No Quarter Given (SSE 667) (15 page)

Each time her hand sliced through the dark water, Dana felt for anything that might be floating in their way. She was sure Portuguese men-of-war were in the Florida area. The water was too warm for them not to be around. If she or Vickie blindly bumped into one, it could mean death. It would take a while, but gradually, if the sting was bad enough, Dana knew it would cripple her enough to stop her from swimming. And then, they'd drown.

Quickly pushing those terrorizing thoughts out of her head, Dana tried to figure out how far out to sea the riptide had carried them. For three hours, they'd been pulled along by the current. How many knots had it been? Fifteen or twenty miles per hour? It was impossible to know the speed of the current. Rapidly doing some mental calculations, Dana felt her heart sink. Could it be they were twenty miles offshore? Dana had swum ten miles, and a couple of times, fifteen, but never twenty. And certainly not with a seven-year-old girl in tow.

Panic edged her resolve. Dana switched her thoughts back to Griff. He had such an incredibly strong, confident face. His eagle-gray eyes were beautiful, in Dana's opinion. She clung to her good memories of him. Still, the nagging thought persisted that if they were twenty miles out to sea, she couldn't possibly make it back to shore with Vickie. Maybe by herself, but not with the girl.

Yet, there was no question in Dana's mind that she wouldn't try to make it. Even if her magnificently trained body gave out, she might get Vickie close enough to the beach that the current might sweep them ashore, and save Vickie's life. Dana had to try. There was no alternative. If only Griff could have helped. If only...

***

"Okay, the SAR helo's up and searching," Coast Guard Chief Adams informed Griff.

Pacing back and forth in the small office, Griff gave a curt nod. Hours ago he'd told Veronica Tandy to go home and wait for word from the CG. Contacting the personnel office at Whiting, Griff had gotten the names of Dana's two roommates and dialed their number.

"Hello?"

Griff cleared his throat, his hand a little tighter on the phone. "This is Lieutenant Turcotte calling. Who am I speaking with?"

"Ensign Maggie Donovan, sir."

Griff heard the surprise and question in her voice. "I'm calling about your friend and roommate, Dana Coulter," he explained.

"Dana? Where is she? We've been worried sick, Lieutenant."

As quickly as possible, Griff explained the situation.

"We're coming down there," Maggie said.

"No. There's no use—"

"Lieutenant, she's our friend. It doesn't sound like the Coast Guard is doing much about rescuing Dana. Maybe we can estimate where Dana will come to shore."

Griff nodded. He'd been thinking the same thing. The passion in Maggie's voice was clear, and he knew there was no use trying to convince them to wait patiently at their apartment for word on Dana.

"All right, come on down. With three of us combing the beaches tonight, we might find her."

"We'll be right there."

Griff hung up the receiver, staring at it. Dana had some good friends, and he was glad for her sake. Dana was too important to him to leave in the Coast Guard's hands. He was going to stay the night, if necessary. Earlier, a Navy SAR helo from Pensacola had made a search and found nothing. The CG pilots had just returned from another rescue and come back to plot where Dana might be located.

Lieutenant Commander Storm Gallagher was at the controls, assuring Griff that she and her helo crew would do everything possible to find Dana and the girl. Griff had searched the woman pilot's features, reading between the lines: Time wasn't on their side. One thing Gallagher did give him hope on was dropping the data buoy. Armed with current speed and direction, which would be called in via radio, the chief might be able to plot a course to search for Dana. Griff looked at his watch. It was eight o'clock, and darkness had fallen.

He turned and stared out the windows that overlooked the ocean. It looked so calm, while he felt as if a hurricane was ripping him apart inwardly. Changing the focus of his eyes, Griff stared at his reflection in the glass. He looked tired and exhausted. What about Dana? Was she still fighting to stay afloat? Griff's last memory of Dana had been her surfacing from the undertow near Vickie. Then both of them had disappeared. Tears leaked into his eyes, and Griff wiped them away with the back of his hand. Why had he treated Dana so badly?

Griff grew very still, feeling something he'd never experienced before. He savored the frail tendril in his heart. What name could he give to this new feeling? After five years of marriage to Carol, Griff thought he'd gone through every possible human emotion. But this incredible sensation that made his heart burst open like a blossoming flower was entirely new. And beautiful.

"Dana..." He said her name softly: "Danielle..." Why hadn't anyone ever called her by her full name? It was beautiful and exotic, like her. Griff raised his ey >, seeing the fear in his reflection—fear that she could bt dead or dying out there alone on that black, merciless ocean. The azure beauty of her eyes promised him so much—so much. Clenching his fists, he stared at himself several seconds and digested the new feelings Dana had miraculously brought into his life.

Whirling around when the radio crackled to life with Storm Gallagher's voice, Griff headed back to the counter. The chief was quickly writing down data buoy information. Griff took out his small pocket calculator. He and the chief went to the wall-size map of the ocean together.

"Ms. Gallagher is going to search this area, sir," Evans said.

Griff frowned. "Didn't she just say the riptide's gone?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then this latest data buoy info is useless."

"Not quite. All we can do is hypothesize the speed of the current. We know the direction," the chief said, tracing the area with his finger. "It's just a question of speed."

Dissatisfied, Griff figured the information on his calculator. He moved around the chief. "If the riptide moved faster than you think, she could be over there—twenty miles offshore."

The chief shook his head. "Sir, that's a long shot. Normally, riptides go for a couple of miles. The climatology and oceanographic people said this was a big one, so we've allowed up to twelve knots of speed. That still would put her only fifteen miles offshore. And that's the area Ms. Gallagher is searching."

Frustrated, Griff stuck to his intuitive feeling. "And if they find nothing?"

"She'll either shorten or lengthen the next search pattern."

"Dana could be dead by that time!" Griff hadn't meant to bark at him. He studied the map critically for several minutes in silence. Finally he said, "I think Dana will be in this area, which puts her twenty miles offshore. Which way is the present current and tide running if she was there?"

The chief scratched his dark brown hair and said, "If she's able to make it to shore, it ought to be in the area of Parham beach on Santa Rosa Island." He stared up at Griff. "That's a big if, Lieutenant."

"If Commander Gallagher doesn't turn anything up on this first search, will you ask her to check that area next?"

The chief shrugged. "Sir, it's up to her, not me."

Griff wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. "Look, call it a hunch, but I think the riptide took Dana out a lot farther than anyone realizes." At that moment, two women dressed in jeans, blouses and lightweight jackets entered the office.

"Lieutenant?" Maggie came forward. "We're Dana's friends. This is Ensign Molly Rutledge. Have you heard anything yet?"

Griff nodded toward the blond woman, whose eyes were huge with worry. He moved over to the map and gave them the information he'd just received, adding his own hunch.

"So if we spread out in this area," Maggie said, tracing it with her index finger, "we might be able to spot her when she comes ashore?"

"That's right."

"Let's agree on a search pattern," Molly suggested quickly. "Lieutenant, why don't you take the beaches east of Parham, and we'll patrol the ones west of it?"

It was a sound plan. Griff liked the way the women reacted to the crisis. But then, he had to remind himself they were Annapolis graduates. A bit of hope trickled into his chest. "Good idea." He turned to the chief. "Have you got a couple of extra two-way radios we can carry in our cars in case we find Dana?"

The chief nodded. "Yes, sir." He went into another room and came back a few moments later with handsets for Maggie and Griff.

Griff thanked him, then turned back to the women. "The chief will notify the local hospital about Dana and Vickie. I'm sure they'll have a medical team standing by. Whoever finds them, call the hospital and tell them you're coming in. Once you're under way, call the other car."

"And be sure to call us, too," the chief added.

"Of course," Maggie said. She gripped the handset. "Let's set our radios for the same frequency, Lieutenant, so we can communicate with each other when we do find Dana."

Smiling to himself, Griff felt buoyed by the woman's clearheaded thinking. It gave him stability. Dana couldn't have a better team out looking for her.

Griff drilled Evans with a lethal look. "Tell Commander Gallagher where we're focusing our search, will you?"

"Yes, sir."

Griff left the office, followed by the two women. They hurried in silence to the well-lit parking lot. Raising his hand to them, he got into his car. Parham Beach was forty miles north of here. What could he do if he did find Dana arid Vickie? He had a flashlight, a beach towel and a blanket. With his arm in a cast, he couldn't swim; but that didn't matter. He'd comb the beaches above Parham one at a time with a flashlight, yelling for Dana, hoping she would hear him. If he did find her, he'd swim out and rescue her, cast or no cast.

It wasn't much of an alternative, Griff admitted, driving well over the speed limit along the interstate. He had to believe that Dana would make it to shore. She wouldn't give up. She wasn't a quitter like Carol.

***

"I'm cold, Dana," Vickie cried softly.

"I know, honey. Just hang in there." Wearily, Dana rolled over onto her back. An hour ago she'd spotted a low-flying helicopter five miles away. She was positive it was a Coast Guard helo. Her spirits, ebbing after four hours of swimming, rallied. But they plummeted when the helo continued the search pattern away from where she trod water.

Her arms felt like lead weights, and Dana allowed them to rest across her body as she floated on her back to take a needed breather. Vickie's small hand reached out, searching frantically for contact with her. Gently, Dana grasped her small, wrinkled hand, squeezing it.

"I want Mommy," Vickie said, beginning to cry.

"Shh," Dana whispered, bringing the girl against her. With a shaking hand, Dana tried to smooth Vickie's salty, stiff hair off her face. "We're going home now, honey."

"But I don't see Mommy."

Glancing at her watch, Dana saw that it was now midnight. They'd been in the water for seven hours. Her flesh was badly wrinkled and puckered. Thirst was clawing at her throat, her mouth torturously dry. Dana tried to think coherently. She knew she was losing electrolytes, which would impair her mental faculties. Repeatedly Dana checked the stars for direction. Her eyes were playing funny tricks on her; the stars were sometimes growing hazy and out of focus.

"I'm sure your mommy is praying for both of us," Dana soothed the girl. Her left leg cramped suddenly, and she bit back a groan, automatically flexing into a treading position to rub the protesting calf. Her muscles were shaking, telling her she had very little reserve strength left. As she rubbed the knotted muscle, the pain brought clarity back to Dana.

Looking up, her heart skittered briefly. She could see lights. A cry clawed up Dana's throat.

"Look, Vickie! Look! You see those lights?"

"Y-yes."

"That's home." Dana's voice quavered as hope pounded through her exhausted body.

"It looks so far away."

Managing a croak that was supposed to be a laugh, Dana said, "Maybe six miles, Vickie." Six:
miles.
How far had they come already? Dana had no idea. Her arms and legs were stinging with welts from jellyfish. Dana had swum through at least ten groups of the floating creatures. At least the stinging sensation helped keep her mind focused.

"Is Mommy there?"

"I'll bet she is," Dana gasped, turning over and kicking her feet to propel them both forward. The lights glimmered and twinkled in the darkness. Hope, along with the need to survive the ordeal, soared within Dana. The stars hadn't led her wrong.

Now, each time she lifted her arm over her head, Dana's shoulder protested with sharp, unremitting pain. She was sure the sockets were inflamed by the constant strain of towing Vickie. Six miles was too much to think about. It seemed too far to Dana, so she concentrated on each stroke. Griff's challenging words—that she was weak and couldn't do what a man could—infiltrated her state. Dana played his angry voice and challenge over and over again in her mind until she was muttering it out loud. She allowed his hatred of her, his fury because she was a woman, to infuse her with fresh resolve. She'd show him that she and Vickie
could
survive! Gasping with each stroke, laboring heavily in the water, Dana kept her watering eyes focused on the black shore that twinkled with lights here and there. Somehow, they'd survive this. It was going to feel good to throw this entire event in Griffs arrogant face. He would never be able to call her weak and incapable again!

Chapter Eight

Frantic with worry, Griff swung his sports car back toward Parham Beach. The narrow strip of road that covered the length of Santa Rosa Island looked black beneath the headlights of his car. Griff already had stopped at eight other beaches, calling for Dana. Sweeping his powerful flashlight across the sand, Griff had looked, waited and listened, but had heard no cries for help and seen no one in the surf, although he'd waded waist-deep into the water. His throat hurt from yelling hour after hour as he ceaselessly combed the beaches. To be honest with himself, his throat also ached with unshed tears.