No Quarter Given (SSE 667)

by Lindsay McKenna

  Dana’s black humor always surfaced in a crisis. Her lips curved into a wry twist that could be misconstrued as a grimace. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a black eye,” she offered. “Don’t worry about me. What about the old woman? Could you go see how she is? Please?”

  Griff wavered. Dana was small and ultrafeminine, but he felt the smooth firmness of muscle beneath the flesh of her arm. The fear shadowing her azure eyes hadn’t ebbed. Why? She was safe now. He knew he had a craggy face, with features that were harsh and unforgiving, but she was reacting as if he were threatening rather than helping her.

  “Well—”

  “Please, she needs help. Go to her. I’ll be fine.” Did Griff hear the desperation in her tone? Dana wondered as she pulled her arm from his hand. She saw the puzzlement in his eyes. His lips parted to say something, but he changed his mind.

  “Okay. But you stay put. Understand? You’re in no condition to go anywhere.”

  A hysterical giggle clawed up Dana’s throat as he eased to his feet. If Griff had seen her after her father had gotten done with her, he’d have thought she was dying. A couple of times her mother had taken her to the hospital emergency room. When Griff halted and half turned toward her, Dana muttered, “I won’t go anywhere.”

  Ordinarily she’d have resented a man’s order. At Annapolis, especially as a plebe, she’d had to take plenty of stupid, inane orders from upperclassmen bent on driving her out of the academy. Then, as now, she tucked the resentment deep within her. The worry in Griff’s eyes was genuine, if she was any judge of the situation. But her track record with men had always been poor, so she feared she could have misread his intent. Still, her heart wanted to accept that Griff was concerned about her welfare.

  Griff crouched by the old woman who was shakily putting her glasses back on. Speaking quietly, he placed his hand on her. Dana’s face hovered before him. Automatically, he looked over his shoulder. A police officer was kneeling next to Dana, taking a report. She looked disheveled and in need of some care. Internally, Griff chastised himself. He’d gotten out of divorce court only six months ago. Carol, his ex-wife, had appeared strong and capable. But during the five years of their disastrous marriage, Griff had discovered his wife was a clinger, not a woman who could stand on her own two feet as his equal. Carol had fooled him completely. Sensing what he’d wanted, she’d become that for him while they were dating. He was a brash, cocky, fighter pilot who’d earned his wings out of Annapolis. Carol, an only child from a banking family, had fallen in love with his image; he’d fallen in love with her facade.

  Disgusted with himself, Griff forced himself to look away from Dana. She had the face of an angel, with eyes the color of the sky he loved to fly in. And that mouth of hers… Groaning to himself, Griff wondered if the adrenaline flow was making him unusually responsive to her. Hadn’t he learned his lesson about being drawn to women too quickly?

  The police officer rose, giving Dana a hand to her feet. She brushed off the seat of her pants. A young woman came up, offering her a Kleenex for her bloody forearm. Quietly thanking her, Dana looked up at the officer.

  “May I go now?”

  “We’ve got your address, Ms. Coulter. When and if Mrs. Biddle presses charges against this guy, we’ll be in touch.”

  “Okay.” Dana looked past the policeman. Griff was being kept busy by the other officer, who was taking his report.

  “Look, you sure you’re okay? The ambulance will be here in just a minute. Maybe you ought to go to Emergency and get checked over. That’s quite a shiner you’ve got in the making.”

  Forcing a slight smile for the officer’s benefit, Dana said, “I’ll be fine.” Then she disappeared into the crowd. Right now, all she wanted was to escape Griff’s gray, eagle gaze. Her instincts told her he wanted to be sure she was all right. Dana wavered between disbelief and fear that a man honestly could be concerned about her. She picked up her luggage and hailed a taxi, ignoring the stunned look of the driver. Collapsing in the back seat, she gave the cabbie the address where her roommates, Maggie and Molly, awaited her.

  Dana ignored the pain it cost her to sit forward and look across the crowd. Griff stood tall and straight, his shoulders thrown back with natural pride—an eagle among a bunch of chattering blackbirds, Dana thought tiredly. As she sank back again, closing her eyes, his gray eyes haunted her heart. Her tightly coiled emotions begged to explode outward in a sob. Suddenly Dana realized just how tired she was—a kind of bone-deep exhaustion that frightened her more than men did.

  She ignored the sunny April weather, the humidity, and the tropical foliage that lined the wide boulevards. Coming to Whiting Field to face her ultimate test had been the culmination of the past four years of her life. Her mother, Ann Coulter, had finally found the courage to divorce her father, Frank. Even her best friends, Maggie and Molly, knew little of her abusive childhood. It was something she was ashamed of; something she wanted no one to know about. Griff’s harsh features swam in front of her tired eyes. An eagle with the heart of a dove. Was that possible? Did any man own a heart sensitive to anyone other than himself? Something inside her wanted to believe that Griff might.

  Griff… His voice had soothed the pain in her cheek and the ache in her head. How badly Dana wanted simply to sit and talk to him, to find out more about him. But she would never see him again. A terrible sadness overwhelmed Dana. She could have stayed at the airport and waited for him to come back to her. But she’d been frightened by the way he affected her strewn senses. Never would she give her power away to a man again.

  ***

  “Where is she?” Griff demanded, craning his neck.

  “Who?”

  “The woman who tackled the thief.”

  The cop looked around and shrugged. “Dunno, Lieutenant. I told her she was free to go.”

  Dammit. Throwing his hands on his hips, Griff glared around at the dissipating crowd. The purse snatcher was being put into the cruiser. “I need to see her.”

  “You know her?”

  “No. I need her name and address, Officer.”

  “Sorry, I can’t do that.”

  Griff glared at him.

  “Police policy, Lieutenant. Sorry.”

  “But—”

  “I’m sure she’ll show up if there’s a hearing, and you’ll be there, too.” The cop grinned. “Gutsy broad, wasn’t she?” He glanced significantly down at Griffs bare left hand. “I’d want her name and phone number, too, if I were in your shoes.”

  Griff bit back a nasty retort. He didn’t like the innuendo in the cop’s voice. But he wasn’t going to lower himself to the man’s locker-room level. “I’ll see her in court,” he snapped, spinning on his heel and heading in the direction of his dropped bags.

  Retrieving the luggage, Griff grimly asked himself why the hell he wanted to see Dana again. She’d taken a nasty punch. Her eye was going to swell shut. Did she have anyone to care for her? To hold her or maybe just listen to her story, her fear?

  “You’re nuts, Turk. Knock it off and get back to business.” Bags in hand, he swung off the curb and made his way to the parking lot where his red Corvette was waiting. This whole situation was crazy. Four days ago his best friend, the brother he’d never had, had been killed, thanks to the incompetence of a woman student-pilot over at Pensacola Naval Air Station. Lieutenant Toby Lammerding had been an instructor pilot at Pensacola, only miles away from Whiting Field, where Griff was also an IP. Toby had taught officer candidates, while at Whiting Field, Griff taught Annapolis grads making a bid to pass the toughest flight tests in the world and become U.S. Navy pilots.

  Griff had never believed a woman could meet the tough standards necessary to become a Navy pilot. Women simply weren’t physically strong enough—or emotionally prepared—to handle a thirty-million-dollar fighter jet. When Toby had called, excited about his first female student pilot, Griff had felt a cold chill work up his spine. Toby had been ecstatic over the chance to help a woman get her win
gs. Griff couldn’t agree with his friend. In the year Griff had been an IP, or 03 as they were called by the students, he’d never had a woman assigned to his training schedule. He never wanted one.

  Unlocking the car door, he threw his luggage into the passenger seat. He’d just returned from Augusta, Georgia, where Toby had been buried that morning. The flight investigation blamed the woman student-pilot for the flight error. The woman had bailed out in time but Toby had valiantly stayed behind to try and save the crippled trainer. The engine had exploded.

  After buckling his seat belt, Griff rammed the key into the ignition, his feelings of grief and loss over Toby surfacing. He hadn’t cried at the funeral as Toby’s family and friends had. No, he’d attended in uniform, stoic and strong for those who weren’t. Tears burned in Griffs eyes as the Corvette purred to life. Dana’s bruised, battered face swam before his tear-filled eyes. God, but she’d had wide, clear eyes—the kind a man could fall into and feel safe and good about himself.

  “Dreamer,” Griff growled at himself harshly. That was his Achilles’ heel. Though his world required highly complex skills, a mind that worked at the speed of a refined computer and brutal physical demands, Griff recognized his own soft underbelly. He’d dreamed of Carol being more than a “wife.” Maybe it was his fault their marriage had fallen apart. Maybe he’d wanted her to be something she never could be. Funny how women touched his wistful-dreamer side, especially when based on his five-year-marriage track record, he was a failure.

  Well, tomorrow was a fresh start in so many ways. No more getting together with Toby on weekends to go deep-sea fishing, or Friday-night poker games with the IPs at Pensacola. Griff’s apartment would be silent and empty, as usual since his divorce from Carol. When he went to Whiting Field, Monday morning, it would be to meet his next three students for the coming six weeks of daily instruction. He sighed. Very few of his students made it through their time with him. Griff knew he had one hell of a reputation among the student personnel at the base. They called him “the Turk,” and he had the highest washout rate of students at Whiting. And for a good reason. He didn’t want anyone in the air who couldn’t handle the pressures that a naval aviator would experience.

  As he guided the red sports car down a palm-lined avenue, Griff acknowledged that his mind and, if he was honest, his heart, still dwelled on Dana. Her trembling words haunted him: “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a black eye….” A hunger to find out more about her ate at him. She was a woman of mystery and of surprisingly heroic proportions. Why had she run from him? The fear he’d seen in Dana’s eyes had been real. Fear of him? But why? Pushing his fingers through his short, dark brown hair, Griff muttered a curse. He had to forget Dana. Toby had always counseled him to live one day at a time. Well, starting tomorrow morning, he’d follow his best friend’s advice.

  Chapter Two

  “Dana! What happened to you?” Molly stepped forward between the stacks of boxes that had yet to be unpacked in their airy three-bedroom apartment. Dana stood at the doorway, her face puffy and bruised.

  Gratefully, Dana allowed Molly to take her luggage. She shut the screen door. “I had a run-in with a jerk at the airport who wanted to steal an old lady’s purse.” Tenderly she touched her swollen cheek that ached like fire. “I tackled him.”

  Molly’s eyes widened and she put the luggage down, going back to Dana. “Come and sit down. You look awful! Let me get a cold washcloth and some ice. Come on.”

  Ordinarily, Dana refused any kind of mothering, but right now, Molly’s warmth and care were exactly what she needed. “Okay,” she agreed. Crossing to the peach-colored couch, she slowly sat down, holding a hand to her head.

  “No. Lie down,” Molly told her as she removed two small boxes and placed them on the floor. “It’s a good thing Maggie isn’t here. She’d hit the roof! You know how she feels about the elderly in this country, always saying they aren’t properly taken care of, and all.”

  A bit of a laugh escaped Dana as she lay down. The couch felt heavenly. “That’s one thing we happen to agree on. Knowing Maggie, she’d go hunt down that bastard and clobber him all over again for the old woman and me.” Maggie was fiercely loyal to those she loved and cared for.

  “She would,” Molly agreed. Worriedly she watched Dana for a moment. “You really look terrible.”

  “Thanks, Mol. You’re a fountain of good news.”

  “Back to your black humor again, I see.”

  “It’s saved my tail every time.”

  “Stay put. I’ll get the ice pack.”

  Wearily, Dana placed her arm across her forehead, still seeing Molly’s blond hair framing her oval face and soft features, her hazel eyes filled with worry. Molly had always been the “mother” of their group, caring for Dana and Maggie when they were down-and-out—which wasn’t often. She watched her friend, dressed in a pair of pale green cotton shorts and a white blouse, disappear into another room.

  Looking around the quiet apartment, Dana thought how beautiful it was compared to the dorm they’d lived in at Annapolis. They had sent Molly ahead to choose something for the three of them. It was the first time Dana had seen it. The walls were an ivory color to match the carpet. Molly had brought her furniture from Boston and it was bamboo with cushions in pastel peaches, plums and pale greens. Soft, quiet colors, Dana thought, like warmhearted, serene Molly.

  Closing her eyes, she released a long, ragged sigh. It felt good to relax, to know she was safe again. In a way, Dana really was glad Maggie wasn’t here. The Irishwoman’s red hair and quick temper would have created instant passion and emotion—two things she’d had plenty of in the past couple of hours. No, she needed Molly’s more tranquil personality.

  “Here you go.” Molly came back and sat down facing Dana. Gently she placed the ice pack over Dana’s eye. “Gosh, that looks awful, Dana. Maybe we ought to get you over to the dispensary of Whiting Field and have a doctor look at it.”

  Grimacing, Dana held the pack firmly against her eye. “No way, Mol. It’s going to be tough enough going there tomorrow with this black eye. If I can’t get this swelling down enough, the doc might ground me. I don’t want to be grounded for a week waiting for this thing to heal. I’d be a week behind my class. That wouldn’t bode well for me or my chances of getting my wings.”

  “You poor dear.” Molly pushed strands of black hair away from Dana’s forehead.

  “You got any old recipes from your grandma Inez for black eyes?” Molly was close with her rich and influential Boston family, particularly her twin brother, Scott, who was confined to a wheelchair for life. Molly loved to cook, and had used old-time remedies from her beloved granny to help the three of them through the cold-and-flu seasons at Annapolis every year.

  “Let’s see…” Molly glanced around at the stacks of boxes. The room was filled with them. “Grandma Inez put all her remedies in one book. Where did I pack it?”

  “Didn’t you number your boxes and what was in them?” Dana smiled to herself, loving Molly fiercely. In some ways, she felt Molly was too soft to have graduated from Annapolis, but she had. Did she have the toughness it would take to get her wings?

  Her finger on her chin, Molly scowled. “No…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Dana whispered. “Look, you go ahead and keep unpacking. I’m just going to lie here and regroup, okay?”

  “Are you sure? At least let me clean up that arm of yours. It’s awful looking.”

  Dana grinned, though it hurt to do it. “Is everything about me ‘awful,’ Mol?”

  Laughing, Molly stood. “Of course not! How many times have you come in looking beat-up like this?”

  “Never,” Dana agreed. Not since she’d left home at eighteen for Annapolis, she thought, where her father couldn’t reach her.

  “I’m allowed to be concerned, then. I just unpacked the bathroom stuff. At least we can clean and bandage your arm.”

  It felt good simply to rest and let Molly take care of her. Dan
a knew she trusted very few people to do that, but Molly had earned her trust over four long, harsh years at the academy. Besides, wasn’t this what the Sisterhood was all about? Hell of a way to test it out, Dana decided wryly.

  As she drifted off, almost asleep, Griff’s face suddenly appeared before her. Startled, she woke with a jerk.

  Molly turned toward her quickly. “Dana? What’s wrong?”

  Scowling, Dana relaxed back into the cushions. “Uh… nothing.”

  “You jumped as if someone were attacking you,” Molly chided, sitting back down beside Dana. She arranged the gauze, tape and antiseptic on the floor next to the couch.

  “It was nothing. I’m just jumpy after that guy hit me at the airport.” It wasn’t a lie. Dana didn’t like evading her friends, but it simply hurt too much to delve into the reasons behind her defensive, wary nature. They’d accepted her without questions, and she was grateful.

  As gently as possible, Molly cleaned the long bloody scrapes on Dana’s arm. “You’ve got to be feeling sore and bruised all over. How about if I draw you a hot bath? I think all you can stand right now is bed and rest. Maggie’s out doing the shopping for us. We can continue unpacking tonight without you, Dana. You really need to rest.”

  Tears jammed behind Dana’s closed eyes. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re Florence Nightingale in this incarnation?”

  Molly laughed softly, daubing the stinging antiseptic across Dana’s arm. “Same old Dana: teasing even if you feel rotten.”

  “Humor is the only thing that’s saved me,” she told Molly seriously.

  “Teasing aside, want that bath?”

  “Yes. I stink.”

  “I wasn’t going to put it exactly like that.”

  “You wouldn’t. You’re too kind, Mol.”

  Giggling, Molly bandaged her arm. “Maggie would wrinkle her nose.”

  “And roll those big green eyes of hers.”

  “She has great body language,” Molly agreed.