Page 9 of Cutter’s Lady

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It didn’t take long to find Cutter. They drove to the motel behind Zymchek’s Bar and were told that Cutter could usually be found during the daytime at Jacky Harris’s old flying service. For once, Leslie was thankful this place was such a dive—at any reputable establishment it would have been next to impossible to get so much information, even with the hundred she’d given to the clerk.

The directions to the flying service were simple, and in less than ten minutes they turned onto a narrow dirt road that led to the airstrip and hangar. The metal hangar was old and rusted and had been patched in places, but the airstrip was smooth and coated with an obviously new layer of asphalt. The doors to the hangar stood wide open, and inside sat two airplanes, one small and the other a large, dilapidated two-engine propeller plane that looked like it had last seen service in World War II. Cutter squatted on the wing of the big plane, his hands in the engine.

He glanced up when they stepped inside the hangar, and his face registered surprise. It quickly changed to a scowl, and he resumed his work on the engine as if they weren’t there. Avery and Leslie exchanged glances. She strode forward. When she reached the wing, she stood looking up at him for a moment, feeling distinctly at a disadvantage.

“Could you please come down here? I’d like to talk to you.”

“I can hear you.”

“I don’t like to shout.”

He shrugged. “It won’t do you any good, whether you shout or whisper. Like I told you before, I’m not for sale.”

Cutter was calmer now, and it hurt like hell to say that. After his rage had cooled, all the way out to the hangar visions of what fifty thousand dollars could do for the flying service had been dancing uncontrollably in his head. He could imagine what Mary would say about his turning it down simply because Leslie Harper was difficult to deal with. As soon as Mary heard about it, she’d have a thousand things to do with the money. But there was no way he could work for Leslie Harper. She was a sharp-tongued, small-minded, spoiled brat.

Leslie wet her lips. Cutter wasn’t making it any easier for her, but she had to do it. She’d backed down before for the sake of completing a deal; surely she could do it now. But somehow it seemed so much worse with Cutter.

“I—I’m sorry if I was rude back there. I’m rather on edge these days. I’ve run into so many frustrations in getting Blake out of there. When you made that sexist remark, I blew up.” She had to admit she had been cruel, but Cutter had been crude and chauvinistic. Still, losing her cool that way wasn’t like her. Leslie drew a breath. “I apologize.”

Cutter’s head came up and he gazed down, amazed. Her apology was the last thing he’d expected when she walked in the hangar door. He gave a brief nod. “Accepted. I’m sorry I offended you.” The words came stiffly to his lips, as if he were no more accustomed to using them than Leslie.

“Then do you think you could come down so we could discuss the deal?”

He sat back on his heels and wiped his hands on a rag, then walked to the fuselage and scrambled down a ladder to the floor. Leslie relaxed. She realized that her legs were trembling. Shakily she looked around for something to sit on and found only a crate. She crossed to it and sat down, linking her hands together in her lap over her elegant purse. Avery sat down with her on the large crate and gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. Cutter joined them but remained standing and facing them.

He was intimidating, looming over them like that. Leslie was very aware of the way his jeans cupped his buttocks and clung to his thighs. She couldn’t remember ever meeting a man with such a masculine aura, such an air of power and danger. She wasn’t sure how to handle him; she’d already had to back down once. She wasn’t used to not being in control. It scared her. It also set up a funny flip-flop feeling in her stomach that was closer to excitement than to fear.

Cutter crossed his arms across his chest. “What is the deal?”

“What I told you in the café. Fifty thousand plus expenses to find Blake and negotiate his release. I want you to get him back any way you can.” She hesitated for a moment. “Will you take the job?”

“Yeah. I’ll take it.” He’d be insane to turn down that kind of money—and a great cover for his real purpose, as well. Still, there was a clutch of nerves in his chest that told him not to go. He had the feeling that he was going to be in for a lot more danger than he’d ever bargained for.

“Good,” Avery stuck in heartily when neither of the other two moved or said anything. “That’s fabulous.”

“I want half before I go,” Cutter continued, eyes locked on Leslie, not even glancing in Avery’s direction.

“All right. I’ll deposit half in an escrow account in your name.”

Cutter scowled. “I want half right here in my hand or I’m not getting on a plane to San Cristóbal.”

Leslie compressed her lips. She should have known he’d continue to be difficult. “All right. Half now and half when you bring Blake back.”

“I’m not guaranteeing I’ll bring him.”

“What do you mean? You can’t expect me to pay you if you don’t do the job.”

“He could be dead. Or they might not give him up for any price. Or I could tramp around for months and never find a trace of him.”

Leslie paled, and Avery put in, “Really, Cutter, can’t you see she’s worried enough as it is? Why scare her even more?”

“Because there’s no point in believing the impossible might happen. The odds are he’s dead or they’d have asked for a ransom by now. It won’t do any good to daydream that I’ll bring him home with me. And I’m sure as hell not signing up for a job where I don’t get paid if it’s something that just can’t be done.”

Leslie swallowed. She hated the thought of what Cutter had just said, but she was too honest not to admit that he was probably right. “I know. But I have to find out anyway. If you… bring back evidence that he’s dead or that the guerrillas won’t release him, if you made a good-faith effort, you’ll get the rest of the money.” She paused. Here was the bombshell. Neither of the men with her was going to like this. “There’s a condition.”

“What?” Cutter’s voice turned wary.