No Quarter Given (SSE 667) (18 page)

Too much information was coming too fast. Dana clung to his dove-gray gaze, feeling the incredible care surrounding her from Griff. How could this be? He was the way he'd been before—at the airport. Confused and groggy, Dana turned her head to one side.

"Go away..." she whispered.

Griff froze, his hand loosening around Dana's.
Go away.
The plea in her voice was real. Griff pushed back the chair and stood uncertainly, digesting her words. The past thirty-six hours of his life had been a living nightmare. He had so much he wanted to say to Dana, to share with her about his feelings for her. The apologies would have to come first.

Reaching over, he barely touched her gowned shoulder. "The war's over between us, Dana," he rasped. Unwilling to leave and knowing he must, Griff walked dejectedly to the door. As he opened it, he turned. Dana was staring at him, her azure eyes filled with tears. Bowing his head, Griff knew he'd made her cry. God, all he'd offered her had been brutal male punishment on a mental and emotional level. He was no better than Frank, who had levied physical punishment upon her instead. There were many kinds of cruelty. Opening his mouth, Griff swallowed against his constricted throat.

"I'm going to tell Molly and Maggie you're awake. I promised them I'd let them know when you became conscious." Griff blinked back tears. "Just get well, Dana. I'll handle everything for you at the station. I don't want you to worry about flying. When you're well, we'll start all over again. I promise you, it'll be different."

The door closed. A small, ragged sound escaped Dana. Turmoil raged within her, and she closed her eyes, tears coursing down the sides of her face. Right now, all she wanted was to see her two closest friends and tell her mother that she was okay. Her brain was only slightly functioning. Why was Griff here with her? What time was it? What day? He'd said Vickie was fine, and for that she was more than grateful.

Lifting her right arm, which had an IV in it, Dana frowned. Her arm was covered with red welts. The nightmarish swim came back to haunt her. As Dana floated back to sleep to heal, the only thing that gave her solace was the memory of Griff's anxious features as he watched her. Had she really seen tears in his eyes as he'd stood at the door?

***

Molly brought a huge bouquet of flowers, and Maggie brought Dana her favorite chocolates—Turtles. The women were in civilian attire, standing around Dana's bed when she awoke the second time. Their smiling faces, wreathed in welcome, helped her rally.

"We're so glad you're going to make it!" Molly whispered, leaning over and hugging her tightly. "We were worried sick!"

Dana managed a slight smile through her chapped and cracked lips. Maggie was next, giving her a hug and then ruffling her hair.

"Talk about a sleepless night," she teased.

"Sorry," Dana croaked.

Molly sat on the side of the bed and held Dana's hand. "Lieutenant Turcotte saw you swept out to sea by the riptide."

"Yes." She cleared her throat and thanked Maggie for the glass of orange juice. Dana was too weak to hold it, so Molly steadied the glass, allowing her to suck the cold, sweet juice through the straw. Dana was still exceptionally thirsty. Earlier Dr. Falk had come in, checked her over and told her to drink as much liquid as possible. She was on her way to recovery.

Maggie took the glass, then expertly fluffed the three pillows behind Dana's back, arranging them so that she could sit up in bed. "Yeah, the Turk called us. Can you believe that? We didn't miss you at first, because you normally swim down at the beach at that time. When he called, we both hightailed it down to the Coast Guard station."

"Was he ever panicked!" Molly agreed.

With a soft snort, Maggie sat down on the opposite side of the bed, facing Dana. "He was so upset, he was almost in tears."

"That doesn't make sense," Dana protested. "He hates my guts."

Molly pointed to a small desk opposite Dana's bed. "Odd for somebody who hates you to send thirteen yellow roses." She raised one eyebrow at Dana.

Staring at the huge yellow rosebuds, Dana was speechless. A small white card, unopened, was propped against the vase.

"Maggie, could you—"

"Sure." She smiled, got off the bed and retrieved the envelope.

Dana was none too steady yet, so Maggie opened it and handed her the folded card. With trembling hands, Dana read it. It was Griff's scrawl, all right. She knew her friends were waiting to hear the contents, so she read it out loud to them. "Dana, there's a poem I want to share with you sometime when you get better. Get well. Griff."

"A poem?" Molly sighed. "How romantic."

Maggie grimaced. "Give me a break, Molly. The Turk isn't what I'd call the romantic sort."

Running her fingers across the handwritten card, Dana felt a tug within her heart. "Earlier," she whispered hoarsely, "when I woke up, he was here. He looked happy to see me."

"That's a miracle in itself." Maggie laughed.

"Wait a minute," Molly said. "Remember, Griff was the one who got the Coast Guard involved in trying to find you. And then, when they couldn't come right away, he threw his weight around and got the commander over at Pensacola to release one of the Navy SAR helos to search for you."

Dana's eyes widened enormously. "He did?"

"Come on," Maggie protested. "The guy isn't a complete ogre! He might dislike you as his student, but he wasn't going to let you or that little girl drown out at sea! Dana, you're acting as if Griff wants you dead and buried, and his actions prove just the opposite. Something isn't making sense here."

Molly rubbed her chin, thinking. "She's right, Dana. Griff was the one who figured out where you might wash up onshore. He pinpointed Parham Beach. We searched below it for you, and he searched above it."

Disbelieving, Dana sat there, digesting the revelations. "He did that for me?"

"Hell of a guy," Maggie stated. "He came through for you when the chips were down. If he hates you, it sure doesn't show." She gave Dana a probing look. "Are you sure he wants to wash you out?"

It hurt to shrug her shoulders, but Dana did anyway. "This morning—early, I think, when I first awakened—he told me something," she admitted in a raspy voice.

"What?" Molly asked eagerly.

"Griff told me that the war's over between us."

"Well, there you go!" Maggie grinned. "It looks like you proved yourself in his eyes, Dana. Maybe he'll ease up on trying to Board you."

"You know you're in the headlines, don't you?" Molly dug into her huge canvas purse. "Front page, too. Look!" She placed the paper on Dana's lap.

Dana's mind still wasn't functioning properly. Falk told her it was due to the severe electrolyte imbalance, and that in a day or two, she'd have all her mental faculties back. Picking up the small regional paper, she gawked at the headline: Woman Survives Twelve-Hour Ocean Ordeal. There was a photo of Griff talking with a Coast Guard official. Dana studied his photo. He was unshaven, and his clothes were wrinkled as if they'd been worn for a long time. His left hand was in a cast; she wondered why. Had he broken his arm?

Reading the article, Dana began to realize the enormity of her and Vickie's rescue. As Molly had said, Griff was responsible for raising hell to get an SAR helo out to hunt for them. Then he'd plotted a possible trajectory curve along Santa Rosa Island, based on wind direction, current speed and tide, to estimate where she might finally come ashore.

"Did you read the part where the mayor of Pensacola is going to award you a medal for saving Vickie's life?" Molly said excitedly, pointing to the last paragraph of the large article.

Dana read the rest of it, setting the newspaper back in her lap. "Griff deserves the medal, too," Dana protested, feeling her anger stir. "I could have died, maybe, if he hadn't found us when he did."

"Take it up with Griff and the mayor," Maggie suggested, getting up. "Dr. Falk isn't allowing any reporters to come and talk with you, yet. There's a slew of them out in the hall waiting for a chance to do just that, you know."

Dana closed her eyes wearily. Griff's note was still in her hand. "I don't want to talk to anyone except my mother."

"I'll dial the number for you, and then we'll leave, Dana," Molly offered.

Maggie gave her a warm smile. "You're looking tired. I think you need more sleep."

Dana told Molly the number, glad of her friends' sensitivity to her condition. They left just as the phone call went through to her mother. As she talked to her, Dana gazed across the room at the lovely yellow roses. Griff had given them to her. Why?

***

Griff awoke late Sunday morning, his roomy apartment quiet as usual. He rolled over in bed and turned on the radio. Instrumental music flowed through the room. He lay there, hands behind his head, and stared up at the white stucco ceiling. After coming home from the florist's shop in Pensacola yesterday afternoon, he'd taken a hot shower and staggered into bed. Looking at his watch now, he realized he'd slept nearly fifteen hours.

Glancing at the phone on the table next to his bed, Griff had a driving urge to call Dana, but it was only 0600. Let her sleep and heal. Unable to stand not knowing how she was, he rolled over, punching the buttons of the hospital's phone number. Maybe the nursing station could give him some info. They should be forthcoming with news on Dana's condition for her "fiance."

After making the call, Griff sat on the edge of the bed, his feet on the polished wooden floor, assimilating the information the nurse had provided. Yes, Dana had gotten the roses he'd sent over. Yes, she was improving rapidly, and no, she wasn't awake yet. No, the reporters wouldn't be allowed to see her today. Perhaps tomorrow. And yes, her two women friends had visited her.

Sunlight lanced through the white sheers on the windows, highlighting the simplicity of his bedroom. Tall, graceful palms and ficus trees added life and color. Griff rested his elbows on his thighs, his hands hanging loosely between his legs. All he'd done last night was dream of Dana's response to him. She'd turned her head away and told him to leave. Staring down at his feet, Griff didn't blame her. Somehow he was going to have to get through the day without calling or visiting Dana. If she wanted to see him, she'd have to call him. It was the only way. If he chased her, he'd only end up losing her.

Making a harsh sound, Griff stood, the reddish highlights of the wooden floor glaring in the morning sunshine. He hated weekends now. After five years of marriage, he'd gotten used to a certain fixed order to his life. Now, he felt as aimless as an unraveling ball of yarn. As he padded through the apartment to the bathroom, Griff thought Carol might be right about one thing: He was the marrying kind—a man who was happier and better off in a marriage than without one. Carol had told him he'd be damned lonely after she left. She'd been right on that call, too.

Curbing his desire to call Dana at 0800, Griff decided to go over to Whiting Field to prepare for the next week's classes. If he didn't busy himself, he knew he'd call Dana, and that couldn't be done.

At his office, Griff found Yeoman Johnson at his desk.

"What are you doing here, Ray?"

Johnson looked up and grinned. "Working. What are you doing here, Mr. Turcotte?"

"Working."

"That's some story about Miss Coulter and how you rescued her," Johnson pointed out, handing him the Sunday edition of the newspaper.

Scowling, Griff saw his photo on the front page. With a grimace he handed it back to the yeoman. "Dana...I mean, Miss Coulter, rescued herself. All I did was find her washed up near Parham Beach."

Leaning back in his chair, Johnson nodded thoughtfully. "How is she doing in the hospital?"

Griff hesitated at his door. "Okay."

"When do you think she'll be back to try and get her wings?"

"Dr. Falk said it would probably be two weeks."

"Whew! That's putting her three weeks behind in this class."

"I'll fly extra hours with her to make it up."

"You still want her as a student?"

Griff nodded, his hand tightening momentarily on the doorjamb. "Yes."
More than ever.
The admission had come out low, laced with barely closeted feelings. He saw the yeoman's thick black brows rise fractionally.

"Then you've changed your mind about her?"

"She changed it for me," Griff answered abruptly, not wanting to discuss the tender topic any further.

At noon, Johnson brought in part of his sack lunch and shared it with Griff. Griff thanked him, but really didn't have much of an appetite. The phone on his desk was so close, and he wanted so badly to call Dana. The need to hear her
voice, to see if she was still angry with him, was eating at him. But why wouldn't she be angry?

"If Ensign Coulter is going to be back on the flight schedule two weeks from now, do you want me to slot her in daily?"

"Yes."

"Two hours?"

"No, three."

"But... that's going to impact your schedule an awful lot, sir. You're teaching two classes this time."

With a shrug, Griff muttered, "I don't care."

"Okay, sir... it's your decision," Johnson said, and left the
office.

Griff stared at the phone, wondering what Dana thought about the roses he'd sent her. And what if her mother told her of his lie about being her fiance? Griff groaned. He couldn't wait two weeks before admitting the lie he'd told Ann Coulter. Dana might not agree with why he'd done it, but he owed her an explanation—in person.

His heart pounding in dread, Griff decided that confessing his fib at least was a good excuse to go and see Dana. Damn, but he needed to see her.

***

Vaguely Dana heard the door to her room quietly open and close. The nurse had awakened her fifteen minutes earlier to draw blood. In fact, her sleep had been interrupted repeatedly until she wondered how any patient ever managed to recover. Lying on her side, she slowly rolled over onto her back, the chill of the air-conditioning making her wish she had more than just a light blanket and sheet across her. Dana heard someone walking toward her bed.