by Candace Camp
Shaved and no longer blurred by alcohol, his face was strong, even handsome, with sharp, clean lines and a determined set to his mouth and chin. His green eyes were as cold and clear as marbles against his tanned skin. Tiny lines radiated outward from their edges, and faint grooves lay at the corners of his mouth, giving his face a look of hard-won experience. He looked exactly the sort she needed for a job like this—cool, whipcord tough and knowing. Leslie just wished he didn’t also look so devastatingly handsome.
Where had that thought come from? The color in her cheeks rose even higher, and Leslie set her jaw in irritation. Why should it matter to her that his hands looked powerful and agile with a sprinkling of black hair across the backs that was intensely masculine. What did she care that his worn jeans clung to the long, muscled expanse of thigh and hugged his lean hips, or that the wide leather belt with its heavy silver buckle drew her eyes to… She swallowed and glanced away.
“Please sit down, Mr. Cutter.” Leslie’s voice was muffled and she exhibited a sudden interest in the green-specked Formica tabletop. She drew a breath, linked her hands together in her lap and forced herself to raise her eyes. This close, she could see that Cutter was pale beneath the tan and that his eyes were a trifle bloodshot. There was certain tightness around his forehead and eyes that hinted at pain behind them. So he did have something of a hangover, after all. It somehow restored her self-confidence.
Cutter tossed his hat down on the seat beside him. His hair was thick and glossy, a rich chestnut brown. It was a bit shaggy around the ears and collar, but that had its own appeal. Leslie forgot what she had been about to say.
“Did you make up your minds whether you want to hire me?” Cutter asked casually, flipping open the plastic-covered menu and perusing it. “The chili here’s pretty good, by the way. But I wouldn’t try a steak. Tough as jerky.”
“Mr. Cutter…” Leslie began, ignoring his digression.
“Just Cutter.”
“Cutter. Avery and I talked it over last night at some length. Despite the rather… unsavory appearance you presented, Avery was convinced of your merits regarding this particular job. Frankly, I was against you at the beginning, and I still have some doubts.”
“Oh, really?” He gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence.
Her finely cut nostrils tightened for an instant, but she responded calmly, “Yes, really. It’s hardly reassuring to entrust someone’s life to a man you found blind drunk in a cheap bar.”
“Oh, I wasn’t quite blind drunk. I saw you, all right.” He grinned and his eyes drifted pointedly down her body, lingering on her breasts.
Leslie’s eyes widened. She wasn’t used to such a blatantly sexual attitude. In her business dealings with men she usually wielded too much power for any of them to dare an offensive remark.
Socially she saw few men except well-known, trusted friends, most of them quite a bit older than herself, and there was never a hint of anything sexual with them. The two or three men she had dated since her divorce had been far too well-bred to make the kind of allusion Cutter just had. It startled her so that for a moment she simply stared at him. Then anger boiled up inside her, and she felt a primitive urge to throw something in his face.
“Look, Cutter,” she began, leaning forward a little, shooting her icy gaze straight into his eyes and speaking in a low, razor-sharp voice, “if it weren’t for Blake, I wouldn’t even consider making a deal with you. I suspect you’re an alcoholic and a crook, and I know for a fact that you’re a crude, offensive man. It’s also obvious that you’re a failure.”
Cutter’s pale eyes narrowed, and his hands clenched on the menu.
“Leslie, dear…” Avery interrupted, his voice heavy with warning.
Leslie shot Avery a single flashing glance and turned back to Cutter. “However, I haven’t much choice in this situation. I must get Blake out of San Cristóbal, and Avery assures me that you are the only man around qualified to do it. I’ll pay you twenty-five thousand dollars to find Blake and bring him back to the U.S.”
Cutter regarded her steadily. “Lady, I wouldn’t work for you for ten times that. It’s no surprise to me that your husband took a job in some godforsaken place like San Cristóbal. I’m surprised he didn’t go as far as Australia.”
“Now, hold on a second, Cutter!” Avery snapped. “I cannot allow you to insult Ms. Harper.”
Cutter’s head swung briefly toward Avery. “I have no issue with you, so why don’t you just stay out of it?” He turned back to Leslie. “You, however, are a rich, spoiled brat, and you think that money can buy you anything or anybody, no matter how you talk to them. Well, I’ve got news for you. You aren’t buying me.”
Leslie crossed her arms and regarded him stonily. “Thirty thousand.”
“Can’t you get the message, lady? No!”
Cutter grabbed his hat and swung out of the booth. He strode rapidly across the room, jamming his hat onto his head as he went. Leslie watched him go, her eyes shooting sparks. She was so blazingly furious she could hardly see. She was also filled with a determination that he wasn’t going to get away from her. Leslie stood up and called out, “Fifty thousand.”
Every head in the café had turned to watch Cutter’s rapid exit. Now they all swung around to look at Leslie, then turned expectantly back to Cutter. He stopped and slowly pivoted to face her. After a long, silent stare, he uttered a single expletive and slammed out of the door.
The faces turned to Leslie again. Her cheeks flamed, and she pressed her lips together. Stiffly she sat down in the booth again. “Damn!” She slammed her delicate fist down on the table. “Damn him!”
“Well, that’s that, I suppose,” Avery said in his usual imperturbable way, flipping open the menu and studying it. “What do you say? Shall we have the chili?”
Leslie glared at him. “No! We shall not have the chili! What’s the matter with you, Avery?”
He raised his eyebrows slightly, “I believe there is a saying about lemons and lemonade. And the chili does smell quite good.” He gave an exaggerated sniff as a waitress walked by carrying a bowl to a nearby table.
“Well, this is not over. Not by a long shot. That guy is going to San Cristóbal.”
Avery’s years of diplomatic service enabled him to curb the strong twitching that seized his lips, but even he couldn’t mask the amusement in his eyes. “Oh? But I thought you weren’t sure you wanted Cutter to work for you, anyway.”
“We discussed that last night. You’re the one who said he was all that was available.”
“Not exactly all,” Avery paused. “There are a couple of men in the country who worked at the embassy in San Cristóbal. Cutter’s just far and away our best chance of accomplishing the task with a satisfactory outcome. He’s the only one here in the States who knows the interior and is likely to come to an arrangement with the kidnappers.”
“I don’t want some guy who drove a car around La Luz for the ambassador,” Leslie returned. “If Cutter’s the only one who knows the interior, then he’s the one I have to have. Whether I like him or not.”
“But considering the opinion you have of him and what he apparently thinks of you, how do you expect to persuade him to work for you?”
Leslie gritted her teeth. “He’ll do it. I’ll make him.”
“You plan to put a gun to his head?”
“Money,” Leslie replied succinctly.
Now a thin smile touched Avery’s lips. “Mmm. Yes, I recall how eagerly he grabbed at it the last time you upped your offer.”
Leslie whipped around to face Avery, eyes blazing, fists clenched. She glared at Avery’s bland face for a moment, then sighed heavily and slumped in her seat, all the angry energy flowing out of her. She rested her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands. “I can’t believe I messed this all up. I know better than to tell someone you’re negotiating with what you really think of them. I’m losing control. Anything that idiot says sets me off.” She leaned back agains
t the seat. “My nerves must be raw from waiting and not knowing. And Cutter goes against my grain.”
Avery patted her hand soothingly. “I know. This whole situation has been hard on you. You can’t expect to handle something so personal with the aplomb you have when dealing with a problem at one of your hotels.”
Leslie gave him a small smile, but tears glittered in her eyes. “I have to get him out, Avery. What am I going to do? Cutter has to do it.”
He frowned in concern. “Do you still care for Blake?”
“No.” Leslie shook her head. “I don’t love him. I’m not sure I ever did. But I—I feel responsible. And I’m the only hope he has. I can’t leave him there, not if there’s any chance I can save him.”
“Would you like me to talk to Cutter?”
Leslie leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a wonderful friend, offering to go into the lion’s den for me. But, no. I’m the one who has to do it. The only way I can see to persuade him is to apologize, and it won’t convince him unless it comes from me.” She straightened her shoulders as if going into battle. “Okay. Let’s go. I’m ready to face the lion.”
“But, Leslie, we haven’t eaten,” he threw another glance at the chili on the neighboring table.
“Avery…”
“All right, all right, I’m coming.” He slid out of the booth after her. “But I’ll expect a gourmet dinner tonight in San Antonio in return.”
“You’ve got it.” Leslie smiled, her usual confidence returning to her face. “It’ll be a victory celebration.”
***
It didn’t take long to find Cutter. They drove to the motel behind Zymchek’s Bar and were told that Cutter could usually be found during the daytime at Jacky Harris’s old flying service. For once, Leslie was thankful this place was such a dive—at any reputable establishment it would have been next to impossible to get so much information, even with the hundred she’d given to the clerk.
The directions to the flying service were simple, and in less than ten minutes they turned onto a narrow dirt road that led to the airstrip and hangar. The metal hangar was old and rusted and had been patched in places, but the airstrip was smooth and coated with an obviously new layer of asphalt. The doors to the hangar stood wide open, and inside sat two airplanes, one small and the other a large, dilapidated two-engine propeller plane that looked like it had last seen service in World War II. Cutter squatted on the wing of the big plane, his hands in the engine.
He glanced up when they stepped inside the hangar, and his face registered surprise. It quickly changed to a scowl, and he resumed his work on the engine as if they weren’t there. Avery and Leslie exchanged glances. She strode forward. When she reached the wing, she stood looking up at him for a moment, feeling distinctly at a disadvantage.
“Could you please come down here? I’d like to talk to you.”
“I can hear you.”
“I don’t like to shout.”
He shrugged. “It won’t do you any good, whether you shout or whisper. Like I told you before, I’m not for sale.”
Cutter was calmer now, and it hurt like hell to say that. After his rage had cooled, all the way out to the hangar visions of what fifty thousand dollars could do for the flying service had been dancing uncontrollably in his head. He could imagine what Mary would say about his turning it down simply because Leslie Harper was difficult to deal with. As soon as Mary heard about it, she’d have a thousand things to do with the money. But there was no way he could work for Leslie Harper. She was a sharp-tongued, small-minded, spoiled brat.
Leslie wet her lips. Cutter wasn’t making it any easier for her, but she had to do it. She’d backed down before for the sake of completing a deal; surely she could do it now. But somehow it seemed so much worse with Cutter.
“I—I’m sorry if I was rude back there. I’m rather on edge these days. I’ve run into so many frustrations in getting Blake out of there. When you made that sexist remark, I blew up.” She had to admit she had been cruel, but Cutter had been crude and chauvinistic. Still, losing her cool that way wasn’t like her. Leslie drew a breath. “I apologize.”
Cutter’s head came up and he gazed down, amazed. Her apology was the last thing he’d expected when she walked in the hangar door. He gave a brief nod. “Accepted. I’m sorry I offended you.” The words came stiffly to his lips, as if he were no more accustomed to using them than Leslie.
“Then do you think you could come down so we could discuss the deal?”
He sat back on his heels and wiped his hands on a rag, then walked to the fuselage and scrambled down a ladder to the floor. Leslie relaxed. She realized that her legs were trembling. Shakily she looked around for something to sit on and found only a crate. She crossed to it and sat down, linking her hands together in her lap over her elegant purse. Avery sat down with her on the large crate and gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. Cutter joined them but remained standing and facing them.
He was intimidating, looming over them like that. Leslie was very aware of the way his jeans cupped his buttocks and clung to his thighs. She couldn’t remember ever meeting a man with such a masculine aura, such an air of power and danger. She wasn’t sure how to handle him; she’d already had to back down once. She wasn’t used to not being in control. It scared her. It also set up a funny flip-flop feeling in her stomach that was closer to excitement than to fear.
Cutter crossed his arms across his chest. “What is the deal?”
“What I told you in the café. Fifty thousand plus expenses to find Blake and negotiate his release. I want you to get him back any way you can.” She hesitated for a moment. “Will you take the job?”
“Yeah. I’ll take it.” He’d be insane to turn down that kind of money—and a great cover for his real purpose, as well. Still, there was a clutch of nerves in his chest that told him not to go. He had the feeling that he was going to be in for a lot more danger than he’d ever bargained for.
“Good,” Avery stuck in heartily when neither of the other two moved or said anything. “That’s fabulous.”
“I want half before I go,” Cutter continued, eyes locked on Leslie, not even glancing in Avery’s direction.
“All right. I’ll deposit half in an escrow account in your name.”
Cutter scowled. “I want half right here in my hand or I’m not getting on a plane to San Cristóbal.”
Leslie compressed her lips. She should have known he’d continue to be difficult. “All right. Half now and half when you bring Blake back.”
“I’m not guaranteeing I’ll bring him.”
“What do you mean? You can’t expect me to pay you if you don’t do the job.”
“He could be dead. Or they might not give him up for any price. Or I could tramp around for months and never find a trace of him.”
Leslie paled, and Avery put in, “Really, Cutter, can’t you see she’s worried enough as it is? Why scare her even more?”
“Because there’s no point in believing the impossible might happen. The odds are he’s dead or they’d have asked for a ransom by now. It won’t do any good to daydream that I’ll bring him home with me. And I’m sure as hell not signing up for a job where I don’t get paid if it’s something that just can’t be done.”
Leslie swallowed. She hated the thought of what Cutter had just said, but she was too honest not to admit that he was probably right. “I know. But I have to find out anyway. If you… bring back evidence that he’s dead or that the guerrillas won’t release him, if you made a good-faith effort, you’ll get the rest of the money.” She paused. Here was the bombshell. Neither of the men with her was going to like this. “There’s a condition.”
“What?” Cutter’s voice turned wary.
“I’m going with you.”
“What!” Cutter stared as if she’d suddenly turned into a rattlesnake, and Avery swung around, gaping.
They spoke simultaneously: “No.”
“Leslie, you can’t possibly
.”
“Yes, and I can.”
Cutter jabbed his forefinger at her. “Lady, there’s no way you’re going to San Cristóbal with me. That’s it.”
“If I don’t go, you won’t get paid.”
“What do you think you’re going to do? Slog through the jungle in your Dior suit?”
Leslie’s gaze was icy. “I’ll be in charge of my wardrobe, thank you.”
“You’re crazy.” He turned to Avery. “Tell her it’s crazy.”
“Leslie, my dear, you can’t go.” Avery reached for her hand.
Leslie jerked her hand away. “I can, and I will. I’m the one who’s running this, remember?”
“Yeah, and I’m the one who’s risking his neck,” Cutter retorted heatedly. “I don’t want some debutante with me, endangering my life. You’ll be a constant liability.” A constant irritation, too. Damn! He couldn’t take her along. She’d raise hell about his doing the other job, and she’d gripe and nag and question him all the time. “You don’t know what to do. I’d have to spend half my time trying to save your skin. It’s impossible.”
“It’s not impossible. You talk as if I’m a silly teenager who doesn’t know how to do anything. I’m a grown woman who’s lived on her own for many years. I’m quite competent.”
“In the city, maybe. We’re talking about the jungle. Do you know how to cook over an open fire?”
“No. Do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then there’s no problem. You can do the cooking.”
Cutter felt an almost overpowering urge to shake her. “It’s absurd. You don’t know anything! You can’t ride a donkey all day long, day after day. Or walk when the jungle’s too close around you to ride. You don’t have the kind of clothes you need. You can’t sleep on the ground in a tent or even in one of the shacks that pass for houses there. Hell, you couldn’t even drink the water!”
