No Surrender – Excerpt
Morgan Trayhern is still on the run after being branded a traitor. His sister Alyssa has jumped through all the normal hoops a woman who wants to be a fighter pilot might encounter, as well as incurring all the hurtful remarks about her brother – and survived.
Clay Cantrell, her new Navy trainer, can’t believe he is responsible for the continued development of the “traitor’s” sister and Alyssa abhors the fact that it was Clay’s brother Stephen who was responsible for Morgan’s demise. Unfortunately, their close working relationship has Clay seeing Alyssa in a different light. But can Alyssa’s brick wall heart ever let a man in?
Reprint from Book 2: No Surrender
Love and Glory Series
Release date: April 30, 2019
© 2019 Blue Turtle Publishing
Available in ebook/paperback/audio
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“Does Lieutenant Cantrell know about this assignment, sir?” Her voice was husky again, but in charge. Emotionless.
“Heroes.”
“His reaction?”
“Negative.”
Aly wanted to cry. She wanted to scream out at the unfairness of the situation. She came from a military family that knew the military way of life. It hadn’t escaped her that someone in D.C., probably some admiral, wanted to wash her out of the Navy because she was Morgan’s sister. There was no room for a traitor’s family in the service. God, how many times had she heard that?
“Can he separate his personal emotions from his duty toward me?” she demanded tightly.
Homer shrugged. “I told him he’d better.”
Great. “And if he can’t, sir?”
“Come and see me. But,” Homer growled, “I’m expecting both of you to behave maturely about this. After getting cockpit qualified, you’ve got a P3 and a crew of ten other men on board. That’s your focus, your responsibility. I won’t tolerate any bickering, sniping or back-stabbing coming from either one of you. Is that clear, Lieutenant Trayhern?”
Aly rose unsteadily. She locked her knees, coming to attention. “Yes, sir, it is. Permission to leave, sir? The sooner I meet with Mr. Cantrell and clear the air, the better.”
Again, Homer gave her an amused smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Bulldog tough. That’s what they said about your father, Chase Trayhern—he was one tough son of a bitch in a fight. I wish you luck, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir. Where can I find Mr. Cantrell?”
“He’s in the Link Trainer office across the way. When he’s not flying, his duties include scheduling continued Link trainer education for all pilots of VP 46.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “It’s 1130. Usually, Clay heads to the chow hall about noon. You’ll probably catch him before he leaves.” Horner got up, extending his hand. “Good luck and welcome aboard, Lieutenant.”
Aly gripped his hand, her fingers icy cold. She said nothing, coming to attention and making an about-face. Blindly heading out the door, focusing on the worst confrontation she’d ever come up against, she didn’t even say goodbye to the friendly red-headed Chief Prater.
The day was cloudy, but patches of blue sky could be seen between the fleecy gray and white stratus overhead. Bits of sunlight slanted through, striking the revetment area where the squadron of P3s stood like gallant, silent chargers waiting to be called into battle. But Aly couldn’t enjoy any of it. Her heart hurt, her head ached. Somehow, she had to gird herself for the collision with Clay.
As she walked around the perimeter of the hangar, Aly wrestled with a gamut of feelings. Clay had been friendly and likable yesterday. Thank God, she’d seen his good side, because it might be the last time. No matter what happened, she would keep reminding herself that he had stopped to help her when no one else had. There was integrity and humanity in his soul and heart. She liked the warm gray smile in his eyes, and that mobile mouth that drew into such a careless, little-boy grin. But yesterday he hadn’t realized that she was Morgan’s sister.
Taking a deep breath, Aly entered a door that had a sign posted: Link Trainer Officer. The door led to a narrow passageway lined by at least ten offices up and down the east side of the hangar. Straight ahead, through the glass-paned window, she saw Clay sitting at his desk, buried in paperwork. Glancing around, Aly saw no one in the passageway. She took the few seconds of reprieve to put a tight clamp on her feelings. Her father had always counseled her never to allow her emotions to enter the field of any battle. Keeping a clear head was the only way to win, he’d told her time and again. For five years Aly had used his wisdom with success. But could she now?
Taking a look at Clay, her heart unraveled, heedless of her father’s stern warning. He appeared tired, one hand resting against his head as he scribbled something on a yellow legal pad in front of him. His short black hair shone with blue highlights in the lamplight from overhead. The desk was cluttered, and Aly wondered if the responsibility as Link Trainer Officer combined with his many flights was wearing him down. His mouth was pursed, almost as if he were in pain. And today his skin appeared washed-out, darkness shadowing beneath his eyes.
Aly released a shaky breath, knowing she couldn’t hate this man—not even remotely. But instinctively she knew he’d hate her. It was just a question of on what level and how much. There was something else, something gossamer and fleeting that had touched Aly’s aching heart. The vulnerability in Clay Cantrell held her captive. She had no explanation, no proof of that; it was simply something she knew. And because of that, she was going to be exposed to him emotionally. That meant he could get to her, hurt her.
Give me the courage, give me whatever it takes to handle this. Please… And Aly placed her hand with determination on the doorknob.
Clay heard the door open and close. He looked up. A rush of breath was expelled from his lips as he stared up…up into that angelic face once again. It was her! The woman he’d stopped to help on the Bayshore! The pen dropped from his hand. His eyes narrowed as he took in the uniform she wore. Shock rocketed through Clay. His gaze flew to the gold name tag over her right breast pocket: A. Trayhern. No! The words were almost ripped from him. My God, what kind of fate was stalking him? She couldn’t be Alyssa Trayhern! She just couldn’t be! He sat for almost a minute, wrestling with his violent emotions.
“You!” The word exploded from him. He rose ominously to his feet, his hands resting in fists against the surface of his desk. No! his heart shouted. Fury tunneled through him like molten lava flowing up from a fissure deep in the earth. She was so damned pretty, her blue eyes wide and pleading. That irresistible mouth was parted, looking incredibly sensual. But it was her name that screamed at him. How could someone so damned fragile-looking be the sister of the man who’d killed Stephen? There had to be a mistake. Some kind of sick, twisted mistake!
Clay drew himself up, watching her stand before him. Part of him admired her. The other part hated her. “Just what the hell is this?” he snarled.
