“Is there anyone waiting to see me?” Lola asked, stopping her.
The nurse stuck her head out and looked up and down the hall. “No. A sheriff was here earlier, but it looks like he left.”
Lola knew about the sheriff. He wanted to ask her questions about the past several days, but she’d put him off until morning. At first he’d been persistent, but he’d finally relented. She figured it must have been because she looked as bad as she felt, but frankly, she didn’t care why. She really was tired, but more than her exhaustion, she wanted to talk to Max before she said anything. “Have you seen a tall man with black hair and a black eye?”
“No. I think I’d remember someone like that,” the nurse said, and her white rubber clogs squeaked on the linoleum as she left the room.
Lola scratched at an insect bite on her throat, then she picked at the tape covering the IV needle in the back of her hand. The nurse brought her some vegetable soup, a piece of bread, pudding, and a Coke. When she was through eating, she pushed aside the tray table and thought about Max. She wondered where he’d been taken and when she would see him again. She didn’t have a doubt that he would come to see her before he left the state. They’d been through too much together for him to leave without speaking with her. He’d saved her life and they’d made love. And yes, she knew it wasn’t love for either of them, but it had been an intimate connection that she would never regret. Or forget, especially since he’d been the only man she’d ever had to practically beg for sex. Well, if not beg, she’d certainly had to convince him, for goodness’ sake.
Lola tried to stay awake, sure he would come to her soon, but exhaustion overtook her. As she slept, she dreamed she went to the animal shelter to spring Baby and both of them got trapped inside. In her dream, she pounded on the door and called for Max, but he never arrived.
The sound of a familiar, soft southern voice woke her from her dream. “Lola Faith?”
Her lids fluttered open and she looked toward the end of her hospital bed. She looked into her father’s sunken bloodshot eyes. They were red and watery, as if he hadn’t slept for days. His usually ruddy cheeks were pale, the worry lines on his forehead more pronounced.
Beside him stood her mother, a silk scarf covering her usually perfect bubble of blond hair. One side of the bubble was flat and fuzzy bangs stuck out from her forehead. Bags pulled at the bottoms of her eyes, and her lips were colorless.
Lola burst into tears, and not teeny, wimpy tears, either. Big painful sobs-like the time she’d been eight years old and her daddy had accidently left her at the Texaco. She’d been scared to death when she’d discovered he was gone, and overwhelmed with relief when he’d returned for her ten minutes later. She felt the same way now, at age thirty, only seeing how much suffering she’d caused them made it worse. They both looked like they’d aged ten years since she’d seen them a week ago.
Her mother rushed to the side of her bed and wiped Lola’s tears from her cheeks. “You’re going to be just fine now. Your mama and daddy have come to take you home.”
“They took Baby away from me,” she cried. “An-and put him in the shelter.”
“We’ll get your Baby back.” Her daddy patted her knee though the hospital bedding. “Then you’re going to come home to stay with us for a few days.”
Lola had a million and one things to do. She had a business to run. Yes, she had competent people who could run it in her absence, but Lola Wear, Inc., belonged to her. She wanted to speak with sales and marketing and get the early numbers on the new catalog. They were gearing up for a trade show in three months and she wanted to see the preliminary sketches for their booth. But as she looked at her parents and saw the strain on their faces, she figured they needed to pamper her in order to reassure themselves that she was okay. And perhaps she needed that, too. “Will you make your special macaroni and cheese with the cut-up weenies?”
The corner of her mother’s mouth trembled when she smiled. “And I’ll make you a Karo nut pie.”
Through her tears, Lola smiled, too. Her mother was one of the few people she knew who called pecan pie Karo nut pie. For the first time since she’d left, she finally felt like she was home again, but there was one thing that kept her from truly enjoying her return. One thing missing.
Max. She didn’t have a clue where he was or why he hadn’t contacted her.
“We’ve all been sick with worry,” her mother said. “The Carlyle family reunion is this weekend, remember? I know everyone will be thrilled to see you.”
Lola felt a sudden ache just behind her eyebrows. She’d survived a storm at sea and drug runners, only to face the horrors of Aunt Wynonna’s green pea casserole. And this time she would have to face the horrors alone, because Max had gone MIA.
At the naval air station in Key West, Max was provided a secure phone line to Washington. The fact that General Winter answered was Max’s first inkling of the trouble he was in. The second was the Pavehawk helicopter that picked him up immediately and flew him from the air station to the Pentagon.
At the Pentagon, security showed him to an office on the fourth floor. In the daylight, he knew it had a great view of the Potomac and the Jefferson Memorial. The view of the brilliantly lit monument wasn’t too bad at night either.
Usually Max met the general in a small planning room in the dark recesses of the basement. This was only the second time Max had been invited into this office. Given that and the lateness of the hour, he knew he was in trouble and prepared himself for a royal ass-chewing.
General Richard Winter sat behind his big mahogany desk, a computer monitor on one corner, a bronze eagle on the other. Max stood before the general at rigid attention. For a half hour, while his tired bones fused, he explained what had taken place since he’d left for Nassau the previous Saturday. Well, maybe not everything. He’d left out a few personal details concerning his behavior with Lola.
The general listened, then launched into a tirade. General Winter was as bald as a bowling ball, had big bushy eyebrows, and wore bifocals. He was the only man Max had ever met who could go on an apoplectic tear without blinking. It was uncanny and designed to inspire fear in men.
“This was supposed to be by the book, Max. Your directive was clear!”
“When the information I’m given is fucked up, there is no book. And as far as I’m concerned, there is only one directive. Get the job done and get the hell out, sir. I did not fail. The intel I was given failed me.”
Whether the general agreed, Max would never know. He continued to blister Max’s ears, though, calling him every name in the book. A few he liked so much he repeated them again and again. His clear favorites were shit-for-brains and asshole. When he was finished, he expected Max to cower, as most men did when faced with such verbal intimidation. He should have known better.
“That’s what I like about you, General Winter, sir,” Max said through a smile. “You take the time for sweet talk before you screw with me.”
From behind the lenses of his bifocals, the general finally blinked. “At ease, Zamora,” he ordered, and Max sat across the deck in an uncomfortable chair-which he figured was the general’s intent. “This is not a joking matter,” he continued, but his voice had lowered a few decimals. “You commandeered a yacht with a civilian on board.”
“I explained that my vision was unclear, and I thought I was the only one aboard.”
“The fact remains that you shanghaied a famous underwear model and have been out of communications for four days. Stranded in the Atlantic, you say.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve created a goddamn incident the government will be hard-pressed to deny.”
“How is that, sir?” he asked, even though he could guess.