Point Of Departure. Lindsay McKenna
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 in 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.
Wearily, Callie looked up at him through her lashes. “Thanks…Normally, I’m not so helpless.”
After snapping on his own seat belt, Ty guided the car out of the parking lot. “There are times when you need to lean on someone else,” he told her quietly. But hadn’t his ex-wife, Jackie, accused him of never being there for her, that she’d never had him to lean on when she desperately wanted his support? After a hellish year of living through their painful divorce, Ty had had to face facts: he wasn’t very good husband material. Maybe now, in some small way, he might atone for his failure to be there for Jackie by being here for Callie Donovan.
It took less than ten minutes to get to the dispensary, which sat near the Top Gun facility at the station. As Ty helped Callie from the car, he noticed how pale she was.
“Let me walk,” she pleaded. “Don’t carry me in. It’s too embarrassing.”
He shut the car door and tried to smile. “So, knights on white horses are dead, are they?”
Callie stood in the circle of his right arm, his hand around her waist. Ty was tall compared to her five-foot-five-inch frame. She could see a wry quality in his gray eyes, darkly shadowed by some unknown emotion, and she heard self-mockery in his husky voice. Despite her own shock, she sensed that he, too, bore emotional wounds from his past. “You were a knight,” she whispered. “You rescued me. I thought I was going to be raped by them. I didn’t expect to get help. Not here. Not these days….”
Her words chilled Ty to the bone. He nodded and gently nudged her to begin making her slow, limping way to the dispensary door. “Remington’s a bastard, but I don’t think he’d rape you. He was drunk.”
Callie shot him a look. “Drunk or not, that’s no excuse for them attacking me.”
The quaver of real fury in her voice stirred Ty. “I’m not defending them,” he said softly. “What they did was wrong.”
The bright lights momentarily blinded Callie. She didn’t really want to be here. She wanted to curl up at home, left alone to nurse her wounds. After all, that’s what she’d always done—take care of herself by herself. Now here was Ballard, solicitous and sensitive to her needs, and she had no idea how to react to him. Long ago, she’d lumped navy pilots under one simple description: arrogant, insensitive, egotistical and selfish. And no man had forced her to challenge that characterization—until now. As she limped down the green-and-white-tiled passageway toward the nursing station, Callie tried to grip the torn edges of her blouse with her hand, embarrassed by how she must look to the corpswaves and nurses.
The nurse on duty took her name and wrote everything down. Then she led her to a cubicle formed from three white sheets, where, with Ballard’s help, Callie was able to sit up on the gurney to await the arrival of the doctor on duty. This close to Ballard, she couldn’t escape the anger banked in his eyes, and she wondered who it was for. Her? Or the pilots? She knew from painful experience that pilots stuck together, bonded tighter than glue under any perceived attack by an outsider.
Still, if Ballard was angry with her, or blaming her for what had happened, why was he still here with her? Moistening her lips, Callie glanced at him, standing stoically beside the gurney.
“You don’t have to stay, Commander. I’ll be okay now,” she managed to say, her heart squeezing oddly in her chest. She had to pull herself together!
Ty raised his head and settled his gaze on Callie. “How will you get back to your car?” Beneath the fluorescent lights overhead, she looked very pale, her skin appearing translucent under the harsh glare. Her hair was in disarray, and Ty suddenly was seized with the most maddening