Page 17 of Cutter’s Lady

Leslie bridled. “I’m not used to being given orders.”

“Then you better learn. If you run around here doing what you think is best, you’re going to screw everything up. I know the government. They don’t take kindly to anyone messing around in what they consider their business. They won’t like your being here, and they’ll like it even less if you tell them you came to hike into the jungle and free your husband. The less the government knows about your presence here, the better. Don’t go see them.”

“They’re bound to find out we’re here. If what you say is true, it would be better to go to them straightforwardly and allay their fears. We can lead them to believe that we’re here only to be closer to the news and to take Blake home when he’s released.”

“Good. Let’s make them believe it even more. You stay here in La Luz and play the waiting wife while I go see Mora.”

“Absolutely not.” They glared at each other in silence. The deadlock was broken only by a waiter arriving at their table to take their order.

“What do you want to eat?” Cutter growled at her.

“Fruit. Some sort of bread or toast. And coffee.”

Cutter delivered their order to the waiter in the same tone of voice, and the man took it hurriedly and scuttled off. Cutter returned his fierce look to Leslie’s face. “Listen, you hired me because I was an expert on San Cristóbal. I know the place; you don’t. So as long as we’re here, no matter who’s footing the bill, you’re going to do as I say. It is not an exaggeration to say it’s a matter of life and death. I’m in charge in this country. Is that understood?”

“There’s no need to be medieval about it. Of course I’ll be guided by your opinion since you know more about the country.”

“You aren’t listening. I didn’t say ‘talk over’ or ‘consider.’ I said, ‘I am giving the orders here.’ Get it?”

Leslie glared at him. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to turn complete control over to you. I’ll do what is best in each situation, which doesn’t always mean what you want. It may surprise you to know, but I am capable of making very good decisions on my own.”

“You’re right.” He tapped a cigarette out of his pack. “It would surprise me.”

“There’s no reason for rudeness. That’s always what you fall back on. Now, taking into consideration what you’re said, I still think it would be the best thing to pay a visit to Mr. Maldenado.”

“The best thing is to get a car and get out of this town before they know we’re here.”

“As I told you before, it will allay their suspicions…”

“It will let them know we’re here.”

They were leaning closer and closer together with each exchange, their voices soft but biting. So engrossed were they in their argument that it was a moment before they noticed that all other conversations in the restaurant had ceased. Cutter realized it first and glanced around, like an animal scenting danger. He stopped and stared at the doorway. Leslie watched him, puzzled, then turned her head to see what he was looking at.

Two men stood in the doorway, sweeping the room with their eyes. They were dressed in gunmetal-gray uniforms with blue markings on the shoulders, collars and cuffs. Gray army hats with blue braid were held stiffly under their arms. Gun belts were strapped around their waists. They wore polished black boots and black leather gloves. One seemed more junior than the other and stood a step or two behind him. The eyes of the one in front rested on Leslie, and he started forward, his companion following on his heels.

“Policía Nacional,” Cutter muttered.

“What?”

The man was upon them. Leslie smiled up at him questioningly. He stared at her with eyes so cold they made her want to shiver. “Señora Harper?

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“I have come to escort you to Señor Jorge Maldenado.”

Leslie’s stomach fell down to her toes. She had the awful feeling Cutter had been right.