Lindsay McKenna - Point Of Departure

As Ballard opened her car door, she pulled the crutches from the backseat and fumbled with them. He stood back patiently, allowing her the time she needed to maneuver herself and the crutches out of the car.

“I hate the idea of being on crutches,” she said tightly as she lurched to her feet, favoring her right ankle. Placing the crutches beneath her armpits, she glanced over at Ty. There was such sympathetic understanding in his eyes that Callie momentarily froze. Despite the heavy contrast offered by the streetlight, which seemed to carve his rugged looks with light and shadow, she not only saw but felt his compassion. Angrily, she shoved it away. He was merely another representative of all the problems she’d ever had with pilots over the years.

Ty stepped aside as Callie began hobbling toward her apartment. He smiled briefly as he shut the car door behind her. “I have a feeling you don’t like any kind of help,” he told her as he walked slowly at her side, her purse tucked under his left arm.

Jerking a look at him, Callie said, “Commander, at Annapolis I got the message loud and clear. There is no support for women. I learned that lesson in my plebe year. No, I don’t lean on anyone. Not ever.”

The anguish in her tone needled Ty. “I went through Annapolis, too, so I know what you’re talking about. We had three women in our group, and they took a hell of a lot of harassment,” he admitted. “Two of them dropped out. Only one made it the entire four years.”

Callie swung her way awkwardly up the concrete sidewalk. Luckily, her apartment was on the ground floor. Ballard was a product of his environment, there was no doubt. And the fact he was a fellow ring-knocker didn’t thrill her, either. If she were a man, she’d be part of the vaunted brotherhood, that clique of male Annapolis graduates. But because she was a woman, she was coldly excluded.

“Square pegs in round holes,” she said, stopping at the door of her apartment. Taking her purse from Ballard, she finally located the set of keys.

“Women have it tough in the military,” Ty agreed quietly as he watched her open the door. A soft light emanated from inside, and he saw that the apartment was filled with green plants and the pale, Southwestern colors of sandstone, pink and lavender. Wanting to do more to atone for what had happened to Callie, he opened his hands. “Can I help you in any way? Make a phone call for you? I think your sister would like to know how you are. Or maybe a friend who can help you tonight?”

Touched by his concern, Callie shook her head. She saw care burning in his eyes, and heard real emotion in his voice. Giving him an odd look, she said, “Commander, I think you’re a dream of some kind.”

Ty cocked his head. “A dream?”

Callie tried to smile but failed. “I’ve never seen a pilot be so sensitive. You’ve been wonderful, and I don’t know how to thank you. I’ll be fine now,” she answered steadily, although she felt anything but fine.

The shadowed look in her eyes convinced Ty that she was lying. But maybe she didn’t even know it herself. He shrugged. “Like I said, we’re not all cold, callous bastards. I know a lot of pilots who are good men, have families and a decent home life. Not all of them spend the other half of their life at the O Club.” And then he sighed. “Not that I’m one to talk.” When he saw her tilt her chin and give him a perplexed look, Ty smiled a little, as if to brush off the deprecating comment about himself.

“Thanks for everything.”

Ty moved forward and touched her shoulder before she turned to shut the door. “Look, let me leave my phone number with you—just in case.”

“No…thanks.” A flash of panic darted through Callie. Ballard was a figment of her imagination. She saw the disappointment in his eyes, but he stepped away and shrugged. Now she’d hurt his feelings, and that was the last thing she’d meant to do. Torn by the evening’s events, she whispered, “You’re one in a million. I can get along by myself, now. Thanks.”

“What about your car?” Ty said, grasping for straws, for any reason to see Callie again under less-pressured circumstances. He’d sworn he wouldn’t even consider getting involved with a woman for at least another year. But Callie’s blend of femininity, vulnerability and quiet strength drew him.

“I’ll have my sister Maggie help me.”

“Oh…”

“Good night, Commander.”

“Call me Ty?”

Callie hesitated. She heard the hope in his voice and saw the plea in his eyes. As much as she wanted to, the past overwhelmed her. The last nine years of hurt were just too much to overcome. “No…I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Ballard knew enough to back away. “I’ll be seeing you, Lieutenant Donovan.”

The urgent knock on Callie’s apartment door startled her, and she glanced at the clock. It was nine p.m. She’d been home exactly an hour. Picking up the crutches she hobbled disgustedly to the door and opened it.

Maggie stood there tensely, wearing jeans and a pink blouse. Her hair, usually pinned up on her head, swung loose around her proud shoulders. “Callie? What happened? ”

Callie moved aside to let her sister in, then shut the door. “A run-in with my boss,” she muttered.

Maggie’s eyes widened as she took in Callie’s condition. “My God, you look awful!” Her voice grew hoarse with disbelief. “Remington did this to you?”

“Take it easy,” Callie said wearily, maneuvering back toward the living room. “Don’t fly off the handle, okay? Right now, I can’t take any more drama than I’ve already been through. Sit down. I’ll tell you everything.”

Callie watched the anger mount in Maggie’s narrowed eyes as she related the story. When she mentioned Ty Ballard’s name, Maggie leaped to her feet.

“That’s The Predator!”

“What?” Then Callie realized that Maggie was referring to Ballard’s nickname as a pilot. A chill went through her as she saw her sister’s face change markedly with shock.

“Ballard’s known as ‘The Predator.’ Don’t you know who he is?”

“No,” Callie said, “I don’t. Remember? I’ve only been at the station for a month. You’ve been here nearly three years, Maggie. Besides, I work in Intelligence, not over at the Top Gun facility like you. Obviously you know more about him.”

Maggie began to pace—a habit of hers, because she had trouble remaining still for more than two minutes at a time. “The Predator helped you?”

“If it weren’t for him, I don’t know how far Remington and his goons would have gone,” Callie whispered, her voice cracking at the memory. “He broke up the fight, got me to the dispensary and drove me home. Really, he was very sweet about it.”

Maggie snorted and halted, jamming her hands on her narrow hips in a typical pilot gesture. “Ballard isn’t what I’d call ‘sweet.’”

“Well, he was to me. In fact—” Callie sighed, feeling exhausted “—he showed some real sensitivity. That floored me.”

With a shake of her head, Maggie muttered, “I can’t believe it. Ballard’s been going through one hell of a messy divorce, and he’s a growling, snarling dog over at the Top Gun facility. In the air, he’s murder on his students. You do know he shot down two enemy fighters in Desert Storm?”

“No,” Callie said wearily. “So he did me a good turn. He probably felt guilty that his brother pilots did this to me.”

Clenching her fists, Maggie sat down again on a nearby chair. She reached out and touched Callie’s bandaged hand. “I’m glad Dr. Lipinski has reported this, Callie. It’s the right thing to do.”

Callie glared at her. “Maggie, I’m beat right now, and I’m feeling rotten. Don’t start giving me your spiel about women’s rights. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being on the firing line. I took a direct hit for you tonight with Remington. He was angry about the newspaper article and what you said.”