Page 6 of Cutter’s Lady

She was judgmental. A snob. He didn’t want to work for her, no matter how much he needed her money. It wasn’t a job he cared for; no one in his right mind would expose himself willingly to the guerrillas. He had had enough of danger and violence during his years in San Cristóbal. He didn’t want that kind of life anymore; he had cut all ties, gotten rid of anything that could possibly be used to monitor him and come to Purcell and taken over the flying service precisely to escape his past.

Still, he reasoned, it wouldn’t be that dangerous. After all, he knew Mora; they wouldn’t shoot him on sight—provided it was the Moristas who had her husband, of course, and not the NLF. And if she wanted the guy back alive, she better hope it was the Moristas.

He knew the jungle, too. It would involve a little sweat, a little danger, but he could probably pull it off. If it hadn’t been for her attitude, he might have considered it.

Then there was the job he had down there. Funny she had turned up right now wanting to send him to San Cristóbal. He’d probably have the cargo ready to fly by the end of the week. Yeah. If it hadn’t been for her attitude, he might have been tempted to take the job.

But the scorn with which Leslie had regarded him had set Cutter against her immediately. Well, perhaps not immediately. There had been that flash of desire deep in the pit of his abdomen when he first looked up and saw her standing beside his table. She’d looked beautiful and classy and totally out of place in Zymchek’s bar. A challenge. The kind of woman who made you want to take down her hair and sift it through your hands, to ignite that cool, perfectly modeled face with desire and turn the stiff body pliant and soft.

But then she’d raked him with those hard, contemptuous dark eyes, and he’d known he didn’t want a thing to do with her. She was wealthy and spoiled, used to getting her own way; it was written all over her. No doubt all the men in her life were little lapdogs like Avery, who jumped at her every command. She’d be a huge pain to work for, even separated by thousands of miles.

He wondered what kind of money she was willing to pay. He sighed and shook his head against the thought. It couldn’t be enough. Not to get involved with a woman like her.

He reached in his pocket and withdrew the envelope Avery had handed him as he was leaving. He ran a forefinger beneath the flap and ripped it open. There was a single sheet of lined yellow tablet paper within, much folded. Cutter opened it and squinted to read the scrawled words in the poor light.

“Cutter,

Hope you don’t mind my sending these folks to you. They’re desperate for someone who knows San Cristóbal, so I thought of you. Val says she went to some fancy finishing school with Leslie Harper and that she’ll be plenty able to pay the price. I figured it’d probably make a good cover for your other business, as well.

Ashe”

Carefully Cutter folded the piece of paper again and again until it was a tiny square, studying his hands as if they held all the answers. Harlan was right; it would make a good cover. The authorities down there were plenty suspicious of him. It wouldn’t hurt to have an excuse for going into the interior, should they discover he was there. In fact, he could hire another guy to fly the plane into the interior while he entered through La Luz legally. That’d divert the government’s attention from the real shipment. Then he’d go in search of this Blake character, and along the way he could pick up his supplies and deliver them. The government would doubtless put a tail on him, but he had no doubt that he could shake them.

He shredded the small note in the shredder he had bought and placed next to the rusted hotel trash can and then lay back on the bed. He didn’t want to work for Leslie Harper, and it would be galling to accept the offer tomorrow after tossing it back in their faces tonight. Still… there was the money. And the cargo.

He grimaced and rubbed his forehead. An ache was already beginning to grow there. There’d be hell to pay tomorrow for the amount he’d drunk tonight.

Cutter wondered if the deal would seem more palatable when he was sober. He doubted it. As he’d told Avery tonight, it would probably seem even crazier. He thought of Mary. Of wide, glowing brown eyes. Maybe he ought to do it. After all, after the initial meetings, he would be away from Leslie Harper, beyond the reach of cell phones once he was deep enough in the interior. He might not keep a cell phone himself, but Leslie seemed like the type of person who would track down a companion or someone who could bring him a message. But even that would halt in the jungle. He could find the Moristas and negotiate with some degree of safety. He could pull it off and deliver the goods, as well. With a little bit of luck.

He threw one arm across his eyes and drifted into sleep, his booted feet still hanging off the edge of the bed, the light burning on the nightstand. The last thing he thought of was a woman’s face, beautifully sculpted, hair pulled tightly back and dark eyes staring at him, tinged with contempt. And as he fell into darkness, he reached for her, pulling her to him and seeking out her mouth. It was warm and soft and melting, and he made a low noise as he slid into unconsciousness.