No Quarter Given (SSE 667)

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 .. . .

WOMEN OF GLORY

Dana Coulter, Maggie Donovan, Molly Rutledge--three daring, valiant WOMEN OF GLORY. Fighting for life and country against impossible odds, in the name of friendship, honor--and love.

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 grad
uated 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 An-napolis 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 ha-J rassment 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.