Page 8 of Cutter’s Lady

Cutter’s head swung briefly toward Avery. “I have no issue with you, so why don’t you just stay out of it?” He turned back to Leslie. “You, however, are a rich, spoiled brat, and you think that money can buy you anything or anybody, no matter how you talk to them. Well, I’ve got news for you. You aren’t buying me.”

Leslie crossed her arms and regarded him stonily. “Thirty thousand.”

“Can’t you get the message, lady? No!”

Cutter grabbed his hat and swung out of the booth. He strode rapidly across the room, jamming his hat onto his head as he went. Leslie watched him go, her eyes shooting sparks. She was so blazingly furious she could hardly see. She was also filled with a determination that he wasn’t going to get away from her. Leslie stood up and called out, “Fifty thousand.”

Every head in the café had turned to watch Cutter’s rapid exit. Now they all swung around to look at Leslie, then turned expectantly back to Cutter. He stopped and slowly pivoted to face her. After a long, silent stare, he uttered a single expletive and slammed out of the door.

The faces turned to Leslie again. Her cheeks flamed, and she pressed her lips together. Stiffly she sat down in the booth again. “Damn!” She slammed her delicate fist down on the table. “Damn him!”

“Well, that’s that, I suppose,” Avery said in his usual imperturbable way, flipping open the menu and studying it. “What do you say? Shall we have the chili?”

Leslie glared at him. “No! We shall not have the chili! What’s the matter with you, Avery?”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, “I believe there is a saying about lemons and lemonade. And the chili does smell quite good.” He gave an exaggerated sniff as a waitress walked by carrying a bowl to a nearby table.

“Well, this is not over. Not by a long shot. That guy is going to San Cristóbal.”

Avery’s years of diplomatic service enabled him to curb the strong twitching that seized his lips, but even he couldn’t mask the amusement in his eyes. “Oh? But I thought you weren’t sure you wanted Cutter to work for you, anyway.”

“We discussed that last night. You’re the one who said he was all that was available.”

“Not exactly all,” Avery paused. “There are a couple of men in the country who worked at the embassy in San Cristóbal. Cutter’s just far and away our best chance of accomplishing the task with a satisfactory outcome. He’s the only one here in the States who knows the interior and is likely to come to an arrangement with the kidnappers.”

“I don’t want some guy who drove a car around La Luz for the ambassador,” Leslie returned. “If Cutter’s the only one who knows the interior, then he’s the one I have to have. Whether I like him or not.”

“But considering the opinion you have of him and what he apparently thinks of you, how do you expect to persuade him to work for you?”

Leslie gritted her teeth. “He’ll do it. I’ll make him.”

“You plan to put a gun to his head?”

“Money,” Leslie replied succinctly.

Now a thin smile touched Avery’s lips. “Mmm. Yes, I recall how eagerly he grabbed at it the last time you upped your offer.”

Leslie whipped around to face Avery, eyes blazing, fists clenched. She glared at Avery’s bland face for a moment, then sighed heavily and slumped in her seat, all the angry energy flowing out of her. She rested her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands. “I can’t believe I messed this all up. I know better than to tell someone you’re negotiating with what you really think of them. I’m losing control. Anything that idiot says sets me off.” She leaned back against the seat. “My nerves must be raw from waiting and not knowing. And Cutter goes against my grain.”

Avery patted her hand soothingly. “I know. This whole situation has been hard on you. You can’t expect to handle something so personal with the aplomb you have when dealing with a problem at one of your hotels.”

Leslie gave him a small smile, but tears glittered in her eyes. “I have to get him out, Avery. What am I going to do? Cutter has to do it.”

He frowned in concern. “Do you still care for Blake?”

“No.” Leslie shook her head. “I don’t love him. I’m not sure I ever did. But I—I feel responsible. And I’m the only hope he has. I can’t leave him there, not if there’s any chance I can save him.”

“Would you like me to talk to Cutter?”

Leslie leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a wonderful friend, offering to go into the lion’s den for me. But, no. I’m the one who has to do it. The only way I can see to persuade him is to apologize, and it won’t convince him unless it comes from me.” She straightened her shoulders as if going into battle. “Okay. Let’s go. I’m ready to face the lion.”

“But, Leslie, we haven’t eaten,” he threw another glance at the chili on the neighboring table.

“Avery…”

“All right, all right, I’m coming.” He slid out of the booth after her. “But I’ll expect a gourmet dinner tonight in San Antonio in return.”

“You’ve got it.” Leslie smiled, her usual confidence returning to her face. “It’ll be a victory celebration.”