No Quarter Given. Lindsay McKenna

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ