No Quarter Given

* * *

Lieutenant Griff Turcotte stood with his baggage in hand as the sequence of events unfolded before him with explosive fury. His mouth dropped open when a tiny woman in white slacks and a flowery print blouse deliberately placed herself in the path of the desperate purse snatcher. Though as a Navy fighter pilot Griff’s reflexes were fast, they weren’t quick enough to help the young woman. Women were a sore spot in Griff’s life lately, but this one was different, he acknowledged as he automatically dropped his bags and surged forward through the crowd of stunned onlookers. She had guts. She weighed about as much as a feather against the hulking young man.

If he didn’t get there in a hurry, she might be killed. She had heart, Griff had to give her that—and stupidity. He saw the bloody scrapes on her lower arms and elbows. His heart quickening, Griff moved through the crowd like the football player he’d been before entering the U.S. Navy. He saw the thief sit up, his fist cocked. He was going to throw a punch at her. Cursing, Griff sprinted, thundering at the gawking onlookers to move aside.

Many impressions assailed Griff as he closed the final ten feet between them. The woman clung like a wolverine to the man’s leg, though clearly she knew he was going to strike her. Her small, heart-shaped face was pale, her huge blue eyes narrowed and defiant. It was the set of her full lips, shouting her resolve, that made Griff want to applaud her courage despite the circumstances. Her short black hair, touched with cobalt highlights, glistened like a raven’s wing. Everything about her spoke of frailty. Yet she was the only one who had challenged the thief.

Griff wanted to cry out a warning to her as the man’s fist hurtled forward. She could have released him and avoided being hit. But she didn’t. Wincing, Griff saw the blow strike her cheekbone. He heard the pulverizing connection, and his stomach turned queasy.

“You bastard,” Griff growled, catching the purse snatcher’s arm before he could take another swing. It gave him great satisfaction to hit the thief in the face, just as the man had done to the woman. Pain soared up Griff’s hand into his wrist and lower arm at the contact, and he heard the man’s nose break. Good! He had it coming! Dragging the culprit off the semiconscious woman, Griff jerked him onto his stomach, pinning his arms behind his back.

“Get the police!” he gasped to the nearest onlooker. Twisting his head to the right, Griff worriedly took in the young woman, who lay on the concrete several feet away. Blood was running from her nose, and her cheek was bruised, already beginning to swell. In anger, he tightened his hold on the thief. “Get an ambulance! Someone call an ambulance for her!” he thundered.

Pain. It always came afterward. Dana bit back a groan, light-headed as the pain began to work its way in a radiating pattern out from her cheek. Slowly she sat up, pressing her hands to her temples. Lowering her head between her legs, she staved off faintness and allowed the blood to return so that she could think coherently.

Someone had helped her. Who? Aware of the agitated crowd surrounding her, Dana lifted her head. Her vision blurred momentarily, and then it cleared. A man had helped her. A man. Swallowing against her dry throat, her heart banging away inside it, Dana stared over at him. He was rugged looking, with stormy gray eyes that were thundercloud black with anger, and his mouth was drawn into a tight line. His square face had a strong, stubborn chin. She couldn’t tell if he was in his late twenties or early thirties. Dressed in jeans and a white short-sleeved shirt, he looked like a bird of prey perched over his trapped quarry. His clothes offered only a thin veneer of civilization—there was a primal savagery about him.

He was deeply tanned, his walnut-colored hair cut short, his movements fluid. As a champion swimmer, Dana immediately recognized a fellow athlete. He had a boneless kind of grace that shouted his top physical condition.

As a teenager growing up in Carlsbad, California, Dana once had seen an eagle at the L.A. zoo. This man had those same kind of eyes, she realized suddenly—huge, intense and all-seeing. She’d never forgotten that raptor sitting proudly on his zoo perch and the way his predatory look had knifed through her, as if the eagle knew her deepest, darkest, most painful secrets. The eagle’s bearing somehow had made her feel safe. Now, as the man raised his head, his gray eyes widening with concern when they settled on her, Dana felt a cry shatter deep within her, as if this man could evoke that same feeling of security.

Unable to meet his questioning stare, Dana turned her head away. His eyes reminded her of the turbulent, powerful storm-clouds that had appeared each summer over Annapolis. Something ordered her to look up again, to turn and hold his gaze. Reluctantly, Dana followed the unspoken directive. The man had huge black pupils, but his eyes were now a dove-gray color as they gently held hers.

Peace. The feeling flowed through her, startling and unexpected. She’d never found peace with any man. Drowning in the warmth exuding from his eyes, Dana’s gaze clung helplessly to his as some silent, invisible strength seemed to flow from him to her. She felt the power of his caring and allowed it to wash through her, cleansing her of fear and momentarily taking away her pain.

And then, the weight of her past rushed up within her to crush the new experience. No man gave without wanting something first. No man gave anything without extracting a price and payment, an internal voice reminded her. They always took. Bitterness coated Dana’s mouth, and she tore her gaze from his. Looking up, she saw people crowding close around her, curiosity written on their faces. Two policemen were working their way forward. Good. The thief would get his due. Her hands shaking, Dana pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and tipped her head back to stop the bleeding. She’d learned this trick when she was seven years old after her father had struck her for not getting him the Sunday-morning newspaper fast enough.

She had to get out of here. Trying to ignore the crowd, Dana keyed in on the conversation between the police officers and the man who had helped her apprehend the thief. His voice was low and modulated, sending a ribbon of calm through the chaos roiling inside her. It was a deep voice, belonging to someone who was very sure of himself. For an instant the desire to open her eyes and simply watch him was nearly overwhelming. And then she laughed at herself. The last time she’d been drawn to a man, she’d allowed his lies to become her reality. Jason Lombard had been a smooth talker, and she’d fallen beneath his spell.

Mired in the memory of her mistake with Jason, Dana blotted out everything else. Time ceased to exist as she remembered her one-and-only affair, during her third year at Annapolis. Jason had been an upperclassman, ready to graduate from the prestigious military academy. Her roommates, Molly and Maggie, had warned her about him, but she hadn’t listened. Later, after spending Christmas with his parents, Dana had accidentally discovered the awful truth: Jason had bet his buddies that he could lay Dana. They’d called her Ice Woman at the academy. He wanted to see if ice water really did run in her veins. Jason had been the first man Dana had ever slept with. He’d seemed so different from the men she knew; so different from her father. The bitter truth was, they were all alike. They took what they wanted from innocent, trusting women.

No more. The words pounded in her head in sync with her thudding heart. Dana slowly released the pressure from the bridge of her nose and lowered her head. Her nosebleed had stopped. Resting her brow against her drawn-up knees, she felt the shattered emotions still warring within her. She was positive her eye would blacken. My God, she had to report to Whiting Field tomorrow morning as a student pilot! What would her instructor think? Worse, would her eye swell closed? She needed both eyes to learn to fly.

Women Annapolis graduates were few and far between, and those who passed the rigorous tests to get a chance to earn their wings were even rarer. Dana knew she and her two roommates wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms at Whiting. Most of the men saw women as taking flight slots that rightfully belonged to them. Now Dana would be standing at attention tomorrow morning with a black eye—a hell of a welcome to Whiting Field and pilot training.

Dana felt a strong hand settle on her shoulder. She stiffened, jerking her head up. It was him. The man who had helped her. The eagle. His fingers were long and tapered, his grip gentle but firm on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

His voice flowed through the chaos of her thoughts. Dana blinked, unable to tear her gaze from his wonderfully warm gray eyes. Her heart opened, receiving his concern. When she didn’t answer right away, Dana felt his fingers tighten imperceptibly on her shoulder. He lifted his other hand, and instinctively she winced.

“Take it easy,” Griff soothed, barely caressing the woman’s mussed black hair. He saw the sudden fear in her eyes. She was jumpy. Managing a slight, one-cornered smile, he added, “My name’s Griff. That was a hell of a tackle, lady.”

“Dana.” He was too close, too overwhelmingly masculine. Her heart was beating even more wildly, his touch dissolving her defenses.

Griff dug into the back pocket of his jeans. “I thought I had a handkerchief,” he muttered apologetically. “Oh, here it is.” He pressed the clean linen into her hands.

“Th-thank you.” A part of Dana wanted desperately to fall into the shelter of his arms. The injured-animal part of her tasted panic, layered with suffocating fear.

“I couldn’t believe you did that.” Griff gently laid his hand on her forearm, turning it over. The flesh had been scraped away. “The ambulance is on its way. Just hang on.”

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.”