Page 10 of Cutter’s Lady

“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!”

“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.”