Rachel Gibson: Lola Carlyle Reveals All

The four men pushed the rubber combat raft toward the end of the ramp. A parachute, communications package, and the team’s assault gear were lashed to the assault raft, as were the engine and fuel that would take them to the island. Max checked the GPS on his chest to make sure it was working and waited for the green cargo bay lights to blink, indicating that they were over the area and it was time to go. He double-checked the Velcro closures on his assault vest and felt for the Heckler & Koch 9mm semiautomatic pistol strapped to his thigh.

The cargo lights blinked twice and the four men shoved the rubber craft and pushed it out of the C-130. Max unhitched the safety lines, moved to the end of the ramp, and rolled into the night sky. Within seconds, the cells of his parachute opened and he was hauled upward by his harness. Then everything evened out, and he flipped on his GPS, corrected his heading with the steering line, and sat back to enjoy the ride. Or at least he tried to. For the first time since he’d joined the Navy, he didn’t feel the thrill of anticipation. The rush of adrenaline that let him know he was alive. For the first time, he wasn’t exhilarated by jumping out of an aircraft or pushing his physical and mental capabilities past the limit of endurance. For the first time, the thought of Mission Impossible did not pump him up. For the first time, he just wanted to get the job done and get the hell home.

He rolled his head back and looked up at the stars. Normally, this was the part of the mission he enjoyed the most. The calm before the storm. Not this time. He was too angry to be calm, and he’d been angry since the day he’d told Lola he loved her, and she’d walked out the front door. No, anger was too mild a word. What he felt churned in his gut like acid and filled him with impotent rage. He’d always known that any involvement with her was going to cause him pain. He’d fought against loving her, but in the end, it had been like fighting not to breathe. After a time, it just proved impossible.

I won’t ask you to stay, Max. I won’t ask you to stay for me , she’d said. I know you wouldn’t anyway .

In the end she’d done exactly what he’d always known she’d do. She’d wanted him to give up his government work for her. For a life in the suburbs. He’d been right about her, but being right brought him no comfort.

I won’t go through this time after time so that you can go off and feed whatever need you have that makes you risk your life for people you don’t know and a government who had you arrested for a crime you didn’t commit just so they could get rid of you.

At the moment, his need to risk his life for an ungrateful government paled in comparison to his desire to hightail it to North Carolina and rip her heart out, just as she’d ripped out his. Jesus, she was evil. She’d waited until there wasn’t a thought in his head that didn’t revolve around her, then she’d walked out. She’d waited for him to fall in love with her before she’d plunged the knife deep in his chest. Then she’d waited for him to tell her he loved her to twist it for good measure. Evil and vicious.

Max checked his altimeter and tore off his oxygen mask. He sucked in a breath of fresh air, but it did nothing to clear his troubled mind.

I deserve more. I deserve a man who loves me enough to want to grow old with me.

He’d always thought she deserved more. Always thought she could do a hell of a lot better than him. Again he’d been right, but again it brought him no comfort. The thought of her with another man embedded the knife so deep, he didn’t think he’d ever get it out again. Evil, vicious, and vindictive. If she’d wanted to get back at him for the Dora Mae fiasco, or anything since, she’d done a good job. Brilliant. The first time in his life he tells a woman he loves her, and she tells him it’s not enough. Well, that would teach him to lead with any part of his body but his head.

Twenty-five feet above the surface of the water, he cut away his parachute. He wore enough hardware to drag him to the bottom, and he felt for the pull-tab that would inflate his CQC vest. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and prepared to plunge into the ocean.

For thirty-six years, he’d lived without Lola Carlyle. He would live without her for thirty-six more.

Lola stuck her pencil behind her ear, then massaged the back of her neck. Seated around the conference room table to her right were four members of sales and marketing, along with her lead designer, Gina. To her left sat her creative director, and together they were endeavoring to brainstorm a new name for the seamless line of Lola Wear, Inc.

Barely There was their thirteenth idea of the afternoon. And the thirteenth idea that failed to blow Lola’s socks off.

“The new line is as comfortable as a second skin,” she said. “Soft and smooth and very sexy. We want the advertisement to reflect that. We need something short and snappy. Something that says I’m comfortable but sexy.”

The faces around her looked as tired as she felt. They’d been at it for over three hours and no one was coming up with anything that closely resembled anything brilliant.

“What if we use something with your name in it, Lola? Something fun and sexy,” Gina said, and everyone threw out their ideas, no matter how off-the-wall.

“Sheer Lola.”

“Translucent Lola.”

“Sheer Lola, or Sheerly Lola, isn’t bad,” she said, “but I think we can come up with something better. One word, like… oh…”

“We could simply call the line Lolita,” someone threw out.

“Yes.”

“I kind of like that.”

“No!” Lola said with more force than intended. Everyone looked at her and she took the pencil from behind her ear. “Sorry, I don’t like Lolita.” Max had called her Lolita. Just the sound of the name stabbed at her still-bleeding heart. It had been more than a week now since she’d walked out of Max’s townhouse, and her heart had not even begun to recover. And it wouldn’t, either, if she had to hear the name Lolita, see it in a catalog, or read it on a label.

The door to the conference room opened and Lola’s assistant, Wanda, approached her.

“There’s a gentleman here to see you,” she whispered in Lola’s ear. “He says he’s not leaving until you speak with him.”

Lola figured the gentleman in question could be one of two men. Her ex-fiancé, Sam, whose numerous phone calls she’d been avoiding, or the graphic designer she was to meet shortly.

“Did he give you his name?”

“Sam.”

Her first thought was that he’d found out she’d been involved in the disappearance of those nude photographs. But if that were the case, the police would be here, not Sam. Her second thought was that he’d unearthed something new to use against her, and she figured she had two options: get the confrontation over or have security throw him out. She took a moment to review her choices and decided it was best to hear what he was up to, just in case he had more nasty surprises or something to use to blackmail her. She’d learned long ago not to put anything past Sam. “Show him to my office,” she said as she stood and excused herself from the meeting.

He can’t hurt me anymore , she told herself, but apprehension twisted a knot in her stomach as she moved through the hall to her office. Just outside her door, she looked down at her white crocheted dress and pasted on the pleasant smile she’d perfected over the years. No way would Sam see her sweat. When she entered the room, he was waiting inside for her.

“Sam,” she said, leaving the door open just in case. “What brings you to North Carolina?”