Page 11 of Cutter’s Lady

“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 functions 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.”