Victoria hugged her arms to her chest against the chill of the evening. It was late, and even a woman who had as little care for respectability as she did ought to be in bed. But her thoughts were chasing themselves to wildly too allow any space for rest.

So she came out here on the back porch of the tavern although it was late and not really proper for her to be standing here in her night dress even with the wrap over it. The chill and the stillness of the night brought her a peace the smothering closeness the walls of her bedroom had not. She desperately needed a little peace just now.

She leaned her head against the wall and inhaled deeply. It had been a difficult few days even against the background of a month of them behind that. A few days ago several of the men Zorro had rounded up earlier that week had broken free from the prison, had stolen weapons and alcohol from the garrison's store and had ridden loudly out of town firing their weapons in the air and promising to return with further violence once they'd met up with their friends.

The alcalde had done nothing-had _restrained_ Mendoza when he'd attempted to form his men into some kind of resistance.

The thieves, drunk and armed on their stolen loot, had come across a small shareholder's farm on the San Saba lands. They'd burned the elderly couple's one-room house and had left the farmer wounded and his wife in hysterics.

And Zorro? Zorro had been too busy chasing another pack of the brigands to put a stop to any of it. He'd ridden into town, the three of them tied together on one horse. There had been something in his demeanor, a lightness, a subversive pleasure at the bandits' discomfiture, that had been missing for some time. Seeing it there her own heart had lifted for a moment.

Until she'd had to tell him what happened and watch the smile on his face die. He'd not flinched in the slightest, nor given any other outward sign of how the news might affect him. But in his stillness she, who knew him so well, had read the sharpness of his anger.

"Are you all right, querrida?" he'd asked gently, cradling her two small hands in his larger ones.

"This is just all so horrible," she said, hating herself for her weakness, though she knew he wouldn't see it as such. She was supposed to be _strong_. She was supposed to be her own woman, not clinging to the nearest man in times of trouble. But she didn't fight as he pulled her head to rest against his chest and stroked her hair for a moment.

"I will find the ones who did this, I promise you, Victoria."

His warmth and the surety in his voice gave Victoria some of her strength back. She wrapped her arms around him and tried to give some of it back to him. She didn't want such promises from him, knowing he'd try all the harder to fulfill it in exchange for all the others, spoken and not, that he'd been unable to keep to her over the years. But he had needed to give it, and more so needed her to accept it, to believe in it, so she'd said nothing.

That had been three nights ago. Ordinarily she'd have gone to Diego. She might have frustrations with Diego, but he was her good and dear friend, even when she didn't deserve it. He probably wouldn't have any answers, who would, but he would listen, truly _listen_ and she so desperately needed that right now. But Diego was denied her. She was too sensible to risk riding out to the hacienda alone no matter her need to see her friend.

As for Diego coming to see her-that didn't seem much of a possibility these days. She'd hurt him that day, deeply she thought. Diego presented to the world a nearly impenetrable wall of unruffled gentility, but there were times when she could sense she'd wounded him even if she never quite had any idea how or why. Diego had been doing his part to help protect his people and his father's lands in Alejandro's absence, doing far more than she'd accomplished hidden safely behind the walls of Zorro and the relative quiet of the town itself, and all she'd done was laugh at him for it. Small wonder that he rarely went to such efforts if this was the reaction he got.

She drew a sharp breath. Stop it, Victoria. Self-pity is an indulgence you don't have time for right now. You will mend things with Diego as you always do.

"And what are you thinking about with such intensity, dearest?" said a familiar voice from a few feet away.

She smiled but didn't open her eyes.

"Diego de la Vega," she said, just to see how he'd react.

"Diego?"

Well if she'd wanted surprise, she'd certainly received it. The tightness in her chest relaxed marginally. He sounded so very tired, so in need of distraction, and she was happy to provide it if only for a brief moment.

"And you, of course," she said, opening her eyes. He stood just a few feet away, a shape even darker than the night around her.

"As much as the sight delights me, querrida, is it perhaps not too cold a night for you to be out here, alone?"

"Perhaps you should do something about that," she said, holding out a hand.

He stepped closer and drew her lightly against him. She shivered slightly, only then realizing how cold she'd been in comparison to his warmth.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, hating herself for it, but needing to, nevertheless. "It is too dangerous."

"I needed to see you," he said. She closed her eyes again at the pure exhaustion in his voice, but then sighed and brought her hand up to stroke his cheek.

He kissed it and drew it back down again.

"I found two of the men who escaped earlier," he said. "The alcalde should find them enjoying the hospitality of his prison tomorrow morning when he opens for business."

"Somehow I don't think he will appreciate his gift."

"You are undoubtedly correct, though it is a pity. I went to quite an effort to tie them up just right for him."

She shook her head and smiled a little. It shouldn't surprise her any more that just a few moments with him was enough to right her world no matter how wildly it was spinning, but it always did.

"It is late," she said, stepping back reluctantly, "and you are tired."

"Always sensible, Victoria," he said, "it is one of the things I love best about you."

He took her hand and kissed first her palm and then her wrist.

"Unlike the alcalde, I am not unappreciative of the gifts life gives me. I could not do this without you, querrida, remember that."

Like that, the peace he'd brought was shattered. This disquiet, however, was not entirely unwelcome. Cursing the need for it, she took a step back. She caught his rueful smile in the faint moonlight.

"Until we meet again," he said, bowing slightly.

She didn't notice Toronado standing there in the street behind him until he grasped the horse's saddle and swung himself up. Sometimes she could almost believe the local superstition that Toronado was supernatural, so quiet and dark was he.

Zorro looked down on her for a moment, seemingly reluctant to leave.

"You should go," she said. He said he valued sensibility. That was what it was. Certainly not stupidity, to send away a man such as he on a night like this.

She heard a flint strike and then a light flared a few feet down the street followed quickly by others until the small avenue behind the tavern was flooded.

"Excellent advice, Senorita Escalante," the alcalde said, stepping around a corner. "It is too bad you didn't suggest it earlier."

Zorro pushed his horse forward between Victoria and the alcalde, but not before she saw the alcalde raise his pistol.

Toronado reared as the shot rang out. Zorro flew back from the impact of the bullet and then slumped down over the horse's neck as Toronado lowered his front hooves back on the ground. The reins fell from Zorro's hand and the horse, uncontrolled, swerved from the men and the lights and raced off in the opposite direction.

"After him, you idiots," the alcalde shouted, raising his arm again to shoot.

"No!" Victoria threw herself at the alcalde and shoved his arm up. He swore and pushed her violently down into the street. The soldiers ran around her after their prey.

"Ordinarily, Senorita, I would have you arrested for interfering in the capture of a dangerous criminal," the alcalde said. She looked up at him and only read triumphant contempt in his eyes.

"Fortunately for you, however, your interference will not matter. That bullet took him in the chest. If he is not dead already, he will be by morning."

He bowed slightly, with all outward signs of courtesy. Then he simply walked away, leaving her there lying there, her night dress torn and dirty, in the street.

"No!" she cried after him. "It would take more than you to kill Zorro."

"As you will, Senorita," the alcalde said, but he did not stop.

"He is not dead, not Zorro," she said, her eyes blurring with tears. But she did not know whom she was trying to convince: him, or herself.

There, lying just a few inches away from her, was a small pool of blood.