by Candace Camp
But crazily enough, the thought of doing so made her want to cry again, and she wished with equal strength that they would never leave the mission.
Chapter 13
Their third day at the mission, Cutter came to Leslie’s door and announced tersely that they would drive the truck back to La Luz the following morning. Leslie nodded, her heart beginning to pound, and her eyes skittered away from his. The next morning she rose early and put on a beautifully embroidered sundress that the women at the mission had made and Sister Mary Margaret had given to her. Then she gathered her belongings and went downstairs, feeling as if she were going to face her doom.
She said goodbye to Mary and the others and started toward the truck. She was surprised to find that one of the men, Miguel, climbed into the truck with them. She cast an inquiring glance at Cutter, and he explained, “Miguel’s coming with us so he can bring the truck back.”
“I see.” Of course, it made sense. They couldn’t simply abandon the truck, which was no doubt quite valuable to the mission. It brought her a deep sense of relief to know that she wouldn’t be alone with Cutter. There would be no intimacy between them, nor any questions.
Leslie rode between Cutter and Miguel, holding herself stiffly to keep from touching Cutter. Now and then she found Cutter looking at her, and she knew he was perplexed by the change in her attitude. She wanted to snuggle against him or hold his hand, to smile at him and feel the warmth of his return grin. She wanted him, and sitting beside him for hours in the close confines of the truck’s cab didn’t lessen that desire any. But she forced herself to be aloof, to avoid all contact that might fuel the passion between them. There was no future for her and Cutter, and she had to be realistic about it. It was better to get that hurt over with now.
The trip was uneventful. With the truck now empty of its illegal cargo, they were able to take the main road in the daylight. They moved much faster and with less jouncing, and Leslie was treated to the spectacular, verdant mountain views she had missed in their earlier nighttime trip. They were also able to traverse the high river gorge on the wide and more modern army-patrolled bridge. Leslie was thankful not to have to cross the shaky, ancient bridge again.
They spent the night in the back of the truck, for there were no inns in the small villages through which they passed. They ate fresh fruit, crackers and cheese. Leslie thought longingly of a juicy New York strip steak or a creamy dish of fettucine Alfredo. In fact, right now she thought a fast-food cheeseburger would taste like heaven. She’d be glad when they returned to La Luz and a wider range of foods.
They drove through Chempua late the next afternoon and continued to La Luz. Miguel left them there, taking the truck back to the mission, and Cutter took Leslie to a smaller, more modest hotel than the Palacio. “Why not go back to our rooms at the Palacio?” Leslie asked.
“Because the less the government knows about where we are, the better. If they took Blake, they’ll want us snooping around about his disappearance even less than they wanted us to visit the rebel camp. This way, hopefully they won’t guess we’re in La Luz. Go upstairs and take a nap on a real bed, for a change. I’m going to hire us another car and send someone for the one we left in Chempua.”
Leslie was glad to do as he said. She was exhausted and had been longing for a comfortable bed. Cutter booked only one room for them, but she was too drained to dispute the matter now. They’d discuss it later, after she’d rested.
Leslie woke up in the evening to find Cutter sitting in a chair across the room, watching her sleep. She sat up, pushing back her sleep-tangled hair, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. What time is it?”
“Almost eight o’clock.”
“I must have slept like the dead. When did you get back?”
He shrugged. “About thirty minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I enjoyed watching you sleep.”
Leslie glanced away quickly. “Are you ready for dinner?”
“Not right now.”
She looked at him warily. “What do you mean?”
Cutter rose from the chair and walked over to the bed, towering over her. “I mean, we’ve been like brother and sister for four days. Now that we’re alone, I intend to take full advantage.”
He sat down beside her on the bed and slid his hands up her arms. His fingers edged under the ties at the neck of her dress and untied them slowly. The top slipped down onto her arms, revealing Leslie’s creamy shoulders and chest and exposing the soft tops of her breasts. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “This dress suits you.”
“Cutter, we need to talk…”
“Later.” He leaned over and kissed her shoulders, and the touch of his lips sent sparks flying through Leslie. His mouth moved across her shoulder, nipping at the tender flesh and tasting it with his tongue. “God, you smell good. You taste good.”
Leslie felt herself weakening, melting inside. Cutter was far too expert at this; she was no match for him. He knew exactly how to excite her. She closed her eyes, giving in for a moment to the pleasurable sensations. Then she forced herself to pull away, shoving her dress back up. “Cutter, stop. I mean it. We have to talk.”
He frowned. “What’s the matter with you? You’ve been jumpy and… I don’t know… cold since we left the jungle. You’ve held back from me every time I touched you or kissed you or even smiled at you. What is it?”
Leslie rose and walked away from the bed. “After we got back to the mission, I did some thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Cutter! I’m trying to be serious.”
“I know. That’s what worries me.” He slid back and sat with his back against the headboard of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing her warily. “Okay. Shoot.”
Leslie wet her lips and clasped her hands primly in front of her, feeling like a schoolchild about to start a report. “I think it’s better if we stop—I mean, I don’t think we should—” She halted, floundering for the right way to express their relationship.
“We shouldn’t sleep together anymore?” Cutter suggested.
“Well, yes. That’s right. Exactly.”
“I see. And what brought you to this, shall we say, somewhat surprising conclusion?” He mirrored her serious, unemotional delivery.
“There’s no need to be sarcastic,” Leslie said.
“No? What should I be? What’s the correct way to act when the woman who’s been hot and hungry in your arms suddenly turns ice cold? I don’t move in your refined circles and I don’t know how to act.”
“Cutter, please…”
“Please what? Please make it easy for you? No way, lady. I want to know what in the hell happened to change you.”
“I didn’t change. I’m the same now as I’ve always been. I was changed in the mountains. It was such an unusual circumstance. We were in danger, and our adrenaline was pumping, and, well, it was just a physical thing brought about by our desperate situation.”
Cutter bolted off the bed, anger coiled tight within him, his eyes blazing so that Leslie took a step backward. “You’re right there. It was desperate, and what we had was damned physical. It was so physical I felt like I’d shatter into a million pieces every time I touched you. You changed in the mountains all right. For a while you were human and warm. You let down your defenses and acted like a real woman, with feelings and desires. I thought you had let the real you out, but I should have known that as soon as we returned to civilization, you’d shove her back down. You’re too big a coward to remain free. You’d rather run back to your prison.”
“That’s not fair! It’s not true!”
“The hell it isn’t. You’d rather deny what you are and be safe than risk anything. You’d rather be cold and alone every night than face yourself and your own passions.”
Leslie was stiff with hurt, and tears pricked at her eyelids, but she refused to let them fall. She wasn’t about to let him see how much he had hurt her. “And you�
�re the kind who lashes out at everybody else when you can’t get exactly what you want.”
“Oh, I’ll get what I want. It’s just won’t be with you.”
His words stabbed her. “I’m sure that’s true. Anyone else will do just as well. After all, when you want a little physical gratification, the woman who gives it doesn’t matter.”
“You’re more in denial than I thought if you believe that. You don’t know me, and you don’t even know yourself.” Cutter strode past her to the door, his boots thudding heavily against the wooden floor. He opened the door and turned back. “I’ll get another room. We’re leaving early tomorrow morning. Be down in the lobby at six. Sharp.”
He went out the door and slammed it shut so hard that the windows rattled. Leslie’s lips quivered, and the tears that had threatened now rolled from her eyes.
***
Leslie was ready early. It wasn’t difficult, since she hadn’t slept all night long. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and her head pounded ferociously. When she stepped into the lobby she could see Cutter just beyond the front door, reclining on a large cement planter and smoking a cigarette. Apparently the first thing he’d done was go out and pick up a new pack last night. She couldn’t help but wonder if that was the only thing he had picked up. Tears pricked her eyes anew, but she blinked them away and straightened her shoulders before heading outside.
She was ashamed for Cutter to see her and realize that she had cried over him, but she found she needn’t have worried. Cutter jumped up and threw the butt in a nearby trashcan the moment he spotted her, then strode out to the car, barely glancing Leslie’s way. He got in behind the steering wheel and tapped his fingers impatiently as he waited for Leslie to join him. As soon as she sat down and closed her door, he roared away. Neither spoke on the two-hour drive to the resort town of Costa Linda. Leslie even held her tongue when Cutter broke her rule about smoking in the car. In fact, he smoked more cigarettes on the drive than any other time they’d been together and she had the feeling he was trying to get a response out of her. Which made her all the more determined not to bat an eye even as the smoke started to sting.
There was little to Costa Linda but Leslie was so relieved to see it come into view that she felt as if she had arrived at some coveted destination. It had once been a fishing village and small port, and the old, rather seedy village remained in the central knot of the town, with expensive shops, nightclubs and restaurants built up around it. Most of the town consisted of a long string of hotels curving along the edge of the coastline, all of them new and towering. Cutter pulled into the circular drive of a gray stone hotel, built to resemble the Mayan pyramids, with each succeeding floor of rooms set farther back than the one below. It was quite modern and gorgeously decorated inside—even in her current state Leslie made a note to look it up later and find out who owned it—it was also blessed with all the conveniences one could ask for, even desk clerks who spoke French and English as well as Spanish.
The rooms were large and comfortable, each with its own private terrace and view of the ocean. Neatly trimmed tropical plants grew in the courtyard, and a swimming pool meandered like a stream around the area, crossed by footbridges and with an island bar in the center. It was a typical elegant tropical resort. And, strangely, after what she’d been through, its very poshness grated on Leslie’s nerves.
The bellman showed them to their side-by-side rooms, and Cutter tipped him. Then Cutter turned to Leslie. “I’m going to town to see what I can find out about the kidnapping. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Wait. I want to come, too.”
His face was cool, impersonal. “No reason. I won’t cheat you.”
“I didn’t say you would. But I want to come, anyway. I want to help.”
“You won’t be any help. It’ll be easier by myself. Besides, I won’t be visiting the tourist spots; it’s a pretty bad area of town.”
“You think that after having been in a rebel camp and being fired on by the military that I’m going to be frightened by a cheap bar or some unsavory men?”
“Frankly, I doubt you’re frightened of anything.”
“Then there’s no problem, is there? I’m going.”
He shrugged. “You’re the boss. Come on.”
Cutter drove down the wide, palm-tree-lined boulevard on which the elegant hotels lay and into the town of Costa Linda. He turned off the main street and drove a few blocks. The change was startling. Streets became narrow and unpaved; the buildings were flimsy and unkempt. Cutter toured the area, looking around carefully, then drove back to the major avenue and parked the car. “We’ll walk from here,” he explained. “If I parked where we’re going, we might not have a car left when we come out.”
He set out at a brisk pace, and Leslie followed him quickly, sure he wouldn’t wait for her. They walked most of the day and into the evening, stopping at pawn shops, cafes, bars, hotels and apartment buildings. Everywhere they went, Cutter asked questions, usually leaving a bill of money with whomever he talked to, even though none of them professed to have any answers to his questions. By midnight Leslie’s feet were throbbing and her head ached, and she wondered if there was any use in doing this. So far not a soul had responded to Cutter’s inquiries about the kidnapping or to his money.
“Do you think there’s any hope?” She asked as she sank into a chair in yet another dim bar. She was tired of the dirt and the odor and the sneering glances.
Cutter shrugged and lit another cigarette from what Leslie thought must be an endless pack. She wondered if he’d bought an entire carton just to spite her. “I told you it was a long shot. But maybe the money I gave out will work on them, and they’ll wonder how much they could get if they gave me concrete information. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Me, neither.” Leslie felt cold and very lonely sitting across from him like this. There was a wall between them; she was cut off forever from the warmth and sharing that had lain between them for those brief, wonderful days. She wished she had it back. She wished she could have it forever. If she apologized, he might forgive her, might come to her bed again and share her life. Leslie turned her head, feeling the treacherous tears starting.
No. She must not let herself start thinking like that; if they mended their rift, it would be only temporary. As soon as this job was over, Cutter would be out of her life. He’d never stay. They’d never suit each other. Once she was back home, she’d find it easier to get over him. She wouldn’t feel so dry and empty when she was with her friends and in familiar places. It was the strange situation, the forced intimacy that had driven them together. They had nothing in common, and when this trip was over, she would see the gap between them. She would forget Cutter.
She wished she could believe that.
Cutter left their table to talk to the bartender and two other men sitting at the bar. He gave them some money and returned to the table. “Let’s go. We’re through for the night.”
They walked back to their car and drove to the hotel in silence. They went up to their respective doors, feet apart. Leslie felt a pang at watching Cutter open his room, knowing she would not be sharing it with him. She swallowed and turned away, opening her own door.
She stepped inside and fumbled for the light switch. Suddenly the door swung shut behind her, and an arm went around her, jerking her back against a solid body. A rough hand clapped over her mouth. Leslie’s heart jumped in terror, and for an instant she was utterly numb. The overwhelming odor of a man’s cologne filled her nostrils, sickening her. His fingers dug into the flesh around her mouth.
“Forget Blake Westfield,” he whispered in such a low, accent-laced tone that she had trouble understanding the words. “Stop trying to find out what happened to him, or you will be sorry.”
Leslie’s initial rush of fright was followed by an equally strong burst of anger. She swung back hard with one leg, connecting with his shin, and began to struggle. An oath ripped from the man, and he tightened his
arm around her, squeezing off most of her air. Leslie clawed and kicked, trying to scream through the barrier of his hand over her mouth.
There was a sharp rap at the door. “Leslie? Are you all right?” It was Cutter’s voice.
Relief surged through Leslie and she tried to call his name. But the hand was an effective muffler, and she was fast losing energy from lack of air. Leslie lashed out with her feet, not back against her assailant but in front, thudding into the wall of the narrow entryway.
“Leslie!” Cutter tried the doorknob. A thud shook the door as he kicked it. It shuddered again and again. “Open up!” he roared, and threw his whole weight against it. Down the hall several doors opened.
Leslie’s attacker pulled her to the door and grasped the doorknob. Suddenly he whipped it open and shoved Leslie out violently, ramming her into Cutter and sending both of them tumbling in a heap on the floor. Her captor jumped nimbly over them and took off down the hall. Cutter unceremoniously pushed Leslie aside and jumped to his feet, running down the hall after the other man.
Leslie sat up, gasping for air. Now that the danger was past, she was weak and quivering from the flood of adrenaline. She wrapped her arms around herself, struggling for calm, or at least the appearance of it. She glanced around her and saw several heads stuck out of doorways up and down the hall, all staring at her in amazement. The man nearest to her started toward her, speaking in Spanish. Leslie shook her head and made a gesture of not understanding. She tried a smile to reassure him that she was all right.
Across the hall a large woman in a nightgown and bathrobe, her short hair in wild disarray, spoke up. “You all right, honey?”
“Yes, yes.” Leslie nodded. It was soothing to hear an American voice, even this woman’s nasal twang. “I’m fine, really.”