No Quarter Given
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 Griff’s 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 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 Griff’s 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 shoulder-length 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.”
It hurt to laugh, but Dana did anyway. “Mol didn’t know which box her journal was in.”
“I told her to index those boxes!”
“I know. But she was more concerned about getting our houseplants down here uninjured.” Molly had driven her sensible station wagon loaded with plants and breakable items to make sure they arrived in good shape. She didn’t trust moving vans.
Maggie smiled fondly, looking toward the open door. “If she wins her wings, I think we ought to call her Mom or Mother.” Every pilot who graduated came out of flight school with a nickname that stayed with him or her forever.
Dana’s smile disappeared. “I worry about her, Maggie. Everything we’ve heard about flight school being twenty times more demanding than the academy worries me.”
Maggie snorted. “I’m worried for myself, too. At the grocery store I bumped into a sixth-week student from Pensacola. He told me ninety percent of his class had already been washed out.”
“Wow!” Dana clenched her fist. She had to make it!
“I’m just glad the three of us are going into this together.”
“Yeah. Misery loves company.”
Grinning, Maggie got up. “You’re feeling better, I can tell. You’re back to your usual pessimistic sense of humor.”
Dana slowly got off the bed, feeling a bit light-headed. Maggie came to her side and slipped her arm around her shoulders.
“I know…you can make it on your own,” Maggie chided, leading her toward the door. “But suffer my help, Dana. You look like hell.”
“Thanks.”
The bright light hurt Dana’s good eye. Her other eye was swollen shut. She bowed her head and allowed Maggie’s lanky frame to offer partial support. “This hasn’t been one of the better days of my life.”
“Don’t we know it. Come on, let’s go out to the kitchen where Dr. Molly is stirring up her brew. I wonder if you have to drink it? The cure may be worse than the black eye.”
It hurt to grin, but Dana couldn’t help it. The kitchen was huge, with a highly polished light green tile floor. Molly was working furiously over the stove, a white apron wrapped around her tall figure. The apron looked funny with the short shorts she was wearing, but Dana didn’t comment, realizing it might hurt Molly’s sensitive nature.
“Oh, good, you’re up! I found my grandma’s journal!”
“Yeah…” Dana sat down very carefully at the table, her legs feeling a bit unstable. Maggie stood at her shoulder, concern on her face. “I’m okay, Maggie. Go sit down.”
“Naw, I’m going to get the camera for this one. This goes in our Sisterhood scrapbook: How To Help An Injured Sister.”
“Don’t you dare!” Dana gave Maggie her best glare.
Grinning, Maggie turned and left the kitchen.
“This won’t be so bad,” Molly soothed, bringing the pan over to the table. She set it on a hot pad. Wiping her damp brow with the back of her hand, she smiled. “It smells awful, but I’m sure it will help.”
Dana eyed the mixture in the bottom of the pan. “Good God, Mol, that stuff smells horrible!”
“Well…it’s a mixture of horse liniment, crushed comfrey leaves and—”
“Don’t tell me any more. It probably contains eye of newt and tail of frog.”
“Oh, no! They’re just herbs, Dana. Grandma wasn’t a witch. She was a healer all her life. You have to smear it all over the swollen part of your face,” she explained apologetically. “Grandma said it will reduce swelling in twelve hours or less.”
“It better,” Dana growled, holding her nose. “I’ll put it on myself. Is it hot?”
“No, just warm.” Molly sat down, watching eagerly.
Maggie appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, camera in hand. Dana glared at her. Maggie laughed.
“If you ever show these pictures to anyone, you’re dead meat, Donovan. Got that?”
“Roger, read you loud and clear.”
Molly groaned. “You two! You’re always threatening each other. Aren’t you ever going to stop?”
Dana carefully dipped her fingers into the black mixture. It felt like slimy glue. “Our friendship’s based upon mutual irritation,” she told Molly.
“Go on,” Maggie urged, waiting impatiently to click the camera, “put that stuff on your face, Coulter!”
“Ugh! Molly, this smell’s enough to kill a person!”
“I’m sorry, Dana.”
Muttering under her breath, Dana spread the ointment across her cheek. The smell was horrendous. “God, I’m going to get better just from the smell alone.”
Maggie giggled and the camera flashed.
“By morning, the swelling ought to be down quite a bit, and your eye will be open,” Molly said enthusiastically.
“I can’t show up for flight school with my eye closed,” Dana complained sourly. She applied the mixture liberally. “If this works, I’ll kiss your granny’s grave, Molly. But if it doesn’t, I’ll come looking for you.”
“Oh, dear….”
Dana instantly felt contrite. Molly’s flushed face showed genuine distress. “I didn’t mean it,” she denied quickly. To prove it, Dana slathered more of the goo across the injured area.
“How’s it feel?” Maggie called, taking advantage of another photo opportunity.
Dana shrugged. “Surprisingly, it feels pretty good. There’s heat in it.”
“That’s the horse liniment. My grandma said it was good for everything.”
Dana knew the liniment contained a stimulant to increase blood circulation. That in itself should reduce swelling. “I feel better already, Mol. Thanks.” A good night’s sleep would ready her for tomorrow’s first grueling day at Whiting Field. Her stomach clenched with fear. It was a familiar feeling, and Dana didn’t respond to it. All three of them had butterflies in their stomachs. What would tomorrow bring? As Dana smeared the last of the paste on her face, she wondered if she would dream about Griff again tonight, when she closed her eyes.
* * *
Griff awoke in a foul humor. He’d cut himself shaving, having refused to look into what he knew were bloodshot eyes. Dreams had kept his sleep restless. The first half of the night his mind had run over and over Toby’s unexpected death and the funeral Griff had attended yesterday. Near morning, unwilling thoughts of Dana, of all things, had filled his head.
Irritably, Griff turned on the shower. He threw the disposable razor into the wastebasket and stripped off his light blue pajama bottoms. The material pooled around his feet, and he kicked the pajamas aside. Dana. The word echoed gently in his heart. Tendrils of warmth flowed through him, and he savored the wonderful feeling her name evoked. Absently, Griff rubbed his chest. Since his divorce, he hadn’t felt much of anything except anger, frustration and loneliness. And realizing that the healing process must take place first, he hadn’t been much interested in women, either.
As he stepped into the hot, steamy shower, Griff closed his eyes, allowing the water to wash the stench from his body. He’d awakened last night sweating heavily, replaying Toby’s crash in his mind. Grabbing the soap, he scrubbed himself savagely, trying to escape the numbness that came with thoughts of Toby.