U.S. Naval graduate Dana Coulter had one dream: to earn her wings. Yet from the moment she clashed with her handsome new flight instructor, she felt hopelessly grounded. Lieutenant Griff Turcotte bullied, browbeat and awoke a hungry passion in her that was impossible to deny. But the jaded fighter pilot was convinced Dana didn’t have what it took to make it in the tough Navy world. Until the day she risked her life in an act of heroism that captured his heart for all time…

Previously published.

No Quarter Given

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Prologue

“When a man graduates from Annapolis, he becomes a part of the Brotherhood, an elite group that has made it through the academy. The men who wear this ring take an oath to help their brothers at any time in their naval careers.” Maggie Donovan looked solemnly at her two best friends, Dana Coulter and Molly Rutledge. “We’re three women graduating from Annapolis,” she continued. “We’ve made it. But we’re forming the Sisterhood, a place where women graduates can turn for help and support from other women who have got through the academy.”

Dana held out her small hand, the heavy Annapolis ring looking huge on her slender finger. “Let’s take the vow that from this day on, the Sisterhood is a living entity among the three of us,” she said, her soft voice firm with intent.

Molly placed her slim hand over Dana’s and looked at her friends. “The Sisterhood will start with us, but this is only the beginning. We’ll be there for our sisters who have graduated before us, and for those who will graduate in years to come.”

Maggie reached out her long, slender hand to cover the other two. “Women helping women in a military world ruled by men. I vow to be there for any sister who is an Annapolis graduate. I’ll do what I can to help her in an honorable way.”

“I vow the same thing,” Dana said.

“I vow it also,” Molly whispered.

Maggie placed her free hand over their joined ones, squeezing lightly for a moment. “It’s done,” she said with satisfaction. “The Sisterhood is formed.”

As Dana withdrew her hand, she reminded, “Although we’ve all heard about the Brotherhood, it’s an unofficial organization—it never has been proved to exist or operate within the Navy. I know those who aren’t Annapolis graduates see it as a discriminatory thing. I don’t know about you, but my vow includes any woman in any service I happen to work with. I don’t care whether she’s enlisted or an officer. Women need to support and help each other.”

Maggie stood a moment, digesting her friend’s fervent statement. Then, running a hand through her thick red hair, she grinned. “I like the concept, Dana. Yes, I’ll support the Sisterhood as more than an elitist unit.”

“Maybe,” Molly added, “the three of us can be an example of positive action by women for women. Our actions will speak louder than words.”

Dana grimaced. “We’ve already had four years of harassment by men who didn’t want us going through this military academy. Most of them didn’t believe we could hack it, but we did. Still, I don’t think being a woman Annapolis graduate is going to make things any easier out there. They’ll be expecting us to fail.”

“But we won’t,” Maggie said, her smile widening. “We’re winners. And now we’re all going for the brass ring: our naval aviator wings. Ninety percent of those who try get washed out in the first six weeks of flight school,” she warned.

“The pressure is going to be worse,” Molly agreed. “But a lot of Annapolis officers tried to fail us, and we stuck together and made it through.”

“It won’t be any different at Whiting Field down in Florida,” Dana said determinedly. “We’ll get an apartment together, study together and make it through—together. Just like we did at Annapolis. Women helping women. It’s the future—our future…“

Chapter One

“Look out!” Dana’s cry pierced the crowd of milling people at the Tallahassee airport. She dropped her two bags on the sidewalk, just outside the main doors. A tiny elderly woman, wearing a beige dress that hung nearly to her ankles, approached the multiple lanes of unrelenting traffic. Her thick glasses had slid down her nose, and she felt her way with a wooden cane, tapping it along the curb as she prepared to step off. Although Dana weighed barely more than a hundred pounds herself, she managed to wedge between two businessmen and lurch ahead toward the woman. Her cane poised, the little steel-grey haired lady was on the verge of stepping forward.

Dana shouted another warning, but the woman didn’t seem to hear. Desperate now, her mouth tightening, Dana extended her short stride. Her eyes widened when suddenly a young man with long, unkempt brown hair jerked the old woman’s purse from her shoulder, as she still tottered uncertainly on the curb.

The woman gave a startled cry, trying to hold on to her handbag, but the young man yanked it from her savagely, flinging the tiny lady to the concrete sidewalk. Damn him! Anger surged through Dana. No way in hell was the purse snatcher going to get away. Not if she could help it.

If she’d had time to consider her reaction, Dana might ruefully have shaken her head. But her response now was the same as it had been so many years ago when her father beat up on her mother and herself. Dana tensed the small shoulders that had carried so many burdens in silence for twenty-two years. This man was no different from her father. He had the same insane look on his face, the same dark and wild eyes. Probably on drugs and needing a fix, he’d picked on the weakest, most likely victim. And wasn’t it always a woman—whether child, adult or elderly person—being abused by a man?

Although the thief was at least six foot three and built like a center for a football team, Dana put herself in a direct collision course with him. Her eyes narrowing, she monitored the culprit’s sudden sprint in her direction. He didn’t even see her in the crowd of taller people surrounding her. Her stomach tightening, her muscles tensing to take the coming blow, Dana prepared herself for a head-on collision.

Suddenly, as it had whenever her father had come at her with a belt in his hand, everything seemed to slow to single frames in vivid color and focus. Dana heard nothing of the commotion around her. An emptiness took over inside her, along with the cool detachment she’d learned to depend on. Long ago, Dana had figured out that it was the adrenaline pumping through her bloodstream that had helped her to survive those hellish years. She never felt the thick leather belt biting into her sensitive flesh, or the impact of her father’s fist as he struck her when he lost his temper. As she positioned herself now, her feet slightly spread for maximum balance, she knew she wouldn’t feel anything—until afterward.

It was as if a hurricane had erupted around Dana as she stood calmly, watching people being pushed aside by the purse snatcher. Startled, angry shouts filled the air, but they seemed dim and faraway. Dana realized with a trickle of triumph that the thief hadn’t even seen her yet. Flexing her elbows to act as shock absorbers when he struck her, Dana took a deep breath.

The man was running full tilt, the purse in his left hand. His mouth was open, and he was sucking in huge gulps of air. Too late, his eyes registered Dana in his path.

The impact knocked Dana off her feet. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around the thief, grabbing his legs. They both became airborne for a split second. Her eyes had automatically squeezed shut as she gripped his extremities. Dana slammed onto the concrete, a cry torn from her as the man landed on top of her. He’d knocked the wind out of her, but she clung to his legs, knowing he’d get away if she let go.

“Let go!” he shrieked, thrashing to break free of her grip. Managing to loosen one foot, he struck out at her with the heel of his boot.

Dana felt the jarring impact on her shoulder. He rolled over, dragging her along. Her breathing was ragged, and she couldn’t cry out for help. Would anyone help her? Opening her eyes, Dana saw the thief release the purse. Enraged, his lips curling away from his teeth, he reared into a sitting position and doubled his right hand into a huge fist. Dana tried to prepare herself for the blow. She knew now, as she had known growing up, that no one would come to her rescue. Stoically, sheltered in some inner place deep within herself, she accepted that reality and refused to release the culprit.

* * *

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.”

“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.

There would be no familiar phone call from his friend this morning. Griff was an acknowledged grump in the morning, and Toby often called to cheer him up as he drank his first cup of coffee. No more. As he shut his eyes and allowed the water to hit his face, Griff saw Dana’s face dance before him. Miraculously, the pressure in his chest disappeared and the tightness gripping his heart eased. Shaking his head like a dog coming out of water, Griff turned off the faucets and allowed the water to drip from him.

How could a woman he didn’t even know take away his grief? An awful numbness that inhabited him since he’d been notified of the accident, and his recent dislike of women had soared alongside his grief over Toby’s loss. Over the past five days, he’d tasted real anger toward women. It was unreasonable, Griff knew, but he couldn’t help himself. Maybe it was the divorce, compounded with Toby’s death. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. His emotions felt raw and shredded.

After toweling dry, Griff stepped out of the bathroom and pulled a clean one-piece flight suit from his bedroom dresser drawer. Dana came back to his thoughts. She wasn’t beautiful. No, she had an arresting face; and her huge blue eyes were her finest feature. Pressing the Velcro closed on his flight suit, Griff sat down on the bed and pulled on his dark blue cotton socks. Next came his highly polished flight boots, shining like mirrors. They weren’t patent leather like what a lot of the IPs had. Griff lovingly and carefully shined the leather for hours with polish—the old-fashioned way; the way it was done before patent leather invaded the military.

Sitting on the huge king-size bed, Griff looked around, feeling the awful silence that seemed to sit heavily in his chest. His hands on his long thighs, he stared toward the hall. Funny, even after six months, he missed Carol. Well, maybe not her, but their routine. Griff missed waking up with a woman’s warmth beside him and having her make him breakfast before he left for Whiting Field at 0630.

Frowning, he stood, automatically checking to make sure his name tag was in place over his left pocket, his IP badge over his right. Locating a bunch of pens on top of the dresser, he shoved several into the upper-left sleeve pocket of his uniform. His stomach growled, but somehow he wasn’t really hungry. When his mother died, the same thing had happened. His father back in Jerome, Arizona, was still alive and healthy. All his other pilot friends were alive—a feat in itself, considering the extreme hazards of fighter-jet duty. Toby had been the first casualty he knew personally.

As he picked up his briefcase and opened the front door to face the apricot sunrise on the horizon, Griff wondered who his next three students would be. Maybe one out of the three would get past his demanding teaching methods. Today, there was no enthusiasm in his stride down the concrete walk. Griff barely saw the pink-and-white oleander bushes that hid his tan bungalow from the quiet street of homes that surrounded him. He felt only a terrible heaviness in his heart, and he had no desire even to get to Whiting Field in time for the 0700 IP meeting. The only thing that told him he was still alive, still capable of feeling, was thinking of Dana.

As he unlocked his car door and got in, Griff allowed her face to remain with him—her short pixie-style black hair, the small earlobes graced with tiny pearls. Everything about her shouted exquisite refinement. How could someone who appeared fragile be so damned bold, stepping into the path of a crazed thief? he wondered. Shaking his head, Griff started up the Corvette. Somehow, he had to see Dana again. It was a crazy thought. Crazy! Anger welled within him at the thought of women—yet her face, her presence, had given him an island of peace within his shattered world. How could that be?

* * *

Nervously, Dana stood with Maggie and Molly among twenty-five other students. They had been processed and taken to the ready room at Whiting Field. Accustomed to the often hostile stares of the male students, Dana internalized her dread. They had all been assigned to VT2 upon arrival, and Maggie had discovered that VT2 had the highest washout rate of the three student squadrons. Molly had ferreted out that an 03, Lieutenant D. G. Turcotte, had the highest washout rate of the seven VT2 instructors. He was called the Turk, Molly had told them in a tense voice.

God, let me have a good instructor, Dana thought. She sat with Maggie on her right, Molly on her left. Because Dana was so small, her olive-green flight suit fit sloppily. It would have to be taken in, the sleeves and pant legs shortened considerably. For now, Dana had rolled them into thick wads at her wrists and ankles. With her clownlike garb and glorious black eye, she was painfully aware of being the center of attention. Thanks to Molly’s grandmother’s recipe, though, her eye was opening this morning, and the swelling somewhat reduced from the night before.

“Here he comes!” Maggie whispered, nodding to the left. A door on the stage opened.

Dana’s heart began a slow pound. She swallowed convulsively. There were twenty-eight students. Each instructor would be given three to teach for the first six weeks. If a student managed a passing grade of 2.0, then he or she would have different flight instructors for the remaining nine weeks of training. Word was out that these six-week IPs made or broke the student. Only one out of ten students went on to become a Navy pilot. Dana felt dampness in her armpits as she watched Commander Hager walk confidently toward the podium at the center of the stage. He was dressed in his tan uniform, the gold wings glinting above his left breast pocket proclaiming that he was a naval aviator.

“Good morning. Here are the flight-student and instructor-pilot assignments. Ensigns Wilson, Dunlop and Coulter to Lieutenant D. G. Turcotte.”

Dana gasped softly. Molly gripped her hand, giving her a sad-eyed look. Maggie’s full mouth pursed.

“Lieutenant Turcotte’s students will report to him in room 303 at the administration building in the following order and time. Ensign Coulter, 0900. You will fly at 0700 every other day, Monday through Friday.”

Trying to still her panic, Dana wrote down the information. She had the Turk, the 03 with the highest washout rate at Whiting. What had she done to deserve this? It was 0800. There would be an hour’s briefing, and then all students would be dismissed to go about their respective duties. Her mind whirled with questions and haunting fear. Was Turcotte a woman hater? Was he like a lot of the Annapolis grads who thought women couldn’t hack it, or make good military officers?

Molly’s hazel eyes were wide with silent sympathy. She leaned over to Dana. “Hang in there. Maybe he’ll consider you something special.”

Dana shook her head. “I’ll just bet he will,” she whispered back. What would Turcotte think? Dana had to care, because suddenly her dream of a flight career hung precariously upon this stranger’s thoughts and feelings.

* * *

Griff stared disbelievingly at the assigned student list that had been given to him by Sergeant Johnson. “Danielle Marie Coulter, Ensign” stared back at him. He dropped the paper on his desk.

“Ray!” he roared from his office. The black yeoman third-class appeared at the doorway.

“Yes, sir?”

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Sir?”

“You’ve made a typing error. There’s no way I’m taking on one of those women student pilots.”

Johnson shrugged apologetically. “Sir, Chief Yeoman Tracer gave me the list earlier. I know how you feel about it, and when I saw the assignment I asked the chief if it wasn’t a mistake. She said no.”

Griff got to his feet, grabbed the paper and shouldered past the yeoman. There had to be a mistake! Striding down the long, narrow hall toward Captain Ramsey’s office, Griff had to control his raging feelings. Ramsey knew he had no use for women in the military world. Over the years, Griff had softened his view somewhat, but had remained adamant that flying a military aircraft was a man’s job. Besides, how he felt about women right now made him rabid about not accepting Coulter.

Captain Burt Ramsey was leaning over his yeoman’s desk, giving her instructions, when Griff stepped into the outer office.

“Morning, Griff,” Ramsey said.

“Sir. May I have a few words in private with you?” Griff remained stiffly at attention. He was shaking inside.

“Certainly. Come on in.”

Making sure the door was closed so the yeoman couldn’t overhear, Griff stood at parade rest in front of the captain’s highly polished maple desk. Ramsey, a fifty-five-year-old officer, sat down. Folding his hands on the desk, he looked up at Griff.

“What’s on your mind?”

Trying to steady his hand, Griff thrust the assignment paper toward him. “This, sir.”

“Those are your assignments for the next six weeks.”

“I know, sir. But—there’s a woman in there.”

“I’m aware of that,” Ramsey replied coolly.

Struggling for self-control, Griff bit out, “Sir, I respectfully request that Ensign Coulter be reassigned. I don’t believe a woman can be a good pilot of a military aircraft. My best friend was just killed by a woman student pilot over at Pensacola. I—”

“Lieutenant, I feel Ensign Coulter has what it takes to be with the best instructor at Whiting. That’s you. You’re tough and exacting. Her grade point at Annapolis was a straight 4.0. That’s a rarity in itself. Take a look at her file, and I think you’ll agree, she’s fine material to work with. The Secretary of Defense is getting pressured to put more women in flight slots. We need P3 pilots badly. If she can handle your instruction, then I feel we have a candidate for the antisubmarine-warfare squadrons that are low in pilot manpower—er, person power.”

Despair ripped through Griff. “But, sir—”

“Ensign Coulter is your student, Lieutenant. And despite your personal prejudice, which needs work anyway, you are to treat her just like any male student assigned to you. Is that understood?”

Griff tensed. A lot of responses went through his head, but the only wise answer was “Yes, sir.”

“I don’t want to hear Coulter smacking us with a sexual-prejudice lawsuit, either.”

His heart sank. Ramsey expected him to railroad her out of flight school. Well, wasn’t that what he’d planned to do if forced to take her? “I’ll treat her like any student assigned to me, sir.”

Ramsey nodded. “Good. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.” Wearily Griff turned on his heel and left the office. Outside in the hall, he slowed his pace, wrestling with an incredible avalanche of feelings. A woman had killed Toby. Coulter could kill him. Women didn’t have good judgment in times of emergency. Carol fell apart under the most trivial circumstances. She had always cried and clung to him.

Rubbing his brow, Griff headed back to his small office. Glancing at his watch, he saw he had exactly half an hour before Coulter reported to him. It would give him the necessary time to bone up on her file. No doubt she’d be a lot like Carol: appearing strong on the surface, but internally flawed and weak, needing a man to tell her how to run things or make decisions.

Yeoman Johnson already had placed Coulter’s file on his desk. Reluctantly, Griff opened the thick folder. He nearly came unhinged at her physical statistics: five foot two, one hundred pounds and only twenty-two years old. She was too small to wrestle the weight of a screaming, out-of-control jet! His anger mounted as he continued to peruse Coulter’s file. In her plebe year—the first year as an underclassman—Coulter had won the right to carry the company colors. Who had she twisted around her finger to get that plum?

Academically, Coulter appeared to be brilliant. She excelled at mathematics and computers and earned a degree in aeronautical engineering. On the Annapolis swim team, she’d been first in freestyle and butterfly. She’d been appointed team captain in her third year at Annapolis, and under her guidance, the team had tacked up impressive wins over the next two years.

Griff wasn’t impressed. He slammed the folder shut, shoving it away. “That doesn’t mean you have hands, sweetheart. You might be good in the water, but air is an entirely different matter.” “Hands” was the term used for an individual’s feel for a plane. To have good flight hands meant possessing a natural knack with the aircraft and flying. Griff raised his head when Johnson gave a brief knock and stuck his head inside the office door.

“Ensign Coulter’s here to see you, sir.”

Girding himself, Griff growled, “Send her in, Johnson.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dana sat on a long wooden bench in the hall with several other student pilots. They were all nervous. The man nearest her, Ensign Manning, a fellow Annapolis grad, shook his head.

“I hear you got a screamer, Coulter.”

Dana frowned. “A screamer?”

“Yeah. Word’s gone ’round that the Turk’s a screamer. You know, he yells at you constantly in the cockpit.”

Dana’s throat got a little tighter. “I’ll take it one day at a time.” One hour at a time. First, she had to get past this initial interview. Ever since high school when she’d found out that the Navy pilots were considered the best in the world, Dana had dreamed of becoming one of them. Flying, for her, meant having the unshackled freedom of an eagle. To sail above the earth meant to sail over the misery that would meet her once she landed. No. Getting her wings was the most important goal she’d ever set for herself. And she’d win those wings—with or without the Turk’s help.

Manning shrugged. “Sorry you got such rotten luck. I wouldn’t wish the Turk on my best enemy.”

Dana managed a laugh, although it still hurt to smile. Her eye had nearly swollen closed again. “I’m known for my rotten luck, Manny. I’ll just persevere like I always do.” When they’d first met Manny at Annapolis, he’d hated the three women; but later, as part of Dana’s freestyle swim team, he’d been won over by her physical abilities. In the last year, Manny had become their staunch supporter.

“What do you think will happen when he sees that black eye?”

“He’ll probably think I started a barroom brawl somewhere and had it coming,” Dana muttered.

Manny shook his head. “You’re something else, Coulter. A sense of humor even as you walk into the jaws of death.”

Dana saw Sergeant Johnson crook his finger in her direction. Time to meet the dreaded Turk. She grinned as she rose, smoothing at the wrinkles in her too-large flight suit. “My black humor has gotten me this far, Manny.” If only it could get her successfully past this interview.

“Break a leg,” he whispered.

As Dana walked down the long, polished passageway, she wondered if the Turk would try to break her spirit as a way of washing her out. Nervously she wiped her damp palms against her thighs. Johnson opened the door, giving her a slight smile that she read as encouragement.

“Go right on in, Ms. Coulter. Lieutenant Turcotte is waiting.”

“Thanks,” she said. Dana moved around the door and closed it quietly. The small office was filled with bookshelves. Behind the massive oak desk sat a man, his head bent, studying what might be her file. Sweat popped out on her upper lip. Dana faced him and prepared to snap to attention. But before she could, he raised his head. A gasp escaped her.

“You!” she croaked. Griff. Dana saw the shock in his eyes. He was no less stunned than she. Her defenses shattered as his gray eyes momentarily thawed from ice to smoldering heat. Then, just as quickly, they hardened again. Off balance, Dana stood, her lips parted, words deserting her. How could Griff be the dreaded Turk? This man, his words, his incredibly gentle touch on her shoulder, had been anything but threatening at the airport.

Griff stared up at her in utter disbelief. She stood helplessly, her hands open in a gesture of peace toward him. “Dana?”

“I—yes, it’s me. But—you said your name was Griff.”

He stared down at the file, a gamut of emotions colliding within his heart. “Griff is my middle name. Your file said Danielle Coulter.”

“Yes,” she choked out. “But I’ve always been called Dana. No one calls me Danielle.”

Angrily, Griff noticed his hand tremble slightly over the file. Of all the tricks to be played on him! Her left eye was nearly swollen shut, her entire cheek black-and-blue. A huge part of him wanted simply to get up and hold her. She had to be in constant pain from that injury. Her eyes were huge, and he could read the shock in them. He was sure his IP reputation was foremost in her mind. She was probably trying to reconcile it with the man who’d helped her capture the thief at the airport.

Dana watched as the care that had again surfaced in his dove-gray eyes dissolved. Automatically she snapped to attention, tucking her chin against her chest. “Ensign Coulter reporting as ordered, sir.”

Griff wanted to curse so badly he could taste it. Life was one lousy joke after another. Dana’s face, once open and readable, was now closed, showing no expression at all. Griff reminded himself that she was a ring knocker, an Annapolis grad, one of the elite few. She was tougher than most women, he told himself, but still a cream puff underneath it all.

Slowly rising, Griff glowered at her. As much as he wanted to stop himself, stop the anger from boiling up and out of him, he couldn’t. “Remain at attention, Miss Coulter!” he snapped at her, and rounded the desk. His nostrils flared as he approached her. Griff waited to see her melt, but she remained unwavering beneath his towering scrutiny. She was such a small, helpless thing! He was six foot three, casting an ominous shadow across her.

“All right,” he rasped, watching as her eyes remained fixed straight ahead. “This is the end of the line for you or any other woman who thinks she can take it to become a Navy pilot.” Griff stalked around her, his hands behind his back. “You might be real special back in Annapolis, Miss Coulter, but here, you’re nothing more than a plebe. I break men who think they’ve got what it takes to fly a Navy jet. They come in here cocky and full of confidence. After two or three weeks with me, they wash out.”

Dana froze inside. Griff’s deep voice was like a chain saw cutting into her heart and her barricaded soul. If only she hadn’t seen his human side! He threw his words at her like a glove in a duel. The hatred in his voice was real, further eating away at her normal defensive array. Anguish soared within Dana. She had to forget the human named Griff. This was the Turk, the IP who wanted her washed out. He circled her like an eagle ready to strike at her, the quarry. Her mouth flattening, Dana rapped out, “Sir, I’ll do my best to earn your respect behind the stick.”

Turcotte glared at her. Her voice was firm, but lined with grating resolve. “These next six weeks are a survival school, Coulter.”

“Survival is one thing I’m very good at, sir.”

Taken aback, Griff moved around the desk, putting it between them. He’d had students cower like whipped dogs by the time he’d finished his initial briefing, but Dana showed absolutely no fear of him. She seemed to gather strength from his assault on her confidence. Opening his mouth to retort, Griff suddenly remembered her sitting on the concrete sidewalk at the airport, a rueful, almost painful smile on her mouth as she’d told him it wasn’t the first time she’d had a black eye. God, what a mess!

“I don’t tolerate tardiness, Coulter.”

“I’d be late for a flight only if I were dead, sir.”

“Women can’t take the punishment of flying.”

“I don’t accept that, sir.”

“You will,” he ground out softly.

Dana pinned him with an equally frosty gaze. “I know what prejudice is all about, Lieutenant. You don’t like me because I’m a woman. Fine. You’ve drawn the battle lines.”

Griff stared at her, nonplussed. What a hellion. “If you were a man, I might be impressed with your guts in standing up to me.”

“If I were a man, you wouldn’t be giving me this speech,” Dana retorted coldly. His gray eyes turned black as a thunderstorm. A part of her cried inside at the loss of the Griff who had been so gentle with her and the old woman at the airport.

“You’re wrong, Ensign. Every student that enters that door leaves knowing I’m intent on only one thing: failing you. You either have what it takes to stay in the kitchen and take the heat I’ll turn up on you, or you get out. I don’t want to be flying with any student of mine someday, unsure if he’s got what it takes when the chips are down in combat.”

“I’d say this is combat right now,” Dana whispered.

“As close as you’ll ever get to it, Ensign.”

The gauntlet had been flung. A sharp pain shot through Dana. Griff was turning out like so many other military officers she’d run into during her four years in the Navy. It would do no good to continue lobbing verbal grenades at each other. What was going to count was her performance in the cockpit of the single-engine trainer.

As always, Dana knew she would retreat to that safe place deep within herself when things got unbearable. It was a survival tool learned through years of painful experience. To everyone else, she would appear calm, cool and collected. Like swimming, retreating deep within herself meant safety.

“What time do I report for flight duty, sir?”

Griff stood, his hands on his hips, and watched her. With that swollen left eye she’d have trouble seeing. If she were a man, he’d send her to sick bay to get a chit until the eye was properly healed. Making her start in this condition didn’t give her a fair chance. Even as he thought it, though, his anger at women—and this no-win situation—surfaced. “Be at the ready room at 0800 tomorrow morning, Coulter. And be ready to fly.”

“Yes, sir.” Dana made an about-face and marched to the door. She opened it and stepped out into the passageway. After shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it momentarily. Fortunately no one was around to see her lapse of military protocol. Straightening, she absently touched her throbbing cheek, then placed the garrison cap on her head. Next stop was the bookstore where she’d pick up an armload of texts. When she wasn’t flying during the next fourteen weeks, she would be taking part in grueling academic sessions, learning about aerodynamics and meteorology.

As she left the administration building and walked the palm-tree-lined route to the bookstore, Dana couldn’t ignore her emotions. Somehow, she had to get Griff out of her mind and heart! The man at the airport had been a sham. The Turk was the real man—the bastard out to make her fail at any cost. He hated women encroaching on his male-dominated world. Fine. She’d withstood the men at the academy who’d wanted her to fail. But there was a difference here: her flight grades for the next six weeks rested entirely in Griff’s hands. She knew if she dropped below a 2.0 grade, a Board of Inquiry would be called. Rumor had it that any student with two “Boards” was washed out automatically—whatever the reasons.

Dana ignored the other students hurrying to the bookstore or to flight interviews with their new instructors. If Griff chose to wield his prejudice against her even if she was flying adequately, Dana would be in trouble. And it would be so easy for him to do—his word against hers. He was an 03, a first lieutenant, while she was an 01, an ensign, the bottom rung on the officers’ ladder. No one would take her word for anything. And if she cried prejudice or sexual discrimination, they’d laugh her out of school.

Grimly Dana swung into the bookstore and pulled a list from the thigh pocket of her flight suit. Griff seemed very sure she wouldn’t make the grade. Well, she would do everything in her power to fly—and fly well. Still, Dana couldn’t erase the memory of Griff’s soft gray eyes filled with concern. If she could forget that episode, she could easily bring up her defenses and weather his hatred of her. Maybe Molly or Maggie would have some sage advice; both of them seemed to have more understanding of men than Dana did. After all, her one relationship had been built on lies and was a proven disaster.

* * *

“So,” Dana ended tiredly, “that’s the whole story on Turcotte.”

Maggie leaned back in the cushioned, bamboo chair, putting her feet up on the small stool. “You can tell you don’t have any Irish blood in you to give you some luck.”

“Worse, she saw his good side,” added Molly, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Maggie’s chair.

Dana studied Molly. Her blond hair was shoulder length, the ends softly curling around her oval features. Molly had always worn her heart on her sleeve and was tremendously sensitive to others. Dana held her understanding gaze. “That’s the worst part of this. If I hadn’t seen Griff in action at the airport, I could handle how he sees me now.”

“Jekyll and Hyde,” Maggie muttered defiantly, brushing some auburn strands off her brow. “He obviously hates women.”

“I don’t think so,” Molly objected. “He didn’t treat Dana like that at the airport.”

“No, he was solicitous and—” Dana chewed on her lower lip for a moment, almost unable to say the word.

“What?” Molly prodded.

“Gentle.”

Maggie smiled. “There are a few men who have that quality, Dana. I know you don’t believe it, but there are.”

“That’s why I need your advice. You’ve both had positive relationships with men.” Maggie’s father adored her and his three other daughters. He was a warm, caring man, as Dana had discovered firsthand on a trip home with Maggie one time. Molly’s father was cooler and more aloof, favoring Scott, his son, over her. Nevertheless, Molly’s father was a vast improvement over Frank Coulter, as far as Dana was concerned.

Dressed in comfortable jeans and a lavender tank top, Maggie balanced a book on aeronautics on her lap, and held a glass of lemonade in one hand. It was six in the evening—their second evening together at the new apartment. “They aren’t all ogres,” Maggie said. “If the Turk was nice at the airport and a bastard at base, something isn’t jibing.”

“I think he hates all women,” Dana muttered.

“No,” Molly protested. “Maybe just women in the military. You know: the same old male prejudice about us bringing down their last bastion or some such crock.”

“That’s another thing,” Maggie added. “Why didn’t he send you to sick bay to get a chit until your eye heals properly?”

“Because he wants me to wash out fast.” Dana touched her eye gingerly. Molly had made up a new batch of her granny’s recipe and it still coated the injury, somewhat reducing the swelling.

“After all,” Molly said thoughtfully, “the guy didn’t have to get involved with that thief….”

Dana gave Molly a sour look. ”You be his student, then.”

Grinning, Molly stood and leaned over Dana, putting her arm around her. “Maybe, with time, Turcotte will soften up about you. We know you have what it takes to get your wings. Look at your academy record!”

“You’re such an idealist,” Maggie drawled. “My mother would swear you were bucking for sainthood.”

With a laugh, Molly hugged and released Dana. “I know, but you gals tolerate me anyway.”

“Well,” Dana said glumly, giving her best friends a warm look, “at least you two have decent instructors.”

Maggie nodded. “Let’s take this one day at a time with Turcotte. I think the first thing you ought to do is get over to the doctor and have him evaluate whether you’re up to a first flight or not with that eye.”

It was sound advice. Dana knew she’d need every advantage, and her eyesight was precious. “I’ll do it tomorrow morning before I report to the ready room. I’m not going to let Griff sandbag me.”

“Good girl!” Maggie crowed. “Fight back! It’s the only thing Turcotte understands or respects.“

Chapter Three

Griff was in his office the next morning at 0600. His conscience had kept him awake most of the night. Yeoman Johnson had wisely made coffee early when he saw Griff stalk into the building, and had it on Griff’s desk ten minutes later. After taking a gulp of the scalding hot brew, Griff ordered Johnson to call sick bay.

“You want to talk to Dr. Collins?”

Griff refused to look up from his paperwork. Collins was the flight surgeon. “Yes.”

“To look at Ensign Coulter’s eye?”

Frowning, Griff nodded. It was amazing how Johnson seemed able to read his mind. “When Coulter arrives at the station, have her report to Dr. Collins. Tell him I want to know whether she can be put on flight status.”

“Yes, sir.”

Griff looked up at the smile he could swear he heard in Johnson’s voice. The yeoman had already turned and was heading out the door. At least his conscience had stopped needling him, Griff thought. Collins would probably put Dana on flight waivers for at least three or four days. Her black eye was serious, and he knew it would interfere with her flying.

Angry at himself, he slammed the pen down on the papers and glared around his small office. Dana. Why couldn’t he think of her as Coulter? Last names were generic, less intimate. She was a woman. And women meant nothing but trouble in his book. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to wind up like Toby—dying in the rear seat of a cockpit because a woman screwed up on a flight. No way.

* * *

Dana couldn’t contain her surprise when the corps Wave at the dispensary picked up an order with her name already on it.

“Lieutenant Turcotte has ordered you to see Dr. Collins, the flight surgeon. He has concern that your left eye will interfere with your ability to fly, ma’am.”

Nodding, Dana took a seat in the crowded dispensary, waiting her turn. So Griff had ordered her to see Collins. As she sat, hands clasped in her lap, she wrestled with her feelings. Why hadn’t he sent her over here yesterday? With a sigh, Dana realized that even if Griff had an impersonal hatred of her because she was a woman, he had a streak of decency, too. Another part of her worried that being put on flight waivers upon her arrival at Whiting might look bad on her record.

Looking around, she studied the other waiting student pilots. They all looked frightened. Some moved around nervously, crossing and uncrossing their legs. Others wiped sweat from their faces. Others sat stoically, their eyes dark with fear. Fear, Dana wondered, of what? Flying? Possibly failing? Maggie had told her last night that the big illness going around Whiting Field was gastroenteritis— a stomachache. She’d heard from a tenth-week student that the dispensary was always filled to capacity early in the morning with students who were afraid to face their instructors or a grueling flight test.

Well, it wasn’t going to happen to her, Dana decided. As soon as she saw Dr. Collins, she’d be sitting on the Turk’s doorstep, letting him know she wasn’t afraid of him, of that trainer or of flying with him. This was only the first skirmish in a long six-week war, as far as Dana was concerned. And she wasn’t going to let him win round one.

* * *

Griff heard a firm knock at his office door. He’d just gotten off the phone with Dr. Collins, who had put Dana on flight waivers for an entire week. Part of him was relieved. He had to admit that another part of him wanted to see her; but that was a stupid and immature reaction.

“Enter,” he growled. His next student, Ted Dunlop, wasn’t scheduled until 1030. He had the whole morning to catch up on the unending paper chase that crossed his desk daily.

Dana stepped into Griff’s office and came to attention in front of his desk. She didn’t dare look at him. “Ensign Coulter reporting for duty, sir.”

Griff sat back, stunned. This morning her flight uniform fit her a little better. It was obvious she’d trimmed the sleeves and pant legs and done quite a bit of sewing last night, but she still looked small and vulnerable in the olive-green uniform. He shoved back his response.

“What the hell are you doing here? Dr. Collins put you on flight waivers, Coulter.”

“I may be on flight waivers, sir, but that doesn’t stop me from learning what I can on the ground. I don’t like missing a week of flying.”

“This just goes to prove my previous point. Women can’t take it. You’re weak, Coulter, and that’s why you were placed on waivers.”

Dana glared down at him. Ordinarily, Griff should have told her to move to parade rest, but he hadn’t. Standing at attention for a long time was tiring, but she wasn’t going to say anything. “Women aren’t weak, sir.”

Griff reared back in his chair and held her blazing blue gaze. “The hell they aren’t.”

“The injury to my eye prevents me from flying only,” Dana hurled back at him.

“I wonder what it will be next, Coulter?”

“There won’t be anything else.”

Griff managed a twisted smile. “Bet me.”

“Any amount you want, sir.”

He measured her for a long moment, the silence growing brittle. “Women, by nature are weak, Ensign.”

“Where I come from, they’re strong and capable, sir. I guess you just haven’t run into any of my kind.”

With a snort, Griff got to his feet. How he wanted to throw down the red flag of war and surrender to those defiant blue eyes. Dana’s mouth… Sweet heaven, Griff thought. What would it be like to mold those lips to his and taste her fiery response? And then he remembered Carol, who had appeared so capable and independent, too—at first.

“Ensign, you’ve got nothing to do but get well. Now get out of here.”

Dana stubbornly remained. “It’s 0800, Lieutenant. Can’t you at least walk me around and introduce me to the trainer? I can read up on the manuals while I’m recuperating. I’m not an invalid, you know.”

Pleased with her response, Griff shrugged. “A walk-around? You’re picking up the lingo fast, Coulter.”

Moving into a parade-rest position, hands behind her back, Dana continued to meet his stormy gray gaze. “Give me half a chance to prove myself, Mr. Turcotte, and I’ll earn my wings.”

For a moment Griff almost believed her. “Come with me, Dana—er, Coulter. If you want to play at learning how to fly, I’ll go along with your game.”

Throttling her anger, Dana followed him out of the office. As they left admin, she noticed the pink dawn on the horizon for the first time. Whiting Field was small, she had heard, in comparison to the Pensacola air station where most of the student flying was conducted. Both sat on the Gulf of Mexico, in Florida’s panhandle. Still, the airport had six runways, a large, glass-enclosed control tower and a number of barracks that housed students and personnel alike. She was glad that she and Maggie and Molly had an apartment off station.

“Why do you use the word play, Lieutenant?” Dana lengthened her short stride to keep up with Griff. He towered over her, his shoulders thrown back with pride. Despite his arrogance, she would never forget his actions at the airport.

“Women play at everything. Life’s a game with them, Coulter. I’m sure you know that.”

“No, sir, I don’t know that. I take my commitment to the Navy seriously.”

“Yeah, a six-year commitment. You’ll probably snag a higher-grade officer, get married and end up with a brood of kids and quit.”

“Barefoot and pregnant?”

Griff heard the steel in her lowered tone. “Isn’t that the goal of every woman, Coulter? A husband with a big fat paycheck? Security?” That had been Carol’s aim, she had confided timidly the day she’d asked for a divorce.

“I wouldn’t be here if that were my goal, Lieutenant.”

With a harsh laugh, Griff headed onto the tarmac after flashing his security badge at the gate guard. In front of them were five neat lines of parked aircraft, six to each row. The trainers had been serviced and checked the night before by teams of hardworking enlisted mechanics, and now were ready for their demanding flight schedule for the coming day.

Griff looked for tail number 13115, his trainer. It sat at the end of row three. Glancing down, he noticed Dana’s alertness. Her eyes roved restlessly, and she didn’t seem to miss much. It was one thing he looked for in a prospective student. Alertness could save a student’s life—and his, too.

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.”

“No way.”

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 Erle 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 swimsuit, 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. Griff’s 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.

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