Cutter's Lady

by Candace Camp

  Tears welled in Leslie’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I never dreamed… when I think of how you risked your life for that—that liar! I hate myself for deciding to rescue Blake. If I’d kept out of it, you’d be home safe in Purcell.”

  “You don’t know Purcell very well if you think it’s safe. Hell, I could have dropped dead from food poisoning any minute.”

  A watery smile escaped Leslie. “Can’t you ever be serious?”

  “Apparently not. It’s one of the things you dislike most about me, remember?”

  “I don’t dislike anything about you,” Leslie answered honestly.

  Cutter raised his eyebrows. “You could have fooled me.” He sat down on the floor and leaned back against the wall.

  Leslie looked at him. She felt even more miserable than she did afraid. What an idiot she’d been! Turning away from Cutter like that, denying them what they both wanted, just because she was too big a coward to face the consequences. And now here they were, about to die, no time left for anything—and she had thrown away the happiness they could have had in the last few days of their lives. She was filled with bitter regret.

  She shook her head sadly. “It’s true. I don’t dislike you. I guess I never did. You just scared me because I knew I would be so vulnerable with you.”

  She could see it all now. It had been easy to be in love with Michael. She’d been married and wanted out and Michael hadn’t returned her feelings. She’d let herself believe that she didn’t know that Michael didn’t love her until after her divorce, but perhaps she’d known it all along. Maybe that was why she’d let herself fall for him. Nothing could ever really happen with Michael and, therefore, he was no threat to her. Leslie had never risked anything being with Blake either. But everything about Cutter was a risk. Not the least of which was the very depth of her feeling for him.

  He frowned. “Vulnerable? What do you mean?”

  She looked straight at him, her wide, dark eyes filled with sadness and love. It was too late now, but she wanted him to know. She had to let him know what he had meant to her, how much she cared. “I love you.”

  For a long moment he simply looked at her, and Leslie’s stomach began to knot.

  Finally he spoke, his voice soft, “You what?” A dangerous gleam started in his eyes. “You love me?”

  Leslie nodded mutely. Slowly Cutter rose and started toward her, each step slow and measured and somehow menacing. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve tortured me for the past five days—and all that time you were in love with me?”

  “Tortured you!” Leslie repeated, flabbergasted.

  “Yes, tortured me! What do you think I am, the Great Iron Man? No feelings? No desires? Being with you was the best thing that ever happened to me. We were in a terrible situation, yet it was the best time in my life. Every minute with you was… beautiful. I love you. And then you cut it off, just like that. ‘It was just a physical thing,’” he mimicked savagely. “Nothing special. You expected me to turn it off, forget about what we had. You insisted that I be around you all day, see you, smell you, hear you but not even touch you. Never expect to have anything with you again. That isn’t torture?”

  Leslie felt as if she’d had the wind knocked out of her. She tried to collect her stunned thoughts. “You love me?”

  “Yes, I love you!” he roared. “You have to know that!”

  “I didn’t! How could I? You never said—”

  “What the hell did you think that was on the trip back to the mission?”

  “I thought it was just physical. I thought it was just sex to you, that I was simply one more woman in a long string of them.”

  “Where did you get such an insane idea? My God, Leslie, there are times when I’d like to strangle you!”

  Leslie couldn’t suppress her smile. “Now, how could I doubt that you loved me?”

  Cutter made a growling noise deep in his throat and reached out to haul her to her feet. He pulled her hard against him and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her so tightly she could hardly breathe. He rained kisses over her soft, dark hair. “You are the damnedest, most exasperating woman I’ve ever met.” He nuzzled her ear. “And I love you. I love you so much.” He tilted up her face and kissed her deeply, leaving them both flushed and breathless. “I’ll get us out of here somehow. I promise.”

  “I love you.” Leslie gazed up at him, her eyes luminous and filled with adoration. “I’ve been such an idiot.”

  “Don’t talk about it.” He effectively silenced her with a kiss. He sank down onto the bed, pulling her with him, and the old mattress sagged beneath their weight.

  Cutter’s head came up and he released her. He swung off the bed and knelt on the floor, peering under the bed frame.

  Leslie watched him wonderingly. “What are you doing?”

  Cutter made a triumphant noise. “We’re in luck. This bed has ropes instead of bedsprings.”

  “What?”

  “Hop up.” Leslie got off the bed, and Cutter dumped the mattress on the floor. Leslie gazed down at the bed frame.

  Crisscrossing the two sides of the frame and supporting the mattress above it was a network of thick hemp ropes.

  “What about it?” Leslie asked.

  “Help me unfasten the knots. This is the closest thing we have to a weapon.”

  “A weapon?” Leslie couldn’t imagine it was much of one, but she did as he said.

  They worked at the knots all morning and most of the afternoon. The knots were old and stubborn. Leslie broke three fingernails and rubbed her fingertips raw, but at last they had disconnected two medium-length ropes.

  “What are you going to do with those?”

  For an answer, Cutter wrapped the ends several times around his hands and pulled the rope taut between. Leslie swallowed. “Oh.” It seemed a very primitive weapon. She hoped she wouldn’t have to see him use it.

  They sat down to wait. It began to grow dark outside. “What do you suppose he’s doing? What’s taking so long?” Leslie asked finally.

  “I suspect he’s arranging an ‘accident’ for us. He probably acted on the spur of the moment this morning when he followed Blake, then decided to stick us away here while he figured out what to do.”

  Leslie started to speak again, but Cutter stiffened and held up his hand. He moved silently to the door and leaned his head against it. “Somebody’s coming,” he hissed. “Get over against that wall.” He wrapped the rope around his hands and positioned himself behind the door. Leslie went to the far wall. Her hands were icy. She wanted to close her eyes, but she made herself keep them open. Cutter might need her help.

  A key scraped in the door, and the bolt clicked. Slowly the door opened. “Leslie?” a voice whispered.

  Leslie sagged with relief. It was Blake.

  “Leslie? Where are you?” Blake peered into the dim room, not anxious to step inside. “Come on out. It’s me.” When Leslie didn’t answer, he went on rapidly, “Please, Leslie. Come on! I have to get you out before he comes back. He and Moreno have gone to hire some more men.”

  Leslie looked at Cutter. She could barely see his shrug through the darkness. She supposed he was letting her be the judge of Blake’s sincerity. But what did she know about Blake? She’d had ample proof this morning that she hadn’t really known him at all. She hesitated for a moment, then walked out into the hallway.

  Cutter followed her. Blake glanced down at the rope between Cutter’s hands and blanched. He looked away quickly. “Uh, LeFevre’s taken the Mercedes. I’m afraid we’ll have to walk.”

  Cutter tossed him a contemptuous look. “Where’s my gun?”

  “In LeFevre’s study, I think. I put it on his desk.”

  “Let’s get it.”

  Blake reluctantly led them down the hall to the study.

  Cutter picked up the pistol and handed it to Leslie. “Here. Don’t hand it over to the ex.” He crossed the room to a large, antique gun case and tugged at the handle. It refused to open. Cutter g
rabbed a paperweight from the desk and smashed the glass, then pulled out a shotgun. “Where does he keep the ammunition?”

  Blake shrugged. “I—I don’t know. I’ve never noticed. What are you planning to do?”

  “I’m not running out of here like a jackrabbit, for one thing.”

  “Why not?” Blake protested, his voice rising. “We have to leave. Leslie…”

  Leslie silenced him with a look. “Cutter knows what he’s doing.”

  “Thank you.” Cutter sent her a small, private smile. Even in her fear, it warmed her down to her toes. He turned back to Blake, all business. “Look, Westfield, you’re going to have to make up your mind whose side you’re on. You can’t straddle the fence, or certain portions of your anatomy could get badly injured.”

  “Why do you have to confront him?”

  “Because I don’t want to leave that guy loose to chase me all the way to the airport. I don’t like waiting for a knife in the back or a shot from a car. So I’ll deal with LeFevre right here. We have the advantage of surprise. Now, where will he come from?”

  “Up the road, as we did this morning.”

  “Where does he park?”

  “The carport. Then he’ll come in the front door, I guess. It’s the closest.”

  “Okay. Is there anyone else in the house?”

  Blake shook his head. “The servants have gone home. Moreno—that’s LeFevre’s goon—went with him.”

  “Good. Where’s a flashlight?”

  “I don’t know.” Blake looked dazed.

  Cutter searched the study but found no flashlight. He went to the kitchen and finally discovered one in a pantry cabinet. He motioned for Leslie and Blake to follow him and moved cautiously out the front door. They walked to the carport, Cutter constantly looking around, studying the area. He led them behind the carport to a spreading jacaranda bush, heavy with purple flowers.

  “We’ll wait here.” He fixed Leslie with a firm look. “If anything goes wrong, you take off.” He pointed into the dense undergrowth. “And don’t hesitate to use that gun. Understand?” He turned to Blake. “You make sure she gets away. You owe her at least that much.”

  “You mean, if LeFevre shoots you, I’m supposed to run off and leave you here?” Leslie asked, crossing her arms and studying Cutter with disfavor. “No way.”

  “Leslie…”

  “I won’t leave you.”

  His face was filled with a blend of frustration and love. “Why is it that I never win an argument with you?”

  “Because you’re always trying to make me do stupid things.”

  Cutter couldn’t help but smile, and he leaned over and kissed her briefly. “Okay. Then I guess I better make sure nothing goes wrong.”

  “That’s right.”

  They sat down behind the concealing shrub and waited. Cutter held the shotgun across his lap, utterly still except for his eyes, which flickered over the area every few minutes, often resting on Blake. Blake shifted nervously under Cutter’s cool appraisal. Leslie waited, her mouth dry and her stomach in knots. She was scared and not at all eager to face LeFevre again, but she had complete faith in Cutter. He would get them out.

  There was a putter of an engine in the distance. “Thank God he has a diesel,” Cutter remarked, coming up lithely to a crouch.

  Leslie and Blake followed his lead, rising from where they sat to hide behind the jacaranda shrub. The nose of the Mercedes appeared beyond the bushes, and the car turned into the carport. Leslie’s heart hammered so loudly she was afraid everyone could hear it. She watched as LeFevre and three men stepped out of the car. Icy fear rushed through her. Cutter against four men? It was awful odds. She had a sudden vision of Cutter lying on the ground bleeding before her. Her hand trembled on the pistol.

  The three men joined LeFevre on the other side of the car, deferentially following behind him as he started for the house. Cutter slipped out from behind the bush, moving so quietly that if she hadn’t seen him, Leslie wouldn’t have known he was gone. He darted in swift, deadly silence to the rear of the car and stopped, using the car as a shield. The shotgun was up at his shoulder. His voice cracked through the somnolent night. “Alto!”

  The men stopped, stunned. “I have one of your guns on you, LeFevre,” Cutter went on. “Turn around slowly, hands in the air.” He repeated his command in Spanish. The four men obeyed, slowly pivoting to face him. “By the way, Leslie’s over there with a gun, too.” His head nodded slightly in a direction that was nowhere near Leslie’s hiding place. “She’s pretty, but she’s also a good shot and as ruthless a woman as I’ve ever met.”

  LeFevre glared at Cutter, his face stony and cold. “Westfield,” he said bitterly, followed by a spate of angry Spanish.

  “Yeah, I don’t like the guy, either,” Cutter agreed. “Now, take off your jackets and throw them on the ground.” They obeyed him. “Next, all your weapons, very slowly.”

  “Well, that was anticlimactic,” Leslie muttered to Blake, who had dropped into a crouch behind her legs—much like a child scared to leave their mother on the first day of kindergarten.

  As soon as the men divested themselves of their weapons, Cutter went on, “Now take off your belts and lie face down on the ground. LeFevre, pick up the belts and tie their hands together.”

  LeFevre knelt and fastened the first belt around his employee’s hands, then started to rise, putting his right hand down to push up from the ground. Cutter could not see that side of LeFevre’s ankle, but Leslie saw the man’s hand sneak into the top of his boot.

  LeFevre whipped a small gun out of his ankle holster as he stood up and turned. Leslie raised her pistol and fired, hitting LeFevre in his gun arm before he could aim at Cutter.

  “Leslie! You shot him!” Blake squeaked, crouching even lower so that he was practically crawling behind Leslie as she came forward from her hiding spot.

  “Shut up, Blake.” Leslie kept her gun trained on LeFevre, who had dropped his gun and now clutched his arm with his other hand, rattling off a string of words in Spanish that even Leslie could tell were ninety percent curses.

  “Wow.” Cutter looked at Leslie in amazement. “I guess I was being more truthful than I realized.”

  Leslie shrugged. “I don’t know guns, but I can aim. That fancy girl’s school I went to had archery. And I always excel in all my classes.”

  “Thank God for the hobbies of the idle rich.” Cutter laughed. “Come here and hold the shotgun on them.”

  Leslie went to him, skirting the men carefully, and exchanged guns with Cutter. Cutter tucked his handgun in the small of his back and went forward to tie up the men. He started with LeFevre, ignoring the other man’s shout of pain when Cutter yanked his arms behind his back with greater force than was probably necessary.

  After checking the bonds on the man whom LeFevre had tied up, Cutter went to next man. “Ah, you must be Moreno. I believe we met last night.” Cutter gave an extra tug on the belt, pulling it tight, before going to work on the remaining man, who was a small distance from the other three.

  Moreno saw his opportunity, and he jumped up and took to his heels, hands still tied behind his back. Leslie raised her shotgun in his direction, but she hesitated to pull the trigger. He was running in a zig-zag pattern, and she had never shot a moving target. There was no way she could aim to hit his arm or knee, and she was afraid she might kill the guy accidentally. Luckily, Cutter was on him in a flash and caught him with a flying tackle. The two men rolled on the ground, then Cutter came up on top and crashed his fist into Moreno’s jaw, and the man went limp.

  “That’s for last night,” Cutter said with a grim smile and walked back to Leslie.

  “Do you also play football?” Leslie smiled.

  “I do live in Texas. It’s sort of a prerequisite.” Cutter winked. He finished belting up the last thug and checked the bonds of the other two. Then he called Blake over, and they wrestled the four men into the back seat of the car.

  Cutter turned
to Leslie. “Okay, darlin’, let’s go.”

  ***

  Leslie stood on the terrace of her hotel room and watched the sunrise tinge the ocean with gold and orange. In the pale light of dawn the beach and buildings were beginning to take shape. Leslie clenched her hands together. Where was Cutter?

  It had been hours since he had had her drive LeFevre’s car to the Costa Linda police station, then had put her in a taxi despite her protest and sent her back to the hotel. Leslie hadn’t been able to go to bed. She had stayed up all night, waiting for his return, but he hadn’t come. Now here it was dawn, and her stomach was in knots with anxiety.

  Leslie frowned, chewing on her lower lip. She wondered what she ought to do first. Call the police? Go back to the station? Or had Blake and Cutter gone back to the villa? What if Blake had somehow hurt Cutter? It seemed ridiculous, but anything was possible if Blake was scared enough.

  “I hope you aren’t thinking about me, ‘cause you look ready to kill.”

  “Cutter!” Leslie swung around, her face lighting with love and relief. Cutter stood inside the hotel room, only a few feet from her. She ran the short distance separating them and flung herself into his arms. “I’m so happy to see you! I was beginning to get worried.”

  Cutter returned her hug, grinning, and lifted her onto her tiptoes to kiss her. His kiss was hot and demanding, and Leslie returned it with equal fervor. Finally he let her feet slide back down to the floor. “Last night was way too long. I kept thinking about you asleep at the hotel.”

  “I wasn’t asleep. I was thinking of you. What happened last night?”

  “Nothing dramatic. I told the cops that LeFevre and his men had kidnapped us and were about to kill us. They weren’t too impressed. They kept Blake and me at the station the whole night for questioning. I think they asked us more questions than they did LeFevre. They put him in jail, but I’m not sure he’ll stay there long. The police captain had bribery written all over his face. That’s why we’re flying out of the Costa Linda airport this morning.”

  “This morning! But what about all our stuff back at the hotel in La Luz? What about Blake and the plans?”