Point of Departure Read online

  “I wanna know—” Remington’s voice slurred as he reached out to slide his hand down her cheek, to her neck “—if you’ve got any fire in those icy veins of yours.” He laughed harshly and glanced at his friends. “Now, Neil, here, says you’re the original ice queen. My other buddy, Dale, says you’re just like all the other split tails in the navy.” He caressed her neck and then allowed his hand to trail provocatively down her shoulder and arm. “So which is it, honey? We gotta know.”

  Callie’s eyes widened enormously as Remington’s touch became shockingly intimate. As he draped his fingers down her arm, he deliberately brushed the side of her breast. With a small cry, Callie shrank against her car, its still-hot metal burning through her clothes.

  “Leave me alone!” she begged hoarsely.

  The second pilot, the blond called Dale, reached out and gripped her by the shoulder to stop her escape. “Hey, doll face, don’t be hasty. I’m God’s gift to women. Why would you want to run from me?” His mouth twisted into a snarl. “According to that article, you think you’re just as good as me in every way.”

  Trapped, Callie tried to jerk out of Dale’s grip. In doing so, she collided with Neil. She found herself pressed against his chest, and his long, strong arms wrapped around her waist. His hair was dark and his equally dark brown eyes narrowed with intensity.

  “Hey, look at this, guys—the ice queen has fallen into my arms!” he crowed triumphantly. Leaning forward, he tried to kiss Callie. Dodging his attempt, she threw her hands upward.

  “That’s not nice,” Neil muttered. “I’m wearing all the right clothes, I got a Corvette and Armani suits, honey. I’m just what you need….”

  With another cry, much louder this time, Callie shoved him away. Wanting only to escape now, she realized she was in serious trouble. These pilots were drunk, and they were angry at her because of the article. Remington stepped on one of her sandals as she struggled, tearing the leather strap. The shoe fell aside, leaving Callie’s nylon-clad foot defenseless against the blisteringly hot asphalt.

  “Ow!” she cried, and tried to dodge Remington’s outstretched hand.

  “Bitch,” he breathed savagely. Grabbing her by the arm, he jerked her toward him. “She’s mine,” he snarled to the other two pilots, who gripped her shoulders, holding her captive so that Remington could touch her.

  Tears flooded into Callie’s eyes as she saw his hand rise. Was he going to strike her? Wincing, one hand held up to her face, she tried to scream, but all that came out was a feeble, short-circuited shriek. In the next instant, Remington had jammed his hand inside her blouse, fumbling for and finding her breasts. She heard the other pilots laughing as they held her in a tight grip.

  No! Callie focused on screaming as loud as she could. The pilots had her pinned against the car, and with their combined strength, it was impossible to escape. The groping of drunken hands across her breasts, hips and thighs sent a sheet of fear through her. Concentrating on her scream, she jerked out of one pilot’s reach. As she made the quick movement, Callie lifted her leg, her knee connecting solidly with Remington’s thigh.

  Remington leaped back with a roar, and this time Callie’s scream shattered the twilight. Thrown off balance as the other two pilots tried to reestablish their grips on her, she slammed backward onto the asphalt, roughly shredding the skin on her legs and knees as she rolled over to try and escape. Remington leaped forward and Callie screamed again as she lunged upward toward freedom. If she didn’t, she knew he was going to rape her. The power of that fear pushed her to her feet, but the pilot’s hand shoved full force into her chest, knocking her backward again.

  Sharp pain shot up Callie’s ankle as her foot twisted beneath her. Wouldn’t this nightmare ever end? As she fell to the ground once more, she screamed a third time, but now her cry sounded like that of a frightened, beaten animal.

  All three pilots crowded around her, reaching and groping, their laughter making her plight all the worse. Kicking out with her feet and hands, Callie sobbed, tears blurring her vision as she cried out for help again. The nightmare of Annapolis came crashing back. Once again she was being brutally attacked—and no help had come for her then, either.

  Chapter Two

  A woman screamed, her voice carrying through the stifling California-desert heat. Lieutenant Commander Ty Ballard stood by the open door of his sports car. He’d just had a beer at the O Club and was ready to leave. Another shriek drifted across the huge parking lot. Squinting in the twilight, Ty could barely make out the handful of pilots clustered around a compact car at the rear of the lot. To his left, he saw a group of young civilian women walking toward the O Club. Had one of them screamed? But Ty knew it couldn’t have been. This had been a scream of terror. Gripping the frame of the door, he frowned as he scanned the lot again.

  Still, how many times had he heard shrieks and squeals out here? On Friday and Saturday nights the pilots and groupies partied to all hours—inside the club and outside in the parking lot—and to say they were boisterous was putting it mildly. Ty lifted his chin and tried to evaluate the direction from which the scream had come. His frown deepening, he slowly closed the door, his gaze locked again on the spot, almost a quarter mile away, where the group of pilots huddled near the small car.

  It wasn’t any of his business. Often he’d seen a pilot and a civilian woman tussling playfully in the parking lot—only to move into a passionate embrace and torrid kiss. Sometimes it seemed as if they were fighting at first. Sometimes they were, Ty admitted, and he didn’t get involved in the fracas. Soon they’d be making up just as passionately. Slowly, he moved around his car and started walking toward the end of the parking lot. He felt foolish. It was probably just a girl or girls having fun with a bunch of drunken pilots. If he came barging in, they’d all tell him to get lost. Still dressed in the day’s uniform, his one-piece green flight suit, Ty ruefully rubbed the back of his neck as he hesitantly moved forward.

  The abject fear in the third scream sent a chill down Ty’s spine and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The sound could no longer be confused with youthful hijinks. He broke into a trot, weaving among the parked cars. The twilight offered only poor visibility and he couldn’t quite make out who the pilots were, or where the woman was. He could see what appeared to be a lot of shoving and pushing going on around the car.

  As he drew closer, Ty recognized two of the pilots from the class he taught at the Top Gun facility, lieutenants Neil Thorson and Dale Oakley. Thanks to his daily five-mile run, Ty was breathing easily as he approached the group—and recognized a fellow officer of same rank, Hal Remington. Ty felt a sudden sense of dread. Remington was a known stalker of anything in heels. Although he was married, he made no bones about keeping score of how many females he’d bedded. In fact, he displayed a gun holster in his office, with red, wooden bullets in the leather loops to announce to his fellow officers how many women he’d laid.

  Ty’s concern shifted to the woman jammed up against the car by the pilots’ bodies. He couldn’t get a good look at her—only enough to see that she was in civilian clothing, probably a groupie. Again he heard her shriek and then sob as she struggled to escape the groping hands.

  “Hey!” he snarled, gripping Remington’s broad shoulder. “Ease off!”

  Remington whirled around, throwing his arm up in reaction and knocking Ballard’s hand away. “Get lost,” he growled.

  The woman fell to the asphalt, and Ty elbowed his way between the hard-breathing pilots, forcing them back from where she lay. He glared at Thorson and Oakley.

  “Enough!” he ordered. Then he whirled around to face Remington, who was glaring malevolently at him. “Commander, what’s this all about?”

  Remington wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ballard. I might have known it would be you.” He thrust his hand toward the woman. “This is my woman—go get your own. She’s my property.”

  Ty gripped Remington’s arm as the man pushed toward her. The
sound of her sobbing assured him that this wasn’t a game, and that she wasn’t enjoying it. The smell of liquor on Remington’s breath was overwhelming. “Leave her alone.”

  “Screw you, Ballard. She’s mine! She asked for this.”

  Ty held on to Remington’s arm and glanced behind him at the woman, who sat on the asphalt, her hands pressed against her face. “She’s not anyone’s property,” he said through gritted teeth, giving Remington a shove backward. Glancing at the two lieutenants, who had backed off and were looking a bit guilty, Ty added, “Get the hell out of here. Now.”

  “Yes, sir!” Thorson said thickly, trying to rearrange his flight suit.

  “Yes, sir,” Oakley added, with just a trace of sarcasm.

  Remington jerked out of Ty’s grip. “Get away, Ballard. This woman asked for it. She’s a tease. And this time she isn’t getting off so lucky. She wants it. She wants me.”

  Not trusting Remington, Ty remained where he stood. “I don’t care what she asked for, she’s not enjoying your attack, Remington. Why don’t you leave her alone?”

  Smirking, Remington glared down at the woman. “Bitch,” he spat. “Maybe you’ll think twice before you go around proclaiming women are the second coming.” He raised his head and pinned his dark gaze on Ty. “You did a stupid thing coming out here and breaking up our fun, Ballard.”

  Ty tensed, wondering if Remington was going to throw a punch at him. The woman’s sobs had softened, but there was no doubt she’d been hurt in the scuffle. “Take off,” he told Remington. “Go get a drink and cool off, or better yet, go home to your wife.”

  His mouth lifting in a snarl, Remington retreated and placed his cap on his head. “You’re one to talk, Ballard. Your ex-wife was smart to drop you.” He grinned a little, his arrogance back in place. “Hell, you can’t even keep a woman.”

  “That’s enough.”

  Flipping Ballard a salute, Remington turned and walked unsteadily back toward the Officer’s Club.

  Ty turned around. Darkness was following on the heels of twilight, hiding the woman’s features as he crouched over her.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured, and reached out to put a comforting hand on her small, shaking shoulder. Instantly, her hands flew away from her face as she shrank from his touch. Ty’s eyes widened and he froze in shock.

  “Lieutenant Donovan?” he croaked in disbelief. “Is that you?”

  Callie nodded and tried to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Y-yes.”

  “Oh, God,” Ty muttered. He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a linen handkerchief. “I’m sorry. Here, take this. I thought you were a groupie….” Quickly, he began to assess her condition. The front of her blouse had been ripped open, exposing part of her white cotton bra. Her hands, elbows and knees were covered with numerous bloody scrapes. She was trembling badly, and her blue eyes looked huge and shocked. Because of his duties as an instructor, Ty knew about Callie Donovan coming on board Miramar about a month ago, although they’d never been officially introduced. He’d read the Sunday newspaper, though, and he recognized her from the photo.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, again placing his hand on her shoulder. There was such devastation in her eyes that he automatically tightened his grip. For a year now, Ty had been in a no-man’s-land of emotional deprivation, but now, searching her face, he felt his heart squeeze in response to her suffering. Caught off guard, Ty could only lean down, lost in the luminous blue of her eyes.

  “Y-yes, I’m fine,” Callie quavered. “Fine…” Ensnared by the officer’s penetrating gray gaze, Callie felt paralyzed. She was just beginning to feel the smarting pain of the scrapes that covered her palms and legs. She tore her gaze from his, the handkerchief fluttering nervously in her hands as she dabbed at her bloody knees. Her heart refused to settle down, and she gulped back tears, longing to howl like a wounded animal.

  “No, I don’t think you are all right,” Ty whispered more firmly. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Ty Ballard. I was coming out of the O Club when I heard you scream.” As Ty gazed down at her long legs, he noticed that one foot was without a sandal, and he could see swelling around the ankle. “What the hell was going on? Why did Remington and those jerks attack you?” he demanded, his voice tightening with anger. Remington was Callie Donovan’s boss in the Intelligence section—what did he think he was doing?

  Sniffing, Callie looked up at the pilot. Commander Ballard had a strong, narrow face with glittering gray eyes that missed nothing. He wasn’t heavily muscled. Instead he possessed the lean, catlike body that so many pilots had because of the severe demands flying made on them. He looked like a hunter in every nuance of the word, from his eyes, which assessed her minutely, to the thinning of his mouth into a line that spoke volumes about his real feelings.

  His almost-predatory look belied the gentle touch of his spare fingers, draped across her shoulder in a comforting gesture. Callie opened her mouth to speak, but a huge lump formed in her throat, and all she could do was stare up at him. She hadn’t expected help, yet she’d gotten it—in the form of another pilot. But experience told her that pilots in any form were trouble.

  “I—I’m really okay, Commander Ballard.” Feeling humiliated, Callie started to push herself up from her sitting position on the asphalt. Instantly, he was there, both hands beneath her arms to help her stand. He was strong without being hurting or forceful, Callie noticed, almost unwillingly. As she put weight on her right foot, pain shot through her ankle.

  Callie uttered a small cry and closed her eyes in reaction—and found herself swept into Ballard’s arms as she crumpled helplessly against his tall, lean form. Her face pressed to the rough cotton of his flight uniform, she placed her palm against his chest in an effort to stand on her own, although something deep within her begged, just for a moment, to simply hide within his strong, protective embrace.

  “Easy,” Ty whispered, his mouth very close to her ear, “just take it easy.” Her black hair felt thick and silky beneath his lips, and he inhaled the subtle fragrance of her faint, spicy perfume. “You need a doctor,” he said, his hands cupping her shoulders to ensure she wouldn’t lose her balance and fall.

  “N-no, I don’t. Please, just let me get in my car and I’ll go home.” Panic gripped Callie, but she couldn’t force herself to leave the harbor of Ballard’s care.

  Shaking his head, Ty saw her take all the weight off her right foot, which had swollen nearly to the size of a grapefruit. “Listen, you might have torn muscles in that ankle of yours. Let me help you to my car, and I’ll take you over to the dispensary. Besides, you need to get these scrapes and cuts tended to. They’re still bleeding.”

  Dazed, Callie watched as he gently opened her hand and displayed her palm so that she could see the damage for herself. She remembered vaguely feeling the bite of the asphalt into her flesh when she’d fallen the first time. Now her hands and knees throbbed unremittingly. “Well, I—”

  Ty grimly moved around and picked up her purse, tossed aside during the melee. Keeping one hand on her, because she was none too steady, he slung the purse across his shoulder and smiled a bit. “Hold on. You’re going for a ride, Lieutenant.”

  Callie opened her mouth to protest, but to no avail. In one smooth motion, Ballard lifted her off her feet and brought her against him as if she didn’t weigh more than a feather. Automatically, Callie placed her arms around his neck.

  The firmness of his arms around her made her release a held breath. The strength of him as a man was all too real, but in the sense of security, not brutality. He was much stronger than he looked upon first glance. “You don’t have to carry me—”

  “I know, I know.” Ty tried to keep the pleasure out of his voice. When had a woman felt so good in his arms? And then, sourly, he reminded himself that he’d been without any woman since the divorce. Still, Ty couldn’t quite recall when a female had fitted so well against him.

  Ballard’s low voice soothed Callie’s shattered emotions, and she drew i
n a ragged breath as she relaxed in his arms. “Th-thank you…” Wearily, she rested her head against his shoulder. For a moment, she felt his arms tighten around her, and all the tension fled from her as she capitulated completely to his strength.

  “I’m just sorry I didn’t get there sooner.” Ty liked her melodic, breathy voice with just a hint of depth. Wildly aware of her head next to his, her arms around him, he managed a one-cornered smile. “Hell of a way to meet, isn’t it? I’m an instructor over at Top Gun. You’re Maggie Donovan’s younger sister, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she murmured, suddenly feeling very tired and very old. “I shipped out to Miramar a month ago.”

  “I thought so. Intelligence section, right?”

  “Yes.” Callie tried to sound as if she were fine, but she wasn’t. Her past seemed to be hanging like some terrible mirror in front of her. Annapolis had been a special kind of hell—things had happened there that she’d never even told Maggie or her other sisters, Caitlin and Alanna. All four Donovan women had gone through their respective academies, but Callie had never shared the terrible torment she’d endured.

  Ty didn’t really want to release Callie, but as he approached his black sports car, he reluctantly lowered her to the pavement. Supporting her with one hand and unlocking the door with the other, he ushered her into the plush leather interior. Despite the darkness, he could see that she had a heart-shaped face and huge blue eyes that were shadowed with fear.

  Smiling reassuringly at her, Ty slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Callie was leaning back against the seat, her lips slightly parted, the bloody white linen handkerchief knotted tightly between her hands, resting in the lap of her denim skirt. “Here,” he said, “let me help you with the seat belt,” and he leaned over and pulled it across her, snapping it into place.