No Quarter Given (SSE 667) (7 page)

Halting, Griff stood in front of the trainer. "This is 13115, Coulter. My plane. A walk-around consists of checking out the external surfaces of the aircraft. You're to look for possible hydraulic leaks under the wings, check the ailerons, rudders and elevators to make sure they work properly." Griff moved in a counterclockwise circle around the trainer, pointing here and there. "The student is responsible for the walk-around. The crew chief on this plane is AVM Parker, and he'll present you with the discrepancy book on it. You're to look at it, see if everything's been repaired and sign it off after the visual inspection." Griff pinned her with a dark look. "Failure to do so leads to an automatic Board."

"You don't have to look so happy about it, Mr. Turcotte. I'm not going to fail to sign off the discrepancy log."

With a grimace, he muttered, "I'll believe that when I see it. But then, you won't be making it past six weeks with me, anyway. I'll bet you fall apart on me within the first week, Coulter."

Dana held his glare. "You really believe that, don't you?" What made Griff feel so strongly about women? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but she decided not to—at least, not right now. Some of Griff's surliness had disappeared as he'd gotten out on the flight line. Even now, a new eagerness and excitement in his eyes had replaced the brooding glare he normally had around her.

"In my experience, Coulter, women pretend they're strong until the chips are down. Then they fall apart, expecting a man to pick up the pieces." He halted at the tail of the plane, placing his hands on his hips. "Well, I'm going to let you prove it to me all over again."

It hurt to grin, but Dana did anyway. "Obviously your experience is limited, Lieutenant. I'll show you differently."

"Noway."

Dana didn't respond, instead allowing Griff to teach her all he could from the ground. If she didn't know better, she'd think he seemed perversely pleased by her incessant questions after the walk-around. She took notes, opened her walk-around manual, and asked more questions.

With a pang, Dana wished that she could climb into the cockpit, as other students and instructors were doing right now.

Griff saw the longing on Dana's face. He wanted to tell her to sit in the cockpit and run through the start-up and shutdown routine, but he squelched the urge. He was damned if he would give her an edge. A smart student would make a cardboard mock-up of the cockpit at home and spend nights memorizing where the dials and gauges were located. But he wasn't about to suggest that, either.

As they walked down the flight back toward Operations, or Ops, Dana risked everything: "Where do you come from, Lieutenant?"

Disgruntled, Griff gave her a sidelong look. "Jerome, Arizona."

"Hot country?"

"Yeah, and if you're stupid, it can kill you."

Delighted that he was at least talking to her, Dana eagerly took the lead. Knowing something about Griff might help her anticipate what he would be like in the cockpit. She had no idea what a "screamer" was, but her survival reflex told her that any bit of information that might help turn a negative situation into a positive one was worth pursuing.

"Why is that?"

"Jerome sits on the side of Mingus Mountain. Below is a desert valley. I was taught from the time I was old enough to walk, always to carry a canteen of water and a hat with me."

"So if the car broke down, you weren't caught without water in the desert?" Dana saw his surprised look. For an instant, she thought she saw admiration in his gray eyes at her quick grasp of the situation. Just as quickly, his eyes became hooded again.

"Yeah."

"So, how big is Jerome?"

"Small. Maybe a thousand people live up there."

"You're a country boy, then. And you like your privacy."

Uncomfortable at Dana's insight, he ignored her remark. "Jerome was a copper-mining town. My dad was a miner until the shafts closed down."

"And your mother?" Dana hoped to find out more about Griff's negative attitude toward women. She held her breath, hoping he'd respond.

"She was an invalid. While she was in labor having me, she suffered a stroke."

A lump formed in Dana's throat. She heard the regret— and maybe guilt?—in Griff's icy tone. Softly, she offered, "I imagine it was hard on you growing up thinking you'd caused your mother's illness."

Griff slowed his walk, remembering the times he'd sat with his bedridden mother. Her entire right side had been paralyzed, making it tough for her to get anywhere without help. "I spent a lot of time with her when I was young. She taught me to read at an early age. I was reading Erie Stanley Gardner mysteries to her when I was twelve."

A tremor passed through Dana—of understanding, of sympathy for Griff. "She must have loved your sensitivity and thoughtfulness."

Catching himself, Griff gave her a strange look. Just what was Dana up to? He halted at the guard gate. "Ensign, I've got work to do. Dr. Collins has ordered you to report for flight training next Monday." Abruptly, he swung away, heading back to his office. Dammit, how had he let Dana into his personal life? The soft blue of her eyes had touched him deeply, the compassion in them bringing up a wealth of wonderful old memories. His mother had died when he was fifteen. Until that time, he'd faithfully come in and read to her from her favorite authors every night. It had been his way of showing his love.

Griff mulled over Dana, Carol and his mother as he walked toward admin. Carol had never really asked him about his childhood. She'd been more interested in his career as a fighter pilot. He'd been the one to bring up his mother, and Carol had made the appropriate sympathetic sounds and comments. But Dana's eyes mirrored the tragedy he'd felt as a child growing up. She understood. Shaken, Griff tried to ignore that discovery about Dana. How had he let himself fall under her spell?

***

When Maggie and Molly returned to the apartment that evening, Dana proudly showed them the cardboard cockpit she'd drawn and set up on a kitchen chair. Bringing up another chair, Dana sat down.

"We can all practice with this mock-up," she told them excitedly. "I used the trainer manual and drew in all the dials and gauges." With a grin, Dana looked up at her friends. "I figure if one of us calls off the preflight checklist and emergency maneuvers, the person sitting here can go through it."

"Smart move," Maggie congratulated enthusiastically, eyeing the mock-up.

"It's perfect!" Molly said. "And you've done such a good job, Dana."

"I had to do something," she explained wryly. "Turcotte wasn't about to let me sit in the cockpit. He knew I wanted to, but walked away from the opportunity to let me do it."

"How about your eye?" Molly asked, setting her books down on the kitchen counter.

Dana told them the whole story. Maggie grinned devilishly.

"So, the Turk has some redeeming qualities, after all."

"Maybe," Dana hedged. And she told them about his family situation.

"Weak mother," Maggie murmured, opening the refrigerator and pouring them all some iced tea. She handed the glasses around and sat down at the Formica-topped table. "Maybe that's why he thinks all women are weak."

Dana squeezed fresh lemon into her tea and sat down with Maggie. Her friends were both still in flight suits. She was glad she'd changed into a pair of yellow shorts and a sleeveless white blouse earlier. "It's a start."

Molly was sitting at the mock-up. She looked toward them. "Is Turcotte married?"

Dana shrugged. "I don't know"

"Intriguing question," Maggie said. "You know Manny's a real gossip. I'll ask him to do some snooping around for us." She jabbed a finger at Dana. "I asked my IP today about Turcotte and he got real tight-lipped. All he'd say was that he was tough as hell. I think if we give you our experiences this week in the cockpit, we can help you prepare to start flying with Turcotte next week."

"Not only that," Molly added excitedly, "but you're going to blow him away when you have cockpit start-up and shutdown procedure down pat. He won't expect you to know that, Dana."

"Probably thinks I'm out getting a tan, partying and playing around," she agreed.

Maggie got up. "Well, it's my turn to cook, ladies. How about Swanson Hungry Man frozen dinners?"

With a groan, Dana laughed. "At the academy, we had three squares a day over at the chow hall. Here, we've got to get into the routine of fixing our own meals. What a drag. Are we spoiled?"

The laughter lightened the kitchen, and Dana got up and out of Maggie's way. They had set up a roster of duties. Each woman had her own particular chore to complete each day. The camaraderie was binding, just as it had been at Annapolis. They were a family, believing deeply in one another and relying on each other's abilities.

Moving to her bedroom, Dana changed into her swim-suit, and pulled on jeans and a blouse over it.

"Going to swim in the gulf?" Molly asked, poking her head around the open door.

"Yes. It's the only way to get rid of tension, as far as I'm concerned."

Frowning, Molly leaned against the doorjamb, her arms crossed on her chest. "It's really tough luck drawing the Turk. I'm sorry, Dana. Maggie and I have super instructors. Neither one is a screamer. Our first flights were nerve-racking but exciting. I got a 2.1 and Maggie got a 2.2."

"Somehow, I don't think it will be wonderful for me next Monday. Griffs not interested in teaching me how to fly. He only wants to see me fail." Grimly she pressed her lips together as she picked up her colorful towel. "I'm going down to the beach for at least an hour."

"Okay. Be careful. I hear there are a lot of sharks and jellyfish in the water around here."

With a laugh, Dana slipped past Molly. "I grew up on the Pacific Ocean, remember? I've had my brushes with sharks and been stung by enough jellyfish to become one. I'll be okay. See you in an hour or so"

***

Griff walked the lonely beach on Santa Rosa Island, hands deep in the pockets of his ragged cutoffs, his bare feet sinking deeply into the sand. The gulf was glassy smooth at this time of the evening, with the tide moving out. Hunter's Point was his favorite getaway spot, a place where he could think without being distracted by a lot of tourists crowding the long sandbarlike island that stretched endlessly in a slight crescent, parallel to the Florida coast. The white sand met the blue-green water, the waves small and frothy. His shoulders fell and relaxed as he allowed the lap of the water and the cry of the sea gulls to take away his tension. It had been one hell of a day.

Scuffing his toes into the damp sand, Griff watched as the sun, low on the horizon, dipped behind towering cumulus clouds. His mother would have commented on what looked like the face of a dog in the clouds. Carol wouldn't even have noticed it. What would Dana have said? Disgusted with his meandering train of thought, Griff spun around, allowing his chin to drop toward his chest, introspective.

Dana.
What was he going to do about her? This morning, she'd displayed the kind of eagerness that he liked to see in a student, but didn't often get. Her melting blue eyes haunted him. He knew she was in pain from the black eye. Having collected a few shiners in his seven-year naval career, Griff knew they ached like a son of a bitch for at least a week. It hurt to talk, to chew food and to smile. Dana wasn't a complainer as Carol had been. If Carol cut her finger slicing a tomato, she acted as if he should take her to an emergency room.

Mulling over the comparison, Griff stopped and turned, facing the ocean. The horizon was turning a peach color, the sun behind the clouds lining it with blazing gold edges. He'd seen gold flecks in Dana's eyes when he'd begun teaching her about the walk-around. Did gold mean she was happy? With a groan, Griff rubbed his face and tried to erase Dana from his mind and heart.

A movement caught his attention. Squinting, he saw a lone woman about half a mile up the deserted beach. His heart thudded. It was Dana. Wading into the ocean in a dark blue one-piece bathing suit, she didn't seem aware of his presence. Hunkering down, Griff rocked back on his heels and watched her. He was sure she hadn't seen him. She had left a bright, flowery print towel on the beach and was moving her arms in warm-up motions. That's right, she'd been the captain of the Annapolis swim team, he remembered. Quirking his mouth, Griff hated the thought that his brain had retained everything in Dana's file.

She was incredibly slender, Griff observed almost with alarm. So small and graceful as she leaned down, cupping the water and sluicing it across her body. Her thighs were curved and firm, the calves tightly muscled and slim. His gaze ranged higher, to her small waist and breasts. Women would probably die of envy for her waist, Griff thought. It couldn't be more than eighteen inches. He sat down in the sand, enjoying the sight of her economical movements. Warming up before swimming was to be applauded.

When Dana dived into the water, Griff's breath lodged in his throat. She reminded him of a sleek, shining dolphin. When Dana resurfaced, she was nearly a quarter of a mile out to sea. She had incredible lungs to swim that far without air. Griff kept forgetting she had captained the swim team. With each stroke, she moved farther and farther out across the rose-colored mirror of the gulf, tiny ripples forming around her with each clean, slicing stroke. Shading his eyes even though he wore aviator sunglasses, Griff could barely keep Dana in sight. Worry nagged at him. She was a good mile out from the coast.

Standing, he cupped his hands around his eyes. The little fool! There were sharks out there. In a calm sea like this, her swimming motion would draw them. She might be a big-time swimmer in a pool, but it was obvious she had no inkling of safe conduct in an ocean.

"Damn her," he growled, jerking off his polo shirt and throwing it down. Dropping his threadbare tennis shoes, Griff stuffed his dark glasses into one of them. Without hesitation, he jogged down to the shore and into the warm water.

"Dana!" he hollered, his voice carrying strongly. She hadn't heard him. Worried, Griff lunged through the shallow water. When it was waist deep, he dove in. He might not be a champion swimmer, but he'd been in Florida for two years, and he knew plenty about the gulf from his weekly swims. Taking large, clean strokes, he aimed toward her. Yelling at Dana would be futile. He'd have to get her attention another way. Anger fueled his strength, the water exploding around him as he swam in her direction.