Author's Note: As promised, the return of Alejandro. This section is a bit long, but Alejandro, having been silent for most of this story, had a lot to say.

* * * * *

Don Alejandro tried again to calm his agitation. They still had an hour at least until they reached Los Angeles, and he could do nothing here.

He tried and, for the hundredth time that minute at least, failed. What _had_ Diego been thinking? He knew the boy wasn't very good at handling serious matters even on the rare occasions when he put forth the effort, but this, _this_, was so inexcusable, so irredeemably responsible even by his son's low standards that for the first time he was sincerely wondering how he could be the father of such a man. Diego was his mother's son in all things, but Elena had been no coward and she had a stronger sense of responsibility than even Alejandro did himself.

He shook his head and tried to swallow his frustration. A month ago he probably would not have been so disappointed. But in Mexico he'd been rethinking his attitude toward Diego, particularly after his encounter with Hidalgo. His boredom with Fernando's son and how very much he missed Diego's benign affability and easy conversation had forced him to realign many of the opinions he'd had. He and Diego were different men. But he'd come to think that perhaps that was not so ill a thing. And so he'd left Mexico weeks early, looking forward to reuniting with Diego and Felipe and Victoria and all the others he'd missed.

But as they'd traveled further and further into California, the tales had started about the overwhelming troubles in Los Angeles. Stories about roads no longer passable due to roving bands of highwaymen, of ranches losing numbers of important livestock and of an alcalde who did nothing to fight all of this. When he'd reached Santa Paula, the stories had been backed up with grim fact. He'd talked to traveling merchants who'd given up on the road to Los Angeles, despite the money the growing town could bring them.

According to them, the situation had been growing worse for weeks. _Weeks_ and Diego had not sent one word of any of this to Mexico.

If the situation was as bad as the merchants tales said, and the price he'd had to pay for men to accompany him to Los Angeles was a fairly strong indication it was, then his people and his lands were in danger. He was very satisfied in the men who ran the ranch, but they could have no experience for this. Diego ought to have sent a message from the beginning. If he'd used their caballero privilege to send messages by post, Alejandro would have received word within days. He could have been here. Could have _done_ something.

A shot rang out, accompanied by a hoarse scream. Alejandro immediately threw himself into a crouch on the floor of the coach and drew his pistol. A bullet shattered the glass in the window above him, sending shards raining down. A second bullet passed by overhead and then Alejandro dared a look out the window. The two men he'd hired were engaged with three armed men on horseback, and one of them was already wounded judging from the red staining his coat. The coachman was shouting at the horses, trying to get them to outpace their attackers, but that would never work.

Alejandro grinned tightly. Three was a very manageable number.

They probably thought him dead, or at least taken out of the fight. He used his surprise and sprung up and leaned out the window. He took a moment to aim carefully and squeezed off one round before throwing himself toward the front of the coach. He'd heard a man's scream accompany the shot, but he didn't have time for victory as three more bullets splintered the door and tore through the space he'd occupied just a second before.

They knew he was here now. They'd be expecting him to go for the door again. He looked at the opposite window, also lying in shards on the floor.

He tucked his pistol in his belt and lunged through the space where the window had been. His seeking hands found and grabbed the roof of the coach through the open window and he pulled himself through. The coach hit a rock and he nearly lost his grip, but he managed to haul himself to the coach roof though his lungs felt on fire.

_You have become an old man, Alejandro._

The two remaining highwaymen concentrated on the two men Alejandro had hired, apparently not noticing his move onto the roof. He grinned again. _Maybe old, but not dead yet._

With a sudden prayer to the Almighty, Alejandro launched himself onto the front man. Perhaps the Almighty heard his prayer, or perhaps he had a fondness for old fools trying to pretend they were forty years younger, but he did not kill himself in the attempt. He fell heavily onto his target and they both fell in a crash onto the side of the road. The impact dazed Alejandro for a moment, but the man beneath him had faired worse.

Alejandro rolled to his side and checked on the other's pulse. Good, the man was still alive. It was better to bring a man to trial, although that was may just postpone his death. He stood and looked down the road where the coach had fled. He felt as if every bone in his body was broken, though with the bandit to break his fall he was probably only due for some bad bruises.

_Zorro did this sort of thing all the time. He made it look so easy._

He straightened and put a hand on his aching back.

_Zorro is clearly insane._

"Don Alejandro! Don Alejandro!"

"I am here!"

One of the men he had hired was riding back down the road. He was looking at the unconscious man with amazement. Alejandro tried to look as if he accomplished such feats every day.

"We had feared for you, Don Alejandro, but I can see our worries were unjustified. It is you who saved us."

"The coach is safe then?"

"Yes, after you took out the other two, Miguel and I were able to handle their friend."

Alejandro nodded. "It is not safe here. We should round up these men and make it to the pueblo as quickly as possible."

The man nodded and he and the coachman lifted Alejandro's prisoner onto one of the horses.

The other two bandits were dead: one from Alejandro's bullet, one from Eduardo's. Alejandro knew that Zorro, and probably Diego, would regret such a senseless waste of life, but Alejandro, who had spent his youth as a soldier, could feel no guilt in defending his life against such men.

But he sent up a prayer for the salvation of their souls and the strength to find forgiveness.

"Come, we should get back to town."

The coach was destroyed to the point where it could no longer be ridden in, so Alejandro was forced to take one of the bandit's horses. The death of the two men and the lowering of the excitement of the battle left him with a stronger tide of anger than even the one he'd been fighting since Santa Paula.

If the bandits felt safe to attack even men with armed escorts, Los Angeles was in more danger than he'd thought.

They arrived in Los Angeles close to noon. Normally at this time of day the square was bustling with people, but only a few roamed about, and they went quickly, almost fearfully.

"Ah, Don Alejandro! So good of you to return. And I see you come bearing gifts."

De Soto.

"There had better be an explanation for all of this," Alejandro said, turning his horse about to face the alcalde.

"Of course," De Soto said, with a grin that was all too pleasant. "Perhaps you would like to come in, wash down the heat of the road? My men will take care of this unfortunate bit of trash that you have brought along."

Alejandro didn't like the sound of that, but he needed information and now.

De Soto's office was a welcome cool after the heat of the square, and the lemonade he offered did much to clear the dust from his throat.

"I was assaulted by three men on the road from Santa Paula," he said. "Three men in broad daylight attacked a coach with two armed men escorting it."

"Yes," De Soto said, his face a study in sympathy. "I am afraid we have been experiencing some troubles since you left."

Alejandro could not believe this, even from De Soto. "Trouble! You have abandoned the people of this town to murderers and thieves and you call that trouble?"

De Soto raised an eyebrow. "Abandon is such a strong word. I was only giving the people what they wished."

"Oh yes, the people of Los Angeles have been crying for years to be ruled by outlaws."

De Soto grinned. "Exactly!"

"Do you have some mental defect of which I was not previously aware?" Alejandro shook his head. "Or maybe I have gone mad, instead. It would explain much."

"So droll, as usual, Don Alejandro," De Soto said. The grin hadn't left his face. Alejandro was beginning to read ill things in it.

"Why, ever since I came, the people have protested any attempt on my part to enforce the laws as I see them. They are always turning to Zorro, who is, you must admit, a proclaimed outlaw by the King's justice. I am a reasonable man. If they so much preferred Zorro's law to my own, well, I could no longer stand in their way."

Alejandro took an involuntary step back and gripped a chair back for support. Oh, it was a good plan. Very good. Probably good enough to save De Soto from any censure whatsoever from his superiors. De Soto was not popular with the men in higher magistracies, but no King's man could have too much sympathy for a people who championed an outlaw vigilante over their own representative from the King. He'd always known this alcalde was more dangerous than the last. Ramone would never have thought of this.

"Congratulations," Alejandro said with a tight bow.

De Soto's grin fell into the familiar sneer. "My thanks."

"And so you plan on allowing this to continue? You do know that the leaders in the neighboring towns will not tolerate this forever, no matter how much they might sympathize with your Zorro problems."

"How considerate of you to think of that. It is true that I felt obliged to step in recently-for the people's sake, however unappreciative they might be. Zorro, I must admit, did surprisingly well for a time in keeping our little troubles in check, but one man is not an army and even heroes can fail."

Alejandro heard the reluctant admiration in the alcalde's tone but restrained his satisfaction. De Soto was looking far too pleased with himself.

"So Zorro is spoiling all of your careful plans? How unfortunate for you."

The smile returned. "Oh, no, Don Alejandro. I finally succumbed to the pleas of the people to protect them, and instituted martial law. In accordance, I ordered shot all outlaws entering the pueblo. It is perhaps unfortunate that the first such outlaw was Zorro himself, but the law is the law, as I am sure you will agree."

Alejandro took a step forward and had to grab hold of the chair again just to keep his hand from grabbing De Soto's throat. "What are you saying?"

"Zorro is dead, old man. There are going to be more than a few changes in this pueblo. I would think about gaining some respect for those changes if you don't want to end up back in a prison cell-more permanently this time."

He turned and called for Mendoza.

"Sergeant, Don Alejandro was just leaving for his hacienda. See that he has a proper escort, will you?"

Mendoza looked between the both of them, a little concerned, but nodded and went out.

De Soto smiled again and gestured for the door. "You had best be going to your hacienda. I am told a band of armed men caused you some minor losses a few days ago, nothing important, really. I'm sure a man like you would barely even feel such a loss. But I am keeping you and this is nothing your son doesn't know about."

His tone held a hundred innuendoes, and the chuckle afterward was a thousand times worse than the smile had been.

A tight fear had been growing in Alejandro's chest since Santa Paula, but he'd ignored it in favor of anger, so much more satisfying and useful an emotion. But now it surged again, and he couldn't entirely keep it from his face no matter what satisfaction De Soto might get from that.

He went out into the yard to find Mendoza and a troupe of soldiers lingering.

The emptiness of the plaza again struck him.

"How could you let this happen?" he said, twirling on Mendoza. Anger again, but he needed it.

Mendoza looked distraught. "Don Alejandro, I am so sorry . . . so very sorry."

His normally hearty voice had faded into a pale echo of itself. Upon closer inspection, Alejandro noted the dark circles under the Sergeant's eyes and the looser fit of his uniform, but it didn't negate his responsibility in this. De Soto may be alcalde, but Mendoza was the soldiers' leader, and it was his job to protect to citizens of Los Angeles.

"I do not want to hear it," Alejandro said, mounting up. He'd been hearing all to many excuses these past seven years. Diego, Mendoza, it was all the same. And now look where they were.

"But, Don Alejandro . . ."

"I said I do not wish to hear it."

Alejandro pushed his horse forward and the Sergeant was forced to follow along. Alejandro pushed the horses faster than they ought to on such a hot day, but he needed to get home. The town was worse than he'd feared and the hacienda, away from the town's safety, could only be worse.

Mendoza tried to speak again, but Alejandro just ignored him and strode across the yard to the door.

"Leave my things. Someone will bring them. You may water the horses around back if you wish."

Diego would chide him for his rudeness. Good. He was in the mood for a fight.

The hacienda was dark and cool and at first glance nothing seemed out of place. Some of Alejandro's agitation faded, but not nearly enough.

"Diego! Diego!"

Footsteps came running, but it was only Maria.

"Diego! Where _is_ the boy?"

Maria opened her mouth, but he shook his head.

"No, don't answer that. I probably know all too well."

"But, Don Alejandro . . . "

Too many people had said that today. He ignored her and pressed further into the house and, hearing men outside, out into the stable grounds.

"Madre de Dios!"

Alejandro turned, frowning already at this slight blasphemy.
"Don Alejandro, forgive me, but it is very good to see you." Juan, his ranch manager, stood up from his seat in the shade of a tree and walked to greet him, accompanied by two of his men.

Any censure Alejandro may have had died on his lips, replaced by a curse of his own.

"What happened here?" Alejandro said, staring at Juan's arm hanging in its sling and the barely healed gash across his forehead. The ranch manager, a big and usually robust man, looked as if he'd aged ten-years in his absence.

The two vaqueros who'd followed looked, if anything, even more exhausted than their leader.

Someone careened into his side and wrapped two arms around him tight enough to crush the breath from him. It startled him momentarily from his contemplation of the men before him.

Felipe released him just enough to start signing almost more rapidly than Alejandro could decipher.

*I prayed and prayed you would come back, but I did not think it would happen. I tried to protect him, I tried, but he wouldn't listen. *

"Felipe," he said, grabbing the boy's shoulder to stop his tirade. "You are not making any sense."

Felipe swallowed, obviously trying to manage his emotions. He might have succeeded at it, if he hadn't been so clearly close to collapse himself. Alejandro frowned and looked toward the end of the hacienda where Diego was undoubtedly sleeping or reading or pursuing similar nonsense. Diego was ordinarily so protective of Felipe, and the two of them had seemed to share all the closeness Diego and Alejandro's relationship had recently lost. The thing above all others that Alejandro had admired in Diego had been what he'd done for Felipe, how he'd helped him overcome his handicap and encouraged him to not to let it hamper his goals. The situation here in the hacienda must be fairly serious for Diego to have allowed the boy to become so upset and yes, terrified. Yet another disappointment, if a quiet one.

"I think I must talk to Diego. There are some things I think he has to answer."

Felipe looked startled and stepped back. Surprise ruled his face for a moment, but switched with uncharacteristic swiftness into a rather formidable anger.

*This isn't Diego's fault. Why do you always have to do that to him? *

The fierceness of the boy's anger was surprising from someone ordinarily so easy.

Alejandro sighed. Of course the boy would come to Diego's defense. He nearly always did. "I know you are protective of Diego, Felipe, and I admire you for it, but he has certain responsibilities, even if he would like to pretend otherwise."

"Don Alejandro." Juan's voice was surprised and, if Alejandro were hearing correctly, more than a little angry though he hid it well.

Alejandro turned.

"Yes?" he said, trying to keep his voice civil, though he was not much used to being interrupted.

Juan stood a little straighter, almost at attention. "Don Diego has been missing now for three days."

He could not possibly have heard that right. "What do you mean missing?"

Diego had a horrible sense of direction. He was probably just lost. That had to be what Juan meant. Diego couldn't be _missing_.

Juan shook his head and twisted his face against a strong emotion. "I am sorry, Don Alejandro, you cannot know how much. Don Diego was with us on the daily inspection a few days ago when we were attacked on the trails. There were a lot of them, and they fought very hard. We were forced to retreat." Juan paused, swallowed. "After the fight . . . we, we only found Don Diego's horse. The men have been looking, but have found nothing in all of this time. The men who attacked us must have him. If he'd been . . . hurt, they would have left him."

Hurt. Hurt meaning dead. Diego, dead.

He'd been wrong earlier. He hadn't gone mad. Those men on the roads had killed him, only he was just now realizing it. For this was surely hell.

"That's not possible. You have to be wrong. Diego is much too polite to associate with bandits."

He was babbling, he knew it, but he could not stop. His mind could not wrap around such an idea.

_Almighty God, in my arrogance I have earned this lesson, but my son has not. Please, not my son. Not my Diego._

Juan was still talking. Why? What more could he possibly say than that Alejandro had a son three days ago, but now did not?

He stared at his manager, trying to force some sense out of the sounds that refused to stop.

"The men have been looking, every day, for signs of them, but the outlaws have not returned. De Carraco and Esperanza have received ransom notes, but we have heard nothing. I do not know what that means."

"Wait, wait, just stop." He took a few steps back until the back of his knees hit a bench and he collapsed. He let his head fall forward and forced deep breaths into his lungs.

Diego was not dead. To believe otherwise was a betrayal. Diego wouldn't do that to him, he wouldn't.

_You already have Elena, Lord. Do you have to take Diego, too?_

He felt Felipe sit beside him and wrap an arm around his shoulders. Wasn't that funny. The high and mighty Don Alejandro receiving comfort from a child. This was all too much. The attack on the road, the horrid state of the pueblo, De Soto's news of Zorro-wait, something De Soto had said . . .

He had a sudden flash of the alcalde, that smug grin, the horrible little chuckle.

_ . . . a band of armed men caused you some minor losses a few days ago, but nothing important . . . a man like you would barely even feel such a loss . . . nothing your son doesn't know about . . . _

He _knew_. That bastard had _known_ and had not said anything, had let Alejandro ride off in a blissful tide of righteous anger.

Yes, anger was effective. Use it.

He clenched his hands on his knees and looked up.

"Emanuel, I assume you know the details of the last few weeks?"

"Why, yes, of course, Don Alejandro."

Alejandro nodded. "Good, you can fill me in on the way. Juan, you must rest. I know we could badly use your help, but it is senseless to ignore wounds like that."

Juan looked as if he might protest, an amazing event in and of itself, but then nodded, his face clearing.

"Where are we going, Don Alejandro?" Emanuel asked, blinking.

"To town. I think I have some questions for our esteemed alcalde."