrera had to communicate with the outside world somehow.

In the living room, Zoe crept on her hands and knees along the baseboards, searching for a hidden phone jack, ru

Nothing. At least not yet.

From living room to hall, hall to the cavernous kitchen, around the kitchen islands and huge rough-hewn pillars to the dining room.

She’d just finished circling the circumference of the dark dining room when she heard a cough behind her.

“Lose something, Zoe?”

“No.” She rose and brushed off her hands. It was so dark she could hardly see him but she felt him, felt his energy from ten feet away.

A little bit of moonlight fell through the window, illuminating his profile. “You’re not cleaning, are you? Luz wouldn’t like it.”