Page 37 of Cutter’s Lady

“What?”

“Don’t give me that innocent stare. You heard me calling you. What is all this?” She swept one arm in an arc to indicate the piles of boxes beneath the plane.

“Cargo.”

“Whose cargo?” Leslie asked.

“Mine.”

Swept with fury, Leslie dropped his arm. “You’re bringing in contraband! You’re endangering my project—Blake’s life—so you can make a few bucks. Even after what I paid you, you’re so greedy you have to slip in drugs or arms or whatever it is you deal in! If the government catches you, it’ll sink our whole plan.”

“The government won’t catch me.”

“Oh? You have a guarantee?”

“They’ve never caught me yet,” Cutter replied.

“You lied! You used me.”

“No.”

“No? What else would you call it?”

Cutter felt a fierce stab of guilt. He had used her as cover, and now he wished he hadn’t. Even the fact that it was for something important no longer seemed to excuse it. He hated the accusing look in her eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. I should have told you. But I promise this won’t get in the way of finding Blake.”

“How can you promise? How do you know the people you’re dealing with won’t turn against you or the government won’t find us again? We could wind up in jail—or dead!”

She was right. Death or jail was a possibility, one that had never before particularly concerned him. He knew the risks and he knew his abilities to counter the risks. He was safer than most would be in the same situation, and that had always been enough for him. But now… he looked at Leslie and a cold chill ran through him. Even the slightest possibility of Leslie’s dying or winding up in a San Cristóbal prison was too much. For the first time he could remember, Cutter wished he had a one-hundred-percent guarantee of safety.

Cutter slammed one fist into his other palm. “Damn it!” he exploded. “Why did I ever let you come with me?”

“Because you didn’t have any other choice,” Leslie blazed back.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Listen. John is flying straight back to the States as soon as we unload this cargo. I want you to go with him.”

“Are you crazy?” Leslie shrugged out of his grasp. “There’s no way I’m going to turn you loose in this country with your illegal goods and no supervision. More than ever I need to be here to protect my interests.”

“You can trust me to carry out this job!” he roared.

“Oh, yeah?” Leslie retorted like an angry child, fists planted on her hips.

“Yeah!” He faced her in the same stance, his jaw thrusting out pugnaciously. He wished very much that there was something around he could hit. Why was she so damned stubborn? So damned contrary? So damned beautiful?

“Uh, Cutter, excuse me…” John approached them warily, keeping a couple of arm’s lengths away from Cutter.

“What?” Cutter snapped, swinging around to glower at him.

Mecklin cleared his throat. “Cargo hold’s empty. Shall I take off?”

Cutter swiveled back to Leslie. “Are you going to get on that plane?”

“No!”

His eyes blazed with green fire. “Fine. That’s fine. Stay here and risk your neck, then. Take off, Mecklin. Apparently the lady prefers guerrillas and snakes.” Cutter turned away from her, calling out orders in Spanish to the workmen. He strode toward the back of the truck, where the men were now loading the goods. Fuming, Leslie followed him.

“Cutter! Just a minute. I’m not through.”

“I am.”