Page 38 of Cutter’s Lady

“Oh, no, you’re not. We haven’t settled this yet.”

“This what?” Feelings clashed and surged within Cutter—guilt over his deceit, anger at Leslie for not going home with Mecklin and an unaccustomed fear that he would fail and Leslie would suffer. He wanted to vent his rage, lash out at anything around him. He was used to being in control—and here he was, without the least bit of control over this woman. She was maddening, infuriating. And extremely sexy. Her fury tinged her cheeks red and made her eyes sparkle. The fact that he noticed it even in the midst of his anger enraged him further.

“This!” Leslie waved her hand around, indicated the truck and the goods being loaded onto it. “Those crates.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Oh, yes, there is. This is my mission. I’m paying you good money for it, and I don’t expect you to be making side trips for your own benefit. I want you to unload those boxes. Now.”

“Want all you like. They’re staying put.”

“Cutter! This is—”

He held up a hand. “I know. I know. This is your mission, your money, your party. Right? I’ve got news for you, lady. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re in the middle of the interior of San Cristóbal, you don’t speak a word of Spanish and the only transportation around is my truck. Now, what makes you think you’re giving the orders?”

“I’m warning you, if you double-cross me like this, you’ll never see the rest of your money.”

“To hell with your money! We’re not in your world now. Money doesn’t count here. What counts is that I have a truck and a gun, and I know where we’re going. I’ll drop off these goods on our way to find the guerrillas. It won’t be a step out of the way. Then I’m going to find the Moristas and your precious ex-husband, and I’m going to bring both of you back to La Luz. After that, I hope to God I’m done with you.” For a moment they stood glaring at each other in silence. Then Cutter broke away and started toward the truck. “I’m leaving as soon as this thing is loaded. You coming with me?”

Leslie was so mad she could hardly think; she wanted to scream and throw things. She wished she could think of something sufficiently derogatory to say to Cutter, but she didn’t know anything that nasty. The worst, most awful thing was that he was right. She was powerless out here. Cutter was in control. If she didn’t go along, he would leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere. No man, not even her father, had ever had such power over her. And no one had ever made her so furious.

She stomped after him and swept past without a glance. Grasping the right door of the cab, she swung up into the seat and yanked the door to with a satisfying slam. Outside she could hear Cutter yelling at the men in vicious-sounding Spanish, and she felt a small burst of satisfaction. At least she had got to him as badly as he had gotten to her. She checked her phone. Maybe she should text her dad or Avery. Just to let them know where she was. Just in case. Except she didn’t know where she was. And there was no network available according to the X-ed out circle in the upper right hand corner of her phone. Damn.

Leslie looked up from her useless phone in time to see the vintage plane rumble across the field and take off. Tears stung her eyes and for a moment she wished she had taken Cutter’s advice and left with the young, blond pilot. How nice it would be to be home again. Back in her safe, secure apartment, where she didn’t have to wonder if it was safe to drink the water. Back to clean sheets and a soft bed and no slipping out of hotels in the middle of the night. No more boat trips or contraband goods or trees so thick it gave you claustrophobia. Most of all, no more Cutter!

But Leslie had never been one to take a way simply because it was easier, and she wouldn’t this time, either. She’d stick it out in San Cristóbal and with Cutter until she found Blake.

It was dark when the men finished loading the truck and slammed shut the rear doors. Leslie sat up with a start, amazed to find that she had drifted off to sleep. She yawned and straightened in the seat, stretching cramped muscles. The door on the opposite side of the truck opened, and Cutter climbed in. He tossed her a single quick look but said nothing. There was an odd leather belt in his hand, which he laid down carefully beside his seat. Leslie stared at it. On one side of the belt was a large scabbard, with the hilt of a knife thrusting out of it. On the opposite side of the belt was a holster. The flap was unsnapped and she could see that inside it was the butt of a gun. Leslie’s eyes widened.

He reached out of the cab and also hauled in a rifle, holding it by its long barrel. Leslie shuddered. It looked hideously lethal. There was even a telescopic sight folded down and pushed over to the side. Cutter swung the weapon over their heads and into the shallow shelf that lay behind their seat. Leslie’s heart knocked against her ribs. She couldn’t speak. Cutter had struck her as dangerous when she met him. But now! She was sitting in a truck with a man who had some sort of gigantic knife, a pistol and an assassin’s rifle! She was alone, and Cutter was suddenly very much a stranger.

Cutter turned the key in the ignition, and the engine ground noisily. It took two more tries for the engine to shudder to life. Leslie compressed her lips, forcing back a smile. At least the inept start had lightened the pall of dread that had wrapped around her a moment ago.

Cutter guided the heavy truck back through the narrow tunnel of trees and onto the road. Cutter drove more slowly than John had earlier, for which Leslie was grateful. Of course, it was night now, and the headlights illuminated only a short stretch of narrow, rutted road in front of them. Cutter couldn’t see well enough to drive fast—and now the truck was carrying cargo. That thought made Leslie uneasy. What were they carrying? Was it something dangerous? She thought of ammunition and explosives. Nitroglycerin. Her throat went dry. She considered asking him about their cargo, but she decided she didn’t really want to know.

They drove for several hours through the dark, and Leslie’s neck and shoulders began to ache from straining to see. It was ridiculous, of course, Cutter was the one driving, not her. But she couldn’t keep from peering anxiously through the windshield, searching for the dark shape of some obstacle that might be clearly visible in the daytime but disastrous at night. Cutter pulled off the road once or twice and checked a folded map with aid of a flashlight. The yellowish glow lit his face from below, casting dark shadows on his cheeks and eyes and giving him an eerie, almost fiendish look. It made Leslie shiver, and she looked away.

This was the real Cutter, she told herself, the one who had betrayed her, not the joking, casual Cutter, nor the Cutter who had kissed her with such passion and expertise.

Eventually, unbelievably, she dozed off and awoke sometime later with a start. She sat up, looking around, and realized that Cutter had stopped the truck again. This time he had left the cab. Leslie peered out and saw him in front of the truck, smoking a cigarette, flashlight held up to illuminate a road sign. After a minute he ground out the red ember and dropped it in what looked like an Altoids tin that he slipped back into his shirt pocket. Well, at least he wasn’t littering. Cutter turned and walked back, turning off the flashlight.

“Why don’t you stop for the night?” Leslie asked irritably, diverted from her intention to remain utterly silent with him. “We can drive on in the morning.”

“It’s safer at night,” he replied tersely, not even glancing at her.

“Safer!” Leslie repeated in amazement before she understood what he meant. At night they weren’t so visible to the army or government agents.

She gritted her teeth and decided once more not to talk to him. Cutter concentrated on the road and paid her no attention. Leslie had the feeling that he didn’t even notice she was snubbing him.

Cutter pulled off the road and onto a dirt track. Leslie could hear the thwack of branches against the trailer. They were almost crawling now. An hour later, they made another turn, this time onto a better road. But before long they were again changing to a more primitive road. Leslie wondered where they were. She also wondered how it could possibly take them this long to reach the mountains, even given the slow pace at which they traveled. San Cristóbal simply wasn’t that big a country. The boat had taken them far into the interior. On the ride from Tres Rocas to the airplane, she had seen the verdant mountains looming off to their right. Yet after all the driving tonight, they still were not going up into the mountains.

She cast a speculative glance at Cutter. She would have liked to question him about it, but she was determined not to speak to him again. Besides, he’d probably only lie to her. She crossed her arms and stared out the side window into the night. It was utterly black out there. She hadn’t seen the lights of any houses or towns since they’d left the airstrip. Of course, with the towering trees and thick bushes and vines around, you couldn’t see anything until you came right up on it, but still, you’d think they would have passed by some houses. Why hadn’t she seen any? Was the interior really this desolate and uninhabited?

Then she realized what he was doing. It all made sense now. Cutter was avoiding the towns and villages. It explained the length of time it was taking them, the lack of any sign of life, the frequent turning off onto even worse roads. He didn’t want to be seen.

Gradually Leslie became aware of a dull roar. The noise grew louder by the moment. The truck slowed and came to a halt, its headlights shining out in front, outlining a structure before them. It took Leslie a moment to realize what the thing was. It was a bridge. Or some rickety approximation of a bridge. Made of wooden planks and supported by wooden beams, it was little wider than the truck itself. It looked as if it had been built at least a hundred years ago.

Cutter left the truck and walked over to it. In the beam of headlights, Leslie watched him go slowly, carefully across the bridge, his eyes turned downward. He stopped now and then and knelt to examine something. Twice he jumped up and down. It seemed to Leslie that she could see the whole structure shake. Cutter returned to the truck and put the gearshift into first. The truck began to roll forward.