Page 4 of Cutter’s Lady

“I gather from what Ashe said that Mr. Cutter’s dealings are somewhat—well, let’s say he likes to remain as untraceable as possible.”

“Great. What does he do—run guns or smuggle drugs?”

Avery shrugged and started the car. “I don’t know. But he must have been involved in something pretty unsavory to be that familiar with the wilds of San Cristóbal.”

Avery glanced over at Leslie. She sat facing straight ahead, presenting him with her classic profile. She was every bit as stunning as her mother, with the same enormous dark eyes and thick black hair. But the quick mind and sharp tongue, the bulldog determination beneath the lovely exterior—that was all Geoff Harper. She was used to winning, just as Geoff was. Even in a situation where her looks and money didn’t factor in, Leslie’s intelligence always brought her out on top.

Avery had known Leslie all her life. He had grown up in a traditional and very conservative family and had not come out until after his parents passed away. But by then, he’d been married to his career for so long that even once he started dating, it had been hard finding a man who would tolerate so much time at the office. Avery had always secretly wanted a child and had delighted showering his parental affection on Leslie, the daughter of his closest friend.

Leslie had been spoiled a little—how could she not be? She was the only child of a very wealthy father who was forever trying to make up for Leslie’s mother. Heather had played the wine connoisseur around Avery, knowing he enjoyed touring vineyards, but she drank so heavily he often wondered if she could even taste the expensive bottles she regularly put away. Then, when Leslie was ten years old, Heather had deserted her family completely. To try to make up for it, Geoff had given Leslie everything money could provide and even a good bit of his precious time.

Somehow, despite all that, Leslie had managed to grow up into a levelheaded and mature young woman. She had always been bright and far more interested in business dealings than in debutante balls. She had graduated early from Harvard with honors, and most of her social hours had been spent in the company of Geoff Harper and his friends—all bankers, lawyers and corporation executives.

After graduation, she had started her first boutique hotel not far from where she grew up in Manhattan. Once she’d built it into a success, she’d sold it and begun another hotel near her alma mater in Boston. Now 29, she had recently sold her third hotel in San Francisco for a healthy profit. There was nothing of her mother’s impulsive nature in her—though, she did have Heather’s dry sense of humor. Still, she had no careless streak, and if she did inherit some of her mother’s wildness, Avery suspected that Leslie kept it firmly suppressed.

It hadn’t surprised Avery when Leslie had married Blake Westfield, a man twelve years her senior and an executive in one of her father’s companies—although Avery had personally thought Blake far too dull for his beloved Leslie.

Nor was it surprising that Leslie had grown impatient with the lack of progress concerning Blake’s kidnapping and had decided to take matters into her own hands. Despite what had happened between her and Blake, Leslie was too loyal to let Blake languish in the hands of Central American insurgents. And she was too competent to endure the slow, fumbling movements of the two governments involved.

What was surprising was her immediate, harsh response to Cutter. It wasn’t like her to judge a man without giving him a chance to prove himself. Nor was it like her to be so sharp and cutting and—well, frankly, rude.

“Leslie, dear…”

“Yes?”

“Why did you tell Cutter that Blake was your husband?”

Leslie shrugged. She wasn’t quite sure herself. The words had simply popped out of her mouth, though she hadn’t thought of Blake that way for two years. “I don’t know. It was easier, I suppose, than saying he was my ex-husband. People always seem so surprised that I’m trying to help him when I tell them that we’re divorced. As if I wouldn’t care that he gets tortured or killed just because we aren’t married anymore!”

“Not everyone is as loyal as you are, my dear. There are those who would feel it simply wasn’t their concern.”

Leslie gave him a brief smile. Sweet Avery. She wouldn’t disillusion him by pointing out that it was more guilt that drove her than loyalty. Of course, she still liked Blake, even though she’d discovered long ago that she’d never really loved him. But what drove her was the knowledge that it was Leslie’s fault they had gotten a divorce. She felt guilty that, for once in her carefully curated life she had behaved so much like her mother. It was because of her that Blake had been in San Cristóbal and had fallen victim to violence there.

Leslie had been shocked when, about two months ago, Blake had shown up on her doorstep in New York and pleaded with her to remarry him. After all his anger and blame when she left him, she couldn’t believe that Blake wanted to try again.

Leslie had been thoroughly dismayed. Things hadn’t worked out as she’d hoped, but she had been happy living by herself in the two years since their divorce. She had just brought another new hotel to such success that she was ready to sell it, too. The last thing she wanted was to go back to Blake Westfield. Finally, when he realized that she was not going to remarry him, Blake had left her apartment, looking so defeated and weary that Leslie had been torn anew with sadness and guilt.

Three weeks later, when her father casually mentioned that Blake had quit the business and joined a construction company on a job in San Cristóbal, she had suspected that he’d probably felt so embarrassed at his pleading and her rejection that it had been an escape from the humiliation to move so far away.

Blake had only been in San Cristóbal two weeks when he had been kidnapped. Leslie had been stabbed with remorse. She had talked to his mother and sister on the phone, both of whom were hysterical with grief, and had promised to do everything she could to get him back safely. She had pulled every string she or her father could in Washington to find out what was going on, and she plagued the American Embassy and various San Cristóbalian government officials with long, daily calls.

It had been the most frustrating experience of her life. Leslie was used to being in control, and she couldn’t stand having to sit idly by while others fumbled and failed. Worse, she knew that all the incompetence might cost Blake his life. So she had decided to take care of it herself. Avery had been tasked with finding someone who knew enough about San Cristóbal to do the job, but he had found it difficult. A few people knew the capital city of La Luz or the coastal resort of Costa Linda but no one knew the mountainous jungles, where the insurgents hid out. That’s why, when Avery finally found a name and address for man who knew the interior of San Cristóbal, she had been willing to travel all this way just for a chance to meet with him.

“Great help that was.” She sighed.

“What?” Avery looked over at her inquiringly.

Leslie shook her head. “Just talking to myself. This thing is driving me crazy. Seriously, Avery, what am I supposed to do?”

“Give up,” he replied succinctly.

“Avery! I can’t do that. I’m the only hope Blake’s got of being rescued.”

“Well, I have checked all over, and I’ll tell you frankly that Cutter is the only name I’ve come up with. Nobody else knows how to navigate central San Cristóbal and no one else has the reputation for being daring enough to even try it. If you aren’t willing to accept Cutter, then you might as well give up. You aren’t going to find anyone else.”

Leslie set her chin stubbornly. “There must be someone else.”

“Then you find him. I’ve exhausted every source I have.”