No Quarter Given (SSE 667) (19 page)

She opened her eyes. Griff Turcotte stood before her, his eyes bloodshot, but his face scraped free of the beard she'd seen him with earlier. Dressed in a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of dark brown slacks and loafers, he looked casual and devastatingly handsome. The uncertainty in his eyes made Dana swallow her anger.

"What do you want?" she croaked, her voice still hoarse and sore.

"Well... I just wanted to come over and see how you were doing." Griff motioned nervously toward the roses he'd sent. "I see you still have them."

"Why wouldn't I?" Dana struggled to sit up in bed, the physical weakness making her feel helpless, a feeling she detested. The white gown she wore was coarse cotton and chafed her sensitive skin. Pulling the sheet and blanket up to her waist, Dana clasped her hands in her lap.

Griff motioned to the white steel chair. "Uh, mind if I sit down for a minute?"

"I guess not…" Dana felt like a heel. Griff was unsure of himself in a way she'd never seen in a man before. He sat tensely on the edge of the chair, facing her. Trying to be civil, Dana muttered, "The roses are pretty. Thank you." She saw him rub his hands together in what appeared to be a nervous gesture. Dana wouldn't have believed Griff had a nervous bone in his body—or any emotions other than those made of cold, angry steel.

"It was the least I could do." Wiping his sweaty brow, Griff managed a poor semblance of a smile. "You look better. Got a little color in your cheeks. And your arms don't look so bad." Indeed, the puffy red welts had gone down, leaving a series of red lines instead. Dana's black hair shone with blue highlights. Although she was still pale, her cheeks were two spots of color. Hungrily, Griff absorbed her vulnerable state. He still had a tough time reconciling Dana's delicate features with that iron resolve that had kept her alive during her twelve hours in the gulf.

"Falk's got me on enough antibiotics to kill a horse," Dana muttered defensively. She looked at Griff. What did he want from her?

With a shake of his head, Griff whispered, "It was too close, Dana. Too damn close. I almost lost you... I mean, we almost did."

Shaken, Dana lay against the pillow, unable to absorb, much less think coherently, why Griff was behaving in a caring fashion. "I thought I was going to die," she admitted.

"I never prayed so hard in my life." And then Griff managed a lopsided grin—the first genuine one since the incident. "Praying isn't one of my strong points."

"Mine either. But I did a lot of it last night."

"My mother was sick all her life. And as a kid, I used to wonder why a so-called loving God would let her suffer the way she did after having me. After she died, I quit going to church. I felt it was hypocritical."

The look in his eyes told Dana he wasn't lying. When Griff mentioned his mother, his face lost its usual harshness and turned tender with memories. "I was never one for church, either," she muttered, avoiding his sharpened gray gaze. "Things got rough for my mom, and I was like you: I couldn't understand a God who'd let her live in that kind of hell."

Griff grew quiet. Dana always tiptoed around her abusive homelife. Even now, she saw her mother's trials in the marriage but not her own. Was it an instinctive reaction? If Dana didn't remember it, the pain was less, perhaps. Griff could understand that. He'd never forgotten the pain of his mother's long, tortured illness. Clearing his throat, he glanced up at her.

"Look, the reason I came over was to see how you were."

"I'm better," Dana admitted quietly, holding his searching gray eyes. "And I read the newspaper this morning. I owe you a lot for helping save my hide."

"You don't owe me a thing," Griff protested.

"Sure, I do."

"Why?"

"There isn't a man alive who doesn't want something in return for what he gives a woman."

Startled, Griff sat a long minute, considering the probable feelings behind her words. Finally he said, "You don't owe me a thing. I'd have done it for you and Vickie whether I knew you or not."

Then, why are you here?
The words were almost torn from Dana, but she couldn't bring herself to ask the question. "Well, whatever your reason, I want to thank you. I could've lain unconscious in the water and drowned before someone discovered us. I didn't have any strength left." Dana managed a twisted smile. "Frankly, I don't even remember you rescuing us. I heard snatches of your voice, your touch..."

Wringing his hands together, Griff took a deep breath. "You were pretty much in shock," he agreed quietly. "Listen, there's a second reason why I came."

Automatically, Dana tensed. "It's about my flight status, isn't it?"

Surprised, Griff sat up, hearing the tightness in her voice. "Why... no."

"You're still going to Board me, aren't you?" It hurt to breathe as she waited for Griff to confirm her worst fear.

He looked at Dana in amazement. "My God, you've just been through an incredible hell where you almost drowned, and you're worried about me Boarding you?" His voice had risen with hurt laced with anger.

Glaring at him, Dana rasped, "Just because you helped save my neck doesn't change a thing between us, Mr. Tur-cotte. I know you hate my guts. Believe me, I had twelve hours at sea to think about a lot of things. I had no interruptions, no distractions. All I could do was swim and think. Just give me the bottom line, will you? Am I going to be on the Board list when I return to the station?"

Disbelief shattered Griff. He stood up, dragging in a ragged breath. "Hell, no! You won't be on that list!"

Wincing at his explosive reaction, Dana stiffened.

Immediately, Griff was sorry he'd blown up at her. Had her father cursed at her? Yelled at her? Obviously, or she wouldn't have reacted so violently to him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, holding out his hand toward her in a gesture of peace. "I didn't mean to yell. It's just... well, the last two days have been hell on me, too."

"What's my status at Whiting, then?" Dana demanded bitterly, watching him begin to pace the length of the room. There was such a powerful, coiled tension in Griff. He walked like an explosion ready to detonate at the slightest provocation. Her father had been the same.

"You're officially listed as hospitalized."

"Dr. Falk says it will be two weeks before he'll authorize me to continue my schooling. You could Board me for that."

"I won't."

"Why? It's a perfect opportunity to get rid of me."

Swinging around, Griff carefully controlled his body language and voice. He saw the shadow of fear lurking in her dark blue eyes. More than anything else, he didn't want Dana to be afraid of him. "Do you remember what I told you after you regained consciousness?"

Frowning, Dana said, "Yes."

"What did I say?"

He was treating her like a child, and she resented it. "You said the war's over between us."

"I meant it, Dana."

Her heart beat hard once, underscoring his use of her name. What the hell was he up to? Surely he was playing some head game with her to keep her confused and off balance so that when she did get back to flying, she'd Board herself.

"Look, we're getting off the reason I came here," Griff continued. He halted at the end of her bed and wrapped his hands around the cool metal footboard.

Sullenly, Dana looked up at him. "Right now, Mr. Turcotte, I don't know what to think about you. One minute you're screaming at me in the cockpit, trying to Board me. The next minute you're playing Mr. Nice Guy. I can't trust you."

He hung his head. "I've been a royal bastard," he admitted, "for the wrong reasons. This last two days cleared a lot of things up for me, Dana. The morning when 1 brought you to Emergency, I called over to the station and got the chief on duty to get me your file. I had them notify your mother about you."

"I know, she told me."

His heart started a slow, dreaded pound. "Did she say anything else about me?"

With a grimace, Dana looked away, staring at the Venetian blinds on the window. "She thought you were a very nice man." The words came out flat.

"That's all?"

"Isn't that enough? Do you think I'm going to tell my mother how rough it is here on me and my friends at Whiting? How rough you are? She's gone through enough hell in this lifetime, Turcotte. I don't intend to give her my sob story and make her start worrying about me. She worried enough about me growing up." Feeling exhausted by the emotional contact with Griff, Dana waved her hand wearily. "I'm just glad you called her. Thank you."

"She's a nice lady," Griff began awkwardly, "and she has your voice."

"My mother and I are very much alike."

"You're made out of some pretty special material, in my opinion." When Dana's eyes rounded in confusion, Griff knew he had to own up to his lie. "The morning after they took you into Emergency, Maggie and Molly arrived about fifteen minutes later. We couldn't get anything out of them about your condition. I asked the nurses, and they wouldn't say anything. Falk said only your family could visit you and be told of your true condition."

"That's standard policy," Dana stated, refusing to look at him. Why didn't Griff leave? It was painful being around him, because such a huge part of her needed him. What would it be like simply to fall into his strong, welcoming arms and be held? Just be held? No one had ever held Dana. She had held her mother when she sobbed in the bathroom or some other out-of-the-way place where her father wouldn't hear her crying.

"Yeah, I guess it is normal policy." Griff absently ran his hand along the white metal railing of the footboard. "They wanted us to go home, but we said no. I didn't want to leave you, Dana. You had no one, and I wanted to be there for you. So—" Griff sighed heavily, holding her gaze "—I did a really stupid thing."

"What?"

"Lied."

"Lied?"

"Yeah, I lied to the nurses and doctor. You'd gone through so much by yourself, I wanted you to know someone was there for you after all that. I told them I was your fiance so I could find out about your condition and hang around until you regained consciousness."

Dana's mouth fell open. Then she snapped it shut. "You what?"

"It gets worse," Griff assured her in a low tone. "I had the nurses' station notify your mother. She called here and the nurse at the desk answered. She told her your 'fiance'—me—was with you." He kept his eyes lowered, unwilling to see Dana's reaction. "As soon as I got to the phone, your mother started crying. All I could do—wanted to do—was try to make her feel better. She thought I was your fiance, and I didn't have the heart to tell her differently. I—I guess I didn't want her to think some stranger was with you, who didn't care what was happening to you. I assured her you were in good hands, that I'd be with you until you woke up, and then I'd call her back." Risking everything, Griff forced himself to look up, trying to prepare himself for Dana's righteous anger. He knew that telling her the truth probably would destroy the last goodness left between them. What would she say?

Chapter Ten

Speechless, Dana stared at Griff. He looked embarrassed and awkward, and she felt compassion instead of anger over his lie to the hospital and to her mother. There was a dull red color to his cheeks, and his mouth quirked, as if he were waiting for her to chastise him thoroughly. Her mind whirled with options. He'd said he lied because he cared for her and didn't want her to be alone; but he'd proved just the opposite—until now. Maybe he'd done it out of guilt. Confusion clouded her feelings.

"Maggie and Molly didn't say a thing about your lie."

Moving uneasily, Griff mumbled, "I asked them to go along with it. I told them I'd tell you the truth as soon as you felt better."

Dana remembered her friends' responses to Griff's helping her. Neither of them would have let Griff lie if they thought it was going to hurt her. She glanced up at him.

"Did Maggie challenge you on your lie?"

"Yes."

If the situation hadn't been so shocking, Dana would have smiled. Maggie was a real guard dog if she felt Dana or Molly was threatened. It was in her nature to protect those she felt were defenseless. If Maggie let Griff get away with the lie, she must have felt there was a good reason behind it.

"Molly wasn't too keen on it, either," Griff said quietly. "I convinced them it was in your best interests. Someone had to get in to be with you. I was the only likely candidate, under the circumstances. I think they weighed me being with you against no one being there, and that's why they went along with my lie."

Silently, Dana agreed with his assessment. "I'm sure Maggie raised hell with the nursing staff to see how I was."

He managed a slight nod, deciding not to tell Dana he'd raised even more hell to get to see her. "She was pretty dogged about it."

Mulling over the situation, Dana was silent for a long time. Finally she whispered, "I don't know what to think about you."

"You aren't mad?"

"I don't know what I am."

Hope pounded through Griff. Dana looked nonplussed. "I intend to tell your mother the truth, too. Today, as a matter of fact. I've got her number, and I'll call her when I get home. I know what I did was wrong, but I didn't see any other choice under the circumstances."

"Why don't you wait?" It was her turn to blush and not meet his gaze. "When I talked to my mother later that day, she was pretty happy I had a fiance."

"Then... you knew!"

Dana nodded. "I was just wondering if you'd own up to it or not…" A decent person would. Maybe a decent person wouldn't have lied in the first place, but the circumstances were extenuating. A large part of Dana heaved a sigh of relief Griff had admitted his lie at the first opportunity. Risking a glance at him, Dana said, "She was probably pretty happy when you told her, huh?"

"Yes, she was. She stopped crying then." Griff cocked his head, studying her intently. "I don't understand. Why don't you want me to tell her the truth?"

With a shake of her head, Dana whispered, "If you don't mind, just let it remain this way—for a while. It won't hurt anything." Chewing on her lower lip, Dana added, "Mom wants to see me happy. She knows the four years of hell I've gone through to graduate from Annapolis. It's just a small dream. Let her hold on to it—just for a little while."