Page 23 of Cutter’s Lady

“But what are you planning to do with all this stuff? I am not throwing away my most comfortable black heels.”

“We’re leaving them in the room. Before I came up to the room, I dropped by the desk and informed them that we would be staying at least a couple of weeks. I figured it wouldn’t kill you financially to keep the rooms, and it might help fool some people into thinking we’re still in La Luz—at least long enough for us to get away.”

“What people?”

“I don’t know. Maldenado’s goons? The kidnappers? Assorted political groups?” Cutter opened her suitcase and rummaged through it, tossing all but one pair of sturdy hiking boots into the closet beneath the dresses. Leslie, who had been rather pleased with her organization and efficiency in packing for a variety of different scenarios, gritted her teeth but made no comment. Nor did she protest when he removed the three paperbacks and pad of paper she had brought to substitute for her iPad, having been warned of the unreliability of wifi in the interior of San Cristóbal. She kept her mouth shut tight when he discarded one nightgown and robe set. But when he dumped her only other nightgown onto the bed, she couldn’t restrain herself.

“What are you doing? I need something to sleep in!”

“You can sleep in your clothes. We won’t be stopping at a string of Holiday Inns, you know. You don’t need a matching robe and gown to sleep in a tent or run to the outdoor toilet.” He picked up her blow dryer and set it on the dresser. “No electricity,” he explained succinctly.

Her makeup joined the pile of discards, as well as her perfume. “Three different sunscreens? Are you kidding? Three?”

“Spray, face, and body,” Leslie replied. “Come on. I’ll use them up and throw away the container.”

“Where? In your handy jungle trashcans?” He sighed, but set the sunscreens aside with the brush, toothbrush and toothpaste that were the only items out of her entire cosmetics case that Cutter deemed necessary. Leslie forced herself to stow the other things away in the dresser drawers without comment.

Cutter went to his room and came back shortly with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. “Okay, let’s go.” He picked up her suitcase and started down the hall.

“Wait. Where are you going? The elevator’s this way.”

“We aren’t taking the elevator.”

Leslie followed him. “May I ask why not?”

“There’s somebody watching the elevators and the front door, so we’re leaving by the back door.”

“Watching the elevator? You mean, spying on us?”

“Yeah. I spotted both of them when I went out to get the car and the—other stuff I needed. I lost them before I rented the car, though, and I made sure I came in the rear entrance.”

“Why would anybody be tailing us?”

Cutter shrugged. “National pastime. Everybody’s suspicious of everybody else. I suspect our friend Maldenado set them on us. He seemed not to want us interfering with anything.”

They went down an endless set of concrete stairs and wound up in a laundry area. Cutter led Leslie through a dingy hallway past garbage cans and rattling, clanking machinery, then up a few steps and into a narrow alley. They strode quickly down the alley, and at the street Cutter stopped cautiously to check it out. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Cutter gave Leslie a nod and turned left. Half a block away he stopped beside a peeling, dented Kia that had seen many years of use. He dumped their bags into the back seat.

“We’re going in this?” Leslie asked in amazement.

“What did you expect—a Mercedes?”

She glared at him. “Of course not, but I figured we’d get a jeep or something. Will this make it over the roads in the interior? In fact, can this thing make it out of town?”

He grinned. “Don’t worry. Its engine’s sound enough. I checked it out. It can handle the roads. By the time we get close to the guerrillas, we’ll be without roads altogether.”

It wasn’t exactly a comforting thought. Leslie opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, and Cutter got in to drive. He pulled out into the traffic with all the verve of the other San Cristóbal drivers, and Leslie closed her eyes.

It took a half hour to leave the city, but Leslie wasn’t impatient. She was too interested in looking at all the statues, plazas, fountains, river walks, graceful old houses and antique bridges. Once out of the city, Cutter set a better pace, although the traffic was too erratic and the road too poor to make good time.

Leslie let the rocking of the car lull her into dozing, but she came wide awake about an hour later when Cutter slammed a hand against the steering wheel. “Damn! I think someone’s following us.”