Page 72 of Cutter’s Lady

“It’s not that I wasn’t fond of you,” Blake assured her.

“As if I care about that right now!” Leslie erupted. “After I turned you down, what did you do to get money?”

Blake hesitated, and his eyes shifted away from her. “I took some…plans from the company.”

“So you were working as a corporate spy? You stole secrets from my father’s company?”

He nodded. “Yes. I’d met a man in Hong Kong who wanted them. He offered me a couple million. I could live very well in some parts of the world on that amount.”

“That’s why you came to San Cristóbal? To sell him the secrets?”

“Yes. I took the job here as a cover. I sold him the secrets and arranged for my kidnapping. I figured if everyone thought I was dead, I couldn’t get caught. The company might not discover for a long time that the secrets had been sold. If I was dead, I hoped they wouldn’t humiliate my family by exposing me.”

“Jesus, Blake.” Leslie turned away. She felt sick and betrayed.

“Why are you still here?” Cutter asked. “Why haven’t you skipped out? Surely you don’t plan to live in San Cristóbal.”

“No.” Blake shuddered theatrically. “God, no. One week of this place was enough for me. I’m waiting for my new papers. LeFevre—that’s the man I dealt with—is arranging for a new passport for me. I couldn’t very well leave the country under my own name.”

“That might be a trifle awkward,” Cutter turned to Leslie. “Well, darlin’, what do you want to do?”

Leslie looked at him blankly. “What? Oh.” She sighed. “I hate to hurt his family anymore.” She shot a fierce gaze at Blake. “But I can’t let you get away with stealing from my dad’s company.”

Blake came to his feet. “Leslie, I don’t think you understand. I didn’t come here to turn myself in. I’m not giving up the secrets or the money or returning to the U.S. to be tried. I’m here only because I was concerned about you. You’re in danger. You have to go home. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, but I’m not the only one involved. LeFevre doesn’t like you two nosing around. He doesn’t want our deal exposed any more than I do; it’s his livelihood. He worked very hard and what he has is extremely valuable. He won’t give it up. And he’s not like me. He doesn’t care who he hurts. You have to leave San Cristóbal before he comes after you. LeFevre is a very dangerous man.”

“He’s right about that, you know,” A strange voice came from the hall, and they all whirled. A tall, slender man stood just inside the door. In one hand he held a gun, its barrel pointed at Leslie.

Leslie gasped, and Blake paled. Cutter’s hand moved instinctively toward the back of his waistband. “I wouldn’t if I were you, Mr. Cutter. I’d have Miss Harper right between the eyes before you could get out your pistol.”

Cutter’s hand moved slowly back down to his side. The stranger walked into the room and closed the door behind him. “Sorry to barge in on you. You were so busy talking I’m afraid you didn’t hear me come in.”

“LeFevre,” Blake said weakly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Obviously. But when you left this morning, I had a pretty good idea where you were going. I decided to join the party. There are times, Blake, when you talk too much for your own good. And certainly for mine.”

“What do you want?” Leslie asked. Cutter said nothing, simply watched him. He knew all too well what LeFevre wanted.

“We’re going to take a ride to my villa in the country. Beautiful place, though poor Mr. Westfield is getting a bit tired of it. Come here, Miss Harper.” He made a beckoning gesture with his free hand. Leslie moved toward him reluctantly, and he reached out and jerked her up close to him. Leslie could feel the cold metal circle of the gun barrel in her side. She looked at the other two. Cutter’s face was expressionless; Blake looked scared to death.

“Now, you gentlemen walk out the door in front of us. Don’t try anything heroic, or Miss Harper will suffer for it. Oh, before we go, Mr. Cutter, please remove the gun from your waistband and give it to Mr. Westfield. Very slowly.”

Cutter carefully removed the gun and handed it handle first to Blake. “Do you mind if I put on my shirt?”

“Go right ahead.”

Leslie shot Blake a glare as he stepped forward to take Cutter’s gun. Cutter calmly slipped on his shirt and buttoned it, then pulled on his boots. LeFevre prodded Leslie with the gun, and she started forward.

They walked out of the hotel by twos, Leslie and LeFevre behind the others. Sweat trickled down Leslie’s sides and back. She hoped someone would intervene, but no one seemed to notice that there was anything odd about their little group. They crossed the parking lot and got into a dark blue Mercedes. Leslie noted irrelevantly that it was the first luxury car she’d seen in the whole country.

Blake drove to the villa, Cutter sitting beside him in the front seat. Leslie sat in the back seat with LeFevre pressed up against her, his gun in her side. It took thirty minutes to reach the villa. The house was a lovely white stucco with a red-tiled roof; it sat atop a small rise overlooking the beach and ocean. Palm trees grew around it, and vivid flowers decorated the fence and courtyard, their perfume so strong it was almost nauseating.

LeFevre steered them down a long, cool hall. Their feet clattered on the glazed tiles. At the far end of the hall, he had Blake open a thick wooden door and motioned for Cutter to enter it. LeFevre shoved Leslie in after Cutter and quickly swung the door to. Cutter lunged for the door, but LeFevre had already shut it. There was no door handle on Cutter’s side. They heard the deadly click of a bolt sliding home, then the sound of steps retreating, muffled by the thick door.

The room was small and dim, its only light a tiny window high in the wall, barred by black wrought iron. A meager bed and a washstand and bowl made up the furnishings. The room was as bleak as a prison. Leslie sank down onto the bed. She wanted to cry. She had not only gotten herself into this horrible situation—looking for her ex who was clearly not worth it—but she had dragged Cutter into danger too. He might die and it would be her fault.

Cutter climbed up on the shaky washstand to test the bars of the window. They were firmly embedded in the wall. He made another survey of the room and turned back to Leslie. “Too bad I don’t have a knife or multi-tool hidden in my boot. Most self-respecting adventurers would.”

Tears welled in Leslie’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I never dreamed… when I think of how you risked your life for that—that liar! I hate myself for deciding to rescue Blake. If I’d kept out of it, you’d be home safe in Purcell.”