by Candace Camp
“Leslie, he’s right,” Avery added. “I know you’re anxious to see Blake and make sure he’s all right, but he’ll be on a plane back as soon as Cutter finds him. It’s no place for you.”
Leslie expression turned icy. “You’re telling me Valerie Stanton lived there for years, and it’s too tough for me?”
“Who?” Cutter asked, frowning. “You mean Valeria Harlan? Ashe’s wife?” Leslie nodded. He made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “That’s an entirely different matter. It’d be okay if you were just going to La Luz. Valerie lived in the city and had servants to do everything for her. The hardest thing she had to do was shop. I’m talking about the jungle. It’s hot as hell even at this time of year. You’d ride over roads that would make that dirt road out there look like an interstate. When you run out of roads, you jounce your insides around on a donkey.
“You go up in the mountains where the air’s thin. It’s like walking in a steam bath. The trails get so narrow you have to hack your way through them with a machete. There are no beds, no toilets, no showers. It’s not just uncomfortable, either. It’s dangerous. Did you know that there are fifty-two different varieties of snakes in San Cristóbal? Bushmasters, boa constrictors, coral snakes, a whole host of various pit vipers. And mosquitoes—you know, the kind that give you malaria and dengue fever and zika. Jaguars. Cougars. Ocelots. Jaguarundi. Oh, and, just for fun, strawberry poison dart frogs.”
He paused, looking at Leslie, and Leslie stared back stonily. Cutter ground his teeth together. “Those are just the animals. There are a lot more dangerous humans around. Guerrillas, for instance. The army. San Cristóbal is in a constant state of warfare in the back country. There are three strong guerrilla groups, and they fight not only the government but each other. Any stranger is suspect, and they’ll kill to get weapons or food or mules. It’s a desperate place. Believe me, it’s not a country for a girl from Vassar.”
“I went to Harvard, not Vassar.”
Cutter groaned. “Harvard, Vassar, it doesn’t make any difference. You don’t fit in the jungle! You won’t survive. Not only that, you’ll reduce my chances of surviving.” He paused, then added what he hoped would be the clincher. “You’ll endanger the success of the mission.”
“I’m in good shape. I run three miles every morning. You won’t have to worry about my slowing you down or not being able to handle the walking. I’ve ridden since I was a child. I’m not the world’s greatest equestrian, but I imagine I can handle a donkey. And I don’t frighten easily.”
“I’m sure of that.”
“But there’s no reason for you to go,” Avery argued. “What if the rebels decide to take you, too? Then they could hold up your father and the U.S. government far more successfully.”
“He’s right. You’d be a temptation. You have wealth stamped all over you. You’d draw guerrillas and thieves like flies.”
“I’m not planning on wearing my jewelry in the jungle, and I do have other things in my wardrobe beside designer dresses. I can look quite ordinary.”
“I doubt that.”
Leslie glanced at Cutter sharply. His tone had been derogatory, yet there was also a grudging compliment there. “Look. I’ll dress like a peasant and follow two paces behind you, if that’s what it takes. I’m going with you.”
“Why? Why do you want to go?”
“For one thing, I’ll be of help. I can identify Blake. I can set up a letter of credit with a bank in La Luz for paying the ransom. It will save time and effort. You won’t have to notify me and then arrange for the money.”
“Okay. Then go with me to La Luz. You stay there while I get your husband.”
“I have to go with you in order to identify Blake.”
“Give me a picture.”
“The main reason I want to go, Mr. Cutter, is that I don’t trust you. If I’m with you, I’ll know whether you made an honest effort to find Blake. You won’t be able to sit in a bar in Costa Linda for three weeks and come back asking for your money, saying Blake was dead. And I’ll know that you aren’t taking the first half of the money and running. I’m going because I have to keep an eye on you.”
“Great. That’s just great.”
“It’s practical.”
“It’s unnecessary.”
“It’s the way it’s going to be.” Their eyes clashed, pale against dark, in a silent struggle of wills.
Cutter thought about tossing the offer back in her face. Let her find some other pawn she could order around. There was no way he was going to face both the interior and Leslie Harper at the same time. But then he thought about the money and the flying service and Mary. He thought about the excellent cover that the mission would afford for his secret business. He didn’t want to give that up.
For a moment he faced her, taut with indecision, then a new thought sprang into his head. Leslie Harper was a spoiled rich girl, used to the comforts of a mansion and servants. She might think she could endure the rigors of the interior, but when she actually faced them, she’d find out differently. Once she got a real taste of the jungle, she’d turn and hightail it back to Costa Linda for a cool mai tai and a beach chair.
Cutter smiled inside. Let her think she’d won. “Okay,” he said quietly, and Leslie’s eyes widened with astonishment. “I’ll agree to your condition. You can come with me.”
***
Leslie flew back to New York that afternoon to pack her clothes and get her affairs in order before she flew to San Cristóbal with Cutter the next evening. All the way home, she was forced to listen to a nonstop monologue from Avery on all the reasons she shouldn’t accompany Cutter. She listened patiently but refused to follow his advice. Finally Avery admitted defeat, turning up his hands in a gesture of disgusted helplessness. Leslie was glad when their taxi stopped in front of her elegant condominium tower on East Fifty-Fourth Street and she was able to escape his disapproving presence.
She gave Avery a quick peck on the cheek and thanked him for his help while the doorman collected her suitcase from the trunk of the taxi. She smiled at the lanky, white-haired doorman. “Hello, Frank. How’s your wife feeling these days?”
“A lot better, Miss Harper. The doctor says she’s making great progress.”
“That’s wonderful.” The doorman followed her through the elegant glass doors and across the marbled lobby to the elevator, carrying her case.
“I really appreciate you calling that doctor for us,” Frank continued. “He saved her life.”
“No problem! I knew if anyone could help her, it would be Dean. How is your eldest liking college life?”
“She loves it—worries me that she doesn’t call much—but she does text.”
“It’s more than my father got when I was her age.” Leslie waved goodbye to Frank as she got in the elevator. Once she got to her condo she closed the door behind her and leaned against it with a sigh. It was always good to be home, but especially now after having spent the past day in Purcell, Texas. She set down her bag and crossed the spacious living area to open the long curtains. Two entire walls made of tinted glass provided a wraparound view of the East River. Sliding glass doors in one wall opened onto the small stone terrace beyond.
Leslie stood for a moment looking at the view, then shook herself and sat down to sort through her mail. When she finished, she went into the smaller of the two bedrooms, which she had turned into her home office. She would have to wait until tomorrow to get the letter of credit from her bank and exchange some money for San Cristóbalian currency, but tonight she could at least pay her bills and tend to some of the phone calls and paperwork necessary to shut down her life for the next few weeks. The sale of her most recent boutique hotel was final, and she hadn’t even started looking for real estate for a new one. There were only a couple of CD’s that would be maturing in a week, the rental of her small vacation house in the Hamptons, and a few other odds and ends. The social arena was more time-consuming as there were a number of parties and charity function
s to which she was committed for the next month.
It was late in the evening before she was able to call her father. Geoff Harper’s voice was pleased when he came to the phone. “Hello, sweetheart. It’s been a couple of days—I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about your old man.”
“I was in Texas.”
“Texas? What for?”
“I’ve found someone to get Blake out of San Cristóbal.”
“You’re joking. Who?”
“His name’s Cutter.”
“Cutter who? Or should I say who Cutter?”
“I don’t know. Apparently he goes by only one name.”
Her father was silent for a moment. “Leslie, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Leslie chuckled. “Not really. Avery found him for me. I think the guy’s legitimately an expert on San Cristóbal. He worked for the government there and then for some private corporations. Avery got his name through an executive at Stone Oil who worked in San Cristóbal—Ashe Harlan. Ashe said Cutter was the best, and Avery put a lot of stock in his opinion. Ashe better be right. I’m paying Cutter a mint.”
“Probably more than Blake’s worth.”
“Dad! I thought you liked Blake.”
“He seemed to be a good employee, but he must have been very unstable, quitting the company and running off to the middle of nowhere.”
“I think he was upset.”
“That’s what I said: unstable.”
“I’m sending Cutter after him anyway.” Leslie sighed.
“Not much else you could do.”
“And I’m going with him.”
“Good Lord! Why?” Geoff asked.
“Because I don’t completely trust Cutter. I want to make sure he really tries to find Blake.”
“What did Avery say to this scheme?”
“He’s against it, of course.”
“I’m glad he’s got some sense.”
“Dad…”
“Keeping an eye on a several-thousand-dollars investment won’t be worth your getting killed or kidnapped, too, you know.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that dangerous,” Leslie protested. “And it’s not just to protect my money; I have to make sure that everything possible is done to get Blake out. If I let Cutter go by himself and he doesn’t bring Blake back, I’ll always have doubts.”
“When are you leaving?
“Tomorrow. I’m meeting Cutter in Houston, and we’re taking the four-fifty flight to La Luz.”
Again her father was quiet. Then he said slowly, “It’s not like you to be this impulsive.”
“It’s not impulsive.”
“You’re hopping on a flight tomorrow to another country with a man you don’t know, and that’s not impulsive?”
“It has to be done quickly. The longer we wait, the worse Blake’s chances are. It’s already been three weeks. I can’t sit around dithering. I’m used to making quick decisions. I’ve done it in my work lots of times.”
“This isn’t business. I’m afraid your emotions have overwhelmed your common sense.”
Leslie pressed her lips together. All the resistance to her plan was getting on her nerves. She wanted to lash out at her father and remind him that she was an adult who had weathered a few storms, not an inexperienced child. However, she forced herself to respond calmly; she knew the reason behind him warnings. He was afraid she was revealing an emotionally charged, impulsive side to her character, a trait inherited from her mother.
“I’ll be fine, Dad,” she replied with all the calm she could muster. “I promise. You’ll see. I’ll call you when I get back.”
He fired a few more protests at her, but Leslie managed to evade them and hung up the phone after only another five minutes. She rose and stretched. She was exhausted from the plane trip and arguing with Cutter, Avery and her father—not to mention all the work she’d done getting ready to leave. She could pack tomorrow. Right now the best thing to do was sleep.
She returned to the living room to bolt the door and turn on the security system, then drifted over to the opened curtains. Her mind went back to her father’s words. Geoff had always lived in fear that someday that wild, irresponsible streak that had been in Heather Harper would break out in their daughter, despite all his efforts to make Leslie stable and mature. Leslie herself had often been somewhat afraid of that happening.
But that wasn’t what was going on here. Cutter had to have a watchdog; Leslie was too uneasy around him. She had found over the years that it was wise to pay attention to her gut feelings, and this time they were telling her to oversee the operation. If it had been anyone else besides his only daughter, she was sure her father would have agreed that it was necessary.
She was acting responsibly. After all, it wasn’t as if it would be a vacation—especially having to travel with Cutter. She wouldn’t do it unless she had to. As for the flutter in her stomach, the exhilarating rush of adrenaline that was already beginning to pump through her, well, that was just her usual reaction to facing a challenge. She felt the same way when she met a business obstacle head-on.
Leslie leaned her head against cool window. But if what she was thinking was true, why did she feel excitement swelling in her chest? Why was her very skin alive with anticipation? Could it be that she was eager to pit herself against the hardships and dangers of San Cristóbal? Or could it actually be that she was looking forward to seeing that odious man again?
What made her think something crazy like that? Absolutely nothing could be farther from the truth. She detested Cutter. Detested him. She whirled away and strode into her bedroom.
Chapter 3
Cutter sat on a plastic chair in the foreign-flights terminal of the Houston airport, a dark blue waterproof duffel bag at his feet. He didn’t look out of place; the jeans, boots, hat, flannel shirt and down vest could be found on men all over the terminal. Yet Leslie spotted him immediately. She started toward him, and Cutter glanced up, almost as if he had sensed her presence.
Without moving a muscle Cutter watched her approach, but his insides made up for the stillness on the surface. Leslie was still elegantly dressed but in a style that was somewhat more casual and… He wasn’t sure what the other elusive quality was. Perhaps feminine? She wore a dress that looked like a long sweater, soft and emphasizing her figure without clinging. It was a pale mauve-gray for three-quarters of the way down, and the bottom quarter was a dark purple. Over the dress she wore a lightweight trench-coat in the same dark purple. Tantalizingly, the jacket swung open and closed as she walked, revealing, then concealing the dress that flowed lovingly over her curves. The outfit was conservative, but it was unbelievably tempting, as well.
Her hair, which Cutter had seen only up in a tight knot on her head before, was now down and loose, falling in buoyant waves to her shoulders. It made her look younger and more approachable. Face it, he told himself: it made her look sexier than hell.
For the thousandth time Cutter wondered about the missing husband. What was he doing working down in San Cristóbal with a wife like that at home? For all his angry gibes about the man being anxious to get away from her, Cutter found it hard to understand. Sure, Leslie Harper made him feel like tearing his hair out, but if this guy had married her he must have felt differently. Also, Cutter imagined, with someone she loved, Leslie lost the icy exterior and revealed the soft woman beneath. And she must love the guy. She was willing to pay a lot of money to get him back. More than that, she was risking her own neck. Cutter tried to imagine any of the women he knew being willing to do that. There wasn’t one he thought would risk it, except Mary—but then, her heart was given elsewhere.
He wondered what Leslie was like with someone she loved. Did the coolly perfect lines of her face melt into warm beauty? Did she smile and speak softly? Did she come eagerly into your arms?
Cutter shook himself mentally. There was no point speculating on what Leslie Harper was like with a man she loved. He certainly would never be in
that position. He knew what she was like with a man she despised, however—and he didn’t like it. She was a spoiled rich girl, and to her Cutter was merely a servant, someone she didn’t think of as a person.
She was out of his league. She was married. He didn’t even like her. The crazy thing was, his body had a way of responding even when his brain told him she was poison. And now, as she walked toward him in an unmistakably feminine way, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her body wrapped in a soft dress that hugged her breasts, his body wanted her.
He wanted to rise and go to her. Perversely, he forced himself to sit still and make her come to him, not standing even for a moment after she had reached his chair and stopped. Cutter was determined he wouldn’t let her turn him to putty just because her body lured him.
“Hello, Cutter.” Leslie was certain he had seen her coming from a long distance and had ignored her completely. But she kept the irritation from creeping into her voice. On the plane trip from New York, she had decided to be more pleasant to Cutter. After all, they would be together almost constantly for several days, maybe even weeks, and the situation would be almost unbearable if they were at each other’s throats all the time. She was determined to be friendly, no matter how provoking he was.
Cutter looked up, then stood slowly, his eyes taking in each part of her body as he rose. “Mrs. Harper.”
“My plane was late getting in. I’m sorry,” she apologized, adding, “And I see that there’s been some mistake about the seating. Perhaps I should go to the ticket counter. I meant for us to fly first-class.” Leslie immediately wished she hadn’t brought up the matter. Cutter would doubtless take it as a criticism.
To her surprise, Cutter grinned. “Hate to tell you, lady, but on the planes to La Luz, there is no first class.”
“Oh.” The airplane must be small. Leslie hoped she wouldn’t get queasy. She hadn’t been on a plane smaller than the usual commercial jet except once, when a friend had taken her up in his Piper. It had made her feel quite nauseated. That would be the ultimate humiliation—to get motion sick with Cutter beside her. He already thought her utterly useless.