No Quarter Given (SSE 667) (3 page)

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 wings. 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. Dana 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.

"I feel better already." Dana sighed. With her two friends, she felt a safety she'd never before been able to achieve. She felt encroaching exhaustion. "Listen, I think after a bath, I'm going to crash and burn. Which bedroom is mine?"

"The last on the left. It has a lovely dusty-rose carpet. We've already got the beds put together. While you're getting your bath, I'll put sheets and a blanket on it."

"Thanks." Only Molly would notice such details as carpet color. Dana wasn't as attuned to such subtleties as Molly or Maggie. No. All her sensory abilities centered on her survival mechanism. Sometimes Dana wished she could ease her guard and enjoy the things her friends did with such relish. Her defensive nature had relaxed some, thanks to them. Still, Dana knew she had a long way to go. She wondered if she'd ever lose her wary attitude toward all men.

After her bath, Dana went straight to her new bedroom. Her face was aching again. The ice pack had helped tremendously, and as Dana settled into her double bed, Molly brought her a second pack.

"Listen, you sleep all you want. We won't wake you for dinner. Okay?"

Dana put the pack on the pillow and laid her injured
cheek against it. "Fine "

Molly quietly closed the door.

Outside the open window, Dana could hear the cheerful call of birds. Beyond that, she heard airplanes in the distance. She was sure it was the trainers from Whiting Field and nearby Pensacola Naval Air Station. The spring air was humid, and she could smell the ocean in the breeze from the gulf. Just as she slipped into a deep, healing sleep, Griff's face appeared once again. This time, Dana wasn't jerked awake. She lost herself in his dove-gray eyes, which radiated that incredible warmth. For the first time in her life, she had felt safe with a man—a stranger she'd never meet again.

***

Dana awakened slowly, realizing it was dark in the room. Her head was throbbing, and she sat up groggily, holding her injured, puffy cheek. It felt as if it had grown in size. Damn the man who'd hit her. She took some small satisfaction in the punch Griff had returned. Maybe there was a little justice in this universe.

The door to her bedroom opened quietly. Dana looked up to see Maggie, her long, lean face shadowed by the light spilling into the room from behind her.

"I'm awake," Dana muttered. "Come on in."

Maggie slipped in, worry showing on her face as she came forward. "I was starting to fret about you. It's 2200. Molly kept saying you were just sleeping, but I thought you might have suffered a concussion from that hit you took."

"I've got too hard a head for that." Dana crossed her legs. It hurt to move her head. Maggie sat down facing her. She was wearing a T-shirt and baggy jeans, her shoulderlength red hair mussed. Dana could only admire the strength and confidence that Maggie radiated. She was first-generation Irish, and the youngest of four redheaded daughters who had all entered the various military services. Dana saw the feisty look in Maggie's glittering green eyes.

"I hope like hell you pulverized that jerk who nailed you."

"I didn't have to. Griff did." Dana began telling her the story.

Maggie shook her head after hearing the full account. "I'd like to hunt that bastard down and let him have it, anyway."

Dana grinned. "Your Celtic warrior side is showing again, Maggie."

Nostrils flaring, Maggie growled, "No man has a right to strike a woman or vice versa."

"Is that an old Celtic law?" She loved teasing Maggie, who was intensely proud of her heritage.

"No, that's Maggie's Law."

"Griff took care of him, believe me. I heard the guy's nose crack."

"At least there's consolation in that," Maggie muttered, reaching out and gently patting her knee. "Listen, Molly tore through every box she owned until she found her granny's remedy journal. She's out there in the kitchen right now concocting some god-awful paste that's stinking up the entire apartment. We'll be lucky if the landlord doesn't throw us out for contaminating the atmosphere. He might even call in the Environmental Protection Agency."