Cutter's Lady

by Candace Camp

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. There was someone in my room. A thief, I guess. But he didn’t hurt me. He grabbed me and then he ran when Cutter knocked on the door.”

  The woman shook her head in disgust. “There’s no place in this country that’s safe. This is the last time we’re coming here for a vacation. Another lady on the tour got her purse snatched yesterday.”

  Leslie rose shakily to her feet and leaned against the doorjamb, looking down the hall in the direction in which Cutter had run. Why was he gone so long? Surely he hadn’t been able to catch up with the man. A new fear gnawed at her. What if the man had stopped and turned on Cutter? What if he had hidden and jumped out at him with a knife or a gun?

  “Can I help you?” the American went on.

  Leslie shook her head. “No. No, thank you. I’m fine really. I’m just worried about my friend.”

  “The man who was yelling?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He probably saved your life. But I sure wouldn’t run after a thief like he did. You never know what somebody like that might do.”

  Leslie gritted her teeth. That was just what she needed to hear. With the excitement over, the doors all along the hall were beginning to close. Even the American woman went back inside her room. Leslie waited for an eternity before finally the elevator opened and Cutter stepped out.

  His face glistened with sweat, and his chest rose and fell with deep, rapid breaths. His mouth was set in grim lines. He strode toward Leslie. “I couldn’t catch him,” he said in a low, furious voice. “I saw him at a distance in the parking lot, but he got in a car and drove off. I wasn’t even close enough to get the license-plate number.” He reached out and gripped her upper arms, staring down into her face. “Are you all right?”

  Leslie nodded. She wished he would take her in his arms. She would have liked to burrow against his chest, seeking his warmth and strength. But he didn’t hold her; he simply dug his fingers into her arms while his eyes bored into hers. He looked so hard and coldly furious that it made Leslie shiver, even though she knew she wasn’t the object of his anger.

  “Damn!” he swore softly, “I wanted to get that guy. I’d like to—” He broke off abruptly. “Come on, let’s go inside.” He propelled her into her room and switched on the light. Leslie sat down on the edge of the bed and watched him as he made a thorough search of the room for bugs and cameras, then looked into the closet and bathroom and even under the beds. He turned back to Leslie. “Okay. We’re clean. Tell me what happened.”

  “Not much, really. I came into the room, and somebody slammed the door and grabbed me. He put his hand over my mouth. I couldn’t see him; he was behind me. He wore a very strong cologne.”

  “What did he do? Did he hurt you? Say anything?”

  “He didn’t do anything to me until I kicked him.”

  A grin tugged at Cutter’s mouth. “I should have known.”

  Leslie rolled her eyes at his remark, but in truth, his words warmed her. How desperate was that, that even his jabs pleased her? “But he did say something.”

  “What?”

  “Basically, ‘Forget Blake Westfield.’ Stop looking into his disappearance.”

  Cutter watched her silently for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’d fly back to the States tomorrow,” he said in a resigned voice.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. Of course not! I wouldn’t quit now for anything. That guy was trying to scare us off, which means we must be on to something. We can’t abandon it now.”

  “I didn’t say we. I’ll stay on and keep looking. I’m talking about you.”

  “No.” She gave a decisive shake of her head.

  Cutter sighed. “What the hell is the matter with you? Don’t you understand the kind of danger you’re in?”

  “You’re in danger, too,” she pointed out.

  “And you’re going to protect me?”

  “Sometimes an extra pair of hands is helpful.” It was a stupid idea, of course; she couldn’t do anything for Cutter he couldn’t do much better himself. But she wasn’t being realistic. She was being emotional. She wanted to protect him. She also couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him even a day or two early. Despite the tension between them, Leslie wanted to be with him every moment she had left.

  “Leslie…” Cutter began exasperatedly, then broke off. “Oh, hell! I know better than to think I’ll make you listen to reason. But I’m sleeping here tonight.”

  Leslie’s eyes widened, but she also couldn’t suppress a thrill of excitement. Cutter growled and jabbed his finger toward the room’s second bed. “There! In the other bed. Don’t worry; I’m not going to try to take advantage of you. But there’s no way I can protect you sleeping in the room next door.”

  “Surely he won’t try anything again tonight,” Leslie demurred. She didn’t know if she could stand Cutter’s sleeping so close to her all night without being able to touch him or kiss him.

  “You want to take that chance?”

  There was a pause and Leslie glanced at Cutter uncertainly. His face might have been carved in granite, it gave so little away. She wondered what he felt. Finally she sighed and replied, “No. All right. You’ll sleep in this room.”

  “Thank you so much,” he responded sarcastically.

  They stood for a few moments, looking at each other awkwardly. Finally Leslie said in a low voice, “Well. I guess I’ll get ready for bed.”

  She walked stiffly into the bathroom. There wasn’t much to do aside from wash her face with the hotel soap. All her cosmetics and creams were still in her room at El Palacio in La Luz, as were her nightgowns and robe. She sucked in her breath. What would she sleep in? She couldn’t just boldly undress in front of Cutter and get into bed, not with the anger and distance between them. She returned to the room fully clothed. Cutter was checking the locks on the terrace door. When she came in he glanced at her briefly and finished what he was doing. Leslie perched on the edge of the bed, her whole body rigid. Cutter went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and she jumped to her feet and skinned out of her clothes. By the time he returned to the room, she was safely ensconced in the bed, the sheets pulled up to her chin.

  She rolled over on her side to avoid watching him undress, but there was no way she could fail to hear the sounds—the pop of the button at his waist, the scrape of the zipper, the rustle of his jeans falling to the floor. Leslie squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the warmth budding between her legs. She heard the cover and sheets being turned back and the creak of the bed as he got in. Stiffly, she refused to turn and look. The bedside lamp snapped off.

  It seemed forever before she went to sleep.

  ***

  A persistent knocking on the door awakened Leslie the next morning. She opened her eyes to see Cutter standing beside his bed, pulling on his jeans. He reached over, pulled his gun from the nightstand and tucked it into the back of his jeans. Leslie swallowed nervously and sat up, holding the sheet close.

  “Stay put,” Cutter ordered in a low voice, and walked toward the door. Leslie slipped out of bed, quickly threw on her own clothes and followed him to the end of her bed, where she could see who was outside. The knocking continued impatiently.

  Cutter opened the door, his right hand resting on his waist, within easy reach of the automatic pistol. A well-dressed man stood on the other side, and he and Cutter gazed at each other blankly for a moment. Then the man’s eyes moved past Cutter to the room beyond.

  “Hello, Leslie.”

  Leslie stared. Her knees were suddenly liquid, and her stomach dropped to the floor. “Blake.”

  Chapter 14

  “Blake?” Cutter repeated, his head turning first to Leslie, then to the man in the doorway.

  Leslie made it to a chair before her legs gave way, and she sat down with a thud. She stared at her ex-husband, so many questions tumbling in her brain that she could get out nothing coherent. Cutter’s mouth tightened and he yan
ked Blake into the room, shutting the door after him.

  “You’re Blake Westfield?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “The one we’ve been chasing all over San Cristóbal?”

  The man nodded. “The same, I’m afraid.”

  “We thought the government had taken you.” Cutter frowned as if he was disappointed they hadn’t. “Thought this was now mainly a body recovery mission.”

  “Consider my body recovered.” Blake shrugged.

  “You’re a lot less corpse-like than I was expecting.” Cutter’s tone was suspicious.

  “Luckily for me, I suppose.” He laughed nervously.

  “Blake, what happened to you?” Leslie finally found her voice, and the questions began falling out. “Where have you been? Who kidnapped you? How did you get away?”

  Blake sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, adjusting his glasses’ frame. “I don’t know where to start. I never dreamed you’d stir up such a fuss. That you’d come down here searching for me!”

  “You weren’t really kidnapped, were you?” Cutter speculated in a cold, hard voice.

  “What?” Leslie stared at the two men, her jaw dropping. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that this suit here faked his own abduction. Isn’t that right, Westfield?”

  “Yes.” Blake sighed. “I never intended to harm you, Leslie. I really didn’t. But after you turned me down, I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Leslie got to her feet, arms stiff at her sides. “You pretended you were kidnapped? None of that was real?” Blake shook his head, and Leslie’s eyes flashed. “What the hell, Blake! I’ve blamed the guerrillas, the government… everyone! I’ve been a complete pain at the state department and the embassy here. The whole government of San Cristóbal probably knows my name, I’ve called so many times. And the whole time you were safe. Do you realize that Cutter and I were in the jungle trying to save you during the middle of a military attack? And that’s not the worst. Your mother and sister have been absolutely sick with worry over you! Didn’t you care how you were hurting them?”

  “I didn’t think about them. I just thought that it would be a good way to disappear from everyone’s lives. When you came to San Cristóbal, I tried to get you to leave. I warned you.”

  “What?” Leslie looked confused, but Cutter’s eyes blazed.

  “The men who followed us from La Luz… they weren’t government, they were yours. Right?” Cutter barked.

  Blake nodded.

  “And the guy last night? The one who nearly choked Leslie. He was yours, too.” Cutter advanced menacingly. “You piece of—”

  Leslie cut in between them. “Cutter. No violence. Please.”

  He looked at her, his face set and dangerous. He nodded briefly. “No violence. Yet.”

  Blake paled. “Leslie, I didn’t mean for Moreno to hurt you. You wouldn’t leave. No matter what happened, you kept looking for me. I was getting desperate. I had to make you leave. The only thing I could think of was to scare you enough that you’d go back home. When Moreno told me what happened last night, I realized the only thing I could do was see you and tell you the truth.”

  “What is the truth?” Leslie demanded. “Why did you pull a disappearing act? Why did you want to make us all believe you were dead?”

  “Money,” he replied simply. “After you divorced me, I realized how much I enjoyed having a lot of money. I didn’t like living on an executive’s salary. It wasn’t enough.”

  “Is that why you asked me to take you back? Because you wanted my money?”

  Cutter rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him. “You picked a real winner for a husband.”

  “It’s not that I wasn’t fond of you,” Blake assured her.

  “As if I care about that right now!” Leslie erupted. “After I turned you down, what did you do to get money?”

  Blake hesitated, and his eyes shifted away from her. “I took some…plans from the company.”

  “So you were working as a corporate spy? You stole secrets from my father’s company?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’d met a man in Hong Kong who wanted them. He offered me a couple million. I could live very well in some parts of the world on that amount.”

  “That’s why you came to San Cristóbal? To sell him the secrets?”

  “Yes. I took the job here as a cover. I sold him the secrets and arranged for my kidnapping. I figured if everyone thought I was dead, I couldn’t get caught. The company might not discover for a long time that the secrets had been sold. If I was dead, I hoped they wouldn’t humiliate my family by exposing me.”

  “Jesus, Blake.” Leslie turned away. She felt sick and betrayed.

  “Why are you still here?” Cutter asked. “Why haven’t you skipped out? Surely you don’t plan to live in San Cristóbal.”

  “No.” Blake shuddered theatrically. “God, no. One week of this place was enough for me. I’m waiting for my new papers. LeFevre—that’s the man I dealt with—is arranging for a new passport for me. I couldn’t very well leave the country under my own name.”

  “That might be a trifle awkward,” Cutter turned to Leslie. “Well, darlin’, what do you want to do?”

  Leslie looked at him blankly. “What? Oh.” She sighed. “I hate to hurt his family anymore.” She shot a fierce gaze at Blake. “But I can’t let you get away with stealing from my dad’s company.”

  Blake came to his feet. “Leslie, I don’t think you understand. I didn’t come here to turn myself in. I’m not giving up the secrets or the money or returning to the U.S. to be tried. I’m here only because I was concerned about you. You’re in danger. You have to go home. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, but I’m not the only one involved. LeFevre doesn’t like you two nosing around. He doesn’t want our deal exposed any more than I do; it’s his livelihood. He worked very hard and what he has is extremely valuable. He won’t give it up. And he’s not like me. He doesn’t care who he hurts. You have to leave San Cristóbal before he comes after you. LeFevre is a very dangerous man.”

  “He’s right about that, you know,” A strange voice came from the hall, and they all whirled. A tall, slender man stood just inside the door. In one hand he held a gun, its barrel pointed at Leslie.

  Leslie gasped, and Blake paled. Cutter’s hand moved instinctively toward the back of his waistband. “I wouldn’t if I were you, Mr. Cutter. I’d have Miss Harper right between the eyes before you could get out your pistol.”

  Cutter’s hand moved slowly back down to his side. The stranger walked into the room and closed the door behind him. “Sorry to barge in on you. You were so busy talking I’m afraid you didn’t hear me come in.”

  “LeFevre,” Blake said weakly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Obviously. But when you left this morning, I had a pretty good idea where you were going. I decided to join the party. There are times, Blake, when you talk too much for your own good. And certainly for mine.”

  “What do you want?” Leslie asked. Cutter said nothing, simply watched him. He knew all too well what LeFevre wanted.

  “We’re going to take a ride to my villa in the country. Beautiful place, though poor Mr. Westfield is getting a bit tired of it. Come here, Miss Harper.” He made a beckoning gesture with his free hand. Leslie moved toward him reluctantly, and he reached out and jerked her up close to him. Leslie could feel the cold metal circle of the gun barrel in her side. She looked at the other two. Cutter’s face was expressionless; Blake looked scared to death.

  “Now, you gentlemen walk out the door in front of us. Don’t try anything heroic, or Miss Harper will suffer for it. Oh, before we go, Mr. Cutter, please remove the gun from your waistband and give it to Mr. Westfield. Very slowly.”

  Cutter carefully removed the gun and handed it handle first to Blake. “Do you mind if I put on my shirt?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  Leslie shot Blake a glare as
he stepped forward to take Cutter’s gun. Cutter calmly slipped on his shirt and buttoned it, then pulled on his boots. LeFevre prodded Leslie with the gun, and she started forward.

  They walked out of the hotel by twos, Leslie and LeFevre behind the others. Sweat trickled down Leslie’s sides and back. She hoped someone would intervene, but no one seemed to notice that there was anything odd about their little group. They crossed the parking lot and got into a dark blue Mercedes. Leslie noted irrelevantly that it was the first luxury car she’d seen in the whole country.

  Blake drove to the villa, Cutter sitting beside him in the front seat. Leslie sat in the back seat with LeFevre pressed up against her, his gun in her side. It took thirty minutes to reach the villa. The house was a lovely white stucco with a red-tiled roof; it sat atop a small rise overlooking the beach and ocean. Palm trees grew around it, and vivid flowers decorated the fence and courtyard, their perfume so strong it was almost nauseating.

  LeFevre steered them down a long, cool hall. Their feet clattered on the glazed tiles. At the far end of the hall, he had Blake open a thick wooden door and motioned for Cutter to enter it. LeFevre shoved Leslie in after Cutter and quickly swung the door to. Cutter lunged for the door, but LeFevre had already shut it. There was no door handle on Cutter’s side. They heard the deadly click of a bolt sliding home, then the sound of steps retreating, muffled by the thick door.

  The room was small and dim, its only light a tiny window high in the wall, barred by black wrought iron. A meager bed and a washstand and bowl made up the furnishings. The room was as bleak as a prison. Leslie sank down onto the bed. She wanted to cry. She had not only gotten herself into this horrible situation—looking for her ex who was clearly not worth it—but she had dragged Cutter into danger too. He might die and it would be her fault.

  Cutter climbed up on the shaky washstand to test the bars of the window. They were firmly embedded in the wall. He made another survey of the room and turned back to Leslie. “Too bad I don’t have a knife or multi-tool hidden in my boot. Most self-respecting adventurers would.”