IT TAKES A VERY SPECIAL MAN TO WIN THAT SPECIAL WOMAN!

A woman in uniform had to be tough. But to face down a naval commander intent on harassing her out of the ranks, Lt. Callie Donovan needed more than moxie, she need a miracle…

Top Gun Ty Ballard, assigned to represent Callie in a military board of inquiry, was no miracle worker. But having seen the stark vulnerability shadowint Callie’s azure eyes-and knowing it had been put there by a predatory jet jocks just like him-he prayed he’d prove man enough to stand by this brave, beautiful woman in blue.

Point of Departure

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Author Note

I felt very proud to be asked to take part in the That Special Woman! program. My editors know my fondness for writing novels that emphasize women and their wonderful strengths, intelligence, creativity and courage. And I think my readers know where I stand on the issues of women and their rights. I’ve always supported women in every way.

Navy Lieutenant Callie Donovan faces a challenge while in a very male-dominated career position. She gets put up against a wall, and when she’s forced to, she fights back. I don’t think women like to fight; we’d rather work things out peaceably, but more and more we must stand up for our own integrity. I believe Lieutenant Callie Donovan has the “right stuff”—just as all women do. None of us should be treated disrespectfully or without integrity.

Lindsay McKenna

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

Lieutenant Callie Donovan wondered if it was a good idea to grab a quick dinner at the Officer’s Club. Lately, with all the hubbub over the newspaper article about Callie and her sister Maggie coming to Miramar Naval Air Station—home of the cream of the naval aviation crop known as Top Guns—things had been going from bad to worse.

Callie frowned and pushed a lock of black hair off her forehead as she pulled into the Officer’s Club parking lot. She’d already changed out of her summer uniform in the women’s locker facility, and into a simple white, short-sleeved blouse, denim skirt and sandals. As she opened her car door, Callie laughed to herself, but the sound had a grim edge to it as she realized her carefully nondescript outfit was really more an attempt at camouflage than comfort.

Last Sunday’s newspaper had featured a full-page profile on the Donovan sisters, under the auspices of “women challenging the male military bastion.” Callie hadn’t wanted to be interviewed, but effervescent Maggie, always happy to be in the forefront of leading women into male-dominated areas, had somehow talked her into it. Shutting the car door, Callie realized that it was Friday night, and the O Club parking lot was nearly full—mostly with vehicles of the young, eager pilots who attended Top Gun school. Again, she hesitated. The last place she wanted to be was on the firing line with a bunch of chauvinistic pilots angry about the newspaper article.

Callie’s stomach rumbled. This was silly, she thought, impatiently smoothing her skirt. She needed to eat before driving to the local college to attend a still-life photography class, and the O Club was close and convenient. Shrugging off the intuitive warning, she slung her white purse across her shoulder and headed toward the club.

Day had turned to evening, but the dry desert heat lingered, and her blouse clung slightly to her damp skin. The light blue sky held a golden cast at the horizon. Although the Pacific Ocean was ten miles away, Callie caught a hint of saltiness on the air. In another hour, twilight would settle on the famous Southern California naval base and neighboring San Diego. Miramar was the aviation arm of the navy—and the most prestigious assignment Callie had ever been given. In her position as a satellite and photo interpreter, she’d always been hidden behind doors marked Top Secret, pouring over photos for hours, then issuing reports, never interfacing much with anyone but photographic intelligence staff. But Miramar was a different stripe of cat: there was always excitement at this station because the Top Guns trained here year round.

As she hurried across the asphalt, Callie saw many other young women heading for the club, mostly in groups of two and three. Her heart fell. These civilian women, dressed to the nines in snug skirts and high heels, were known as “groupies.” On Friday and Saturday nights, the women swarmed to the O Club, openly courting the cocky young pilots by flirting, dancing and drinking with them.

Callie wanted none of the scene that generated so much excitement among the carrier pilots, who eagerly looked forward to the weekends. She never had. Naval aviators tended to be aggressive toward women, and usually had enough lines to sink a battleship—as she knew from hard-won experience. In four years, she’d fallen three times for navy pilots. And, as Maggie had informed her one day, she’d crashed and burned each time—sucked in with a line, her own damning naivetñae paving the way to the end of the relationship.

Shaking her head, Callie slowed down and allowed the groups of civilian women to enter the O Club first. They would go to the bar, she knew, a huge area designed for heavy drinking, rowdy behavior, loud rock music and packed bodies. Callie, however, opened the door and entered the much-quieter dining room, adjacent to the bar. Here there was a lot less chance of being hit on by some drunk aviator.

Not that she’d be much of a target, anyway, she thought as the hostess led her toward a table at the rear of the spacious room. With her short hair, bland clothes and lack of makeup, Callie was hardly the type to attract the roving “wolf packs.”

As Callie reached the small table, she recognized Lieutenant Andy Clark, who was assigned to Miramar as an Aggressor pilot—one of the men who trained the Top Gun candidates how to shoot to kill up in the sky. Seated two tables to her left, Andy looked up and nodded deferentially in her direction. Callie smiled and raised her hand in silent greeting before she sat down. Andy was married and the proud father of two little girls, she knew. His wife was a teacher, with the local school district, and they had a home in Bonsall, not far from the station.

Loud, irritating music drifted into the dining area, and with a sinking feeling, Callie realized that her table was easily viewed from the bar, which was packed, as usual, with aviators—in uniform to impress the multitude of circulating civilian women.

Games, she thought tiredly, as she sipped a glass of ice water. Callie hadn’t known what games really were until she’d joined the navy, following in her sisters’ footsteps. She’d learned fast, though, at Annapolis, where men had called her names, played dirty tricks on her, groped her and made her the object of their anger.

And the games hadn’t stopped with her recent promotion to Miramar, Callie thought glumly after the waitress had taken her order for a hamburger and fries. Her new boss in the Intelligence section, Lieutenant Commander Hal Remington, had, since her arrival here a month ago, been more than a pest. Tall, darkly tanned and arrogant—and carrying the nickname “Honcho”—Remington embodied the stereotypical pilot image, making him a favorite of the groupies.

No, the games Remington played were barely disguised displays of hostility toward women. At first, coming to Miramar had looked like a wonderful feather in her career cap and the achievement of Callie’s primary goal—job security. Transferring from the dark photographic rooms of the Pentagon to here, she’d felt like Persephone coming from the bowels of Hades to the topside of the world where there was sunshine, life and beauty.

Callie had earned her promotion. She’d paid her dues at the Pentagon, and her personnel jacket reflected her much-heralded abilities. But with Remington assigned as her immediate superior, Callie’s joy at coming to Miramar had been quickly eclipsed. He was like a wolf on the prowl, harassing and intimidating the women in his section. Worse, he seemed to zero in on Callie with his insinuating remarks and barely veiled come-ons. But fear of losing her job, or at least getting bad marks in her personnel jacket, had kept her tight-lipped about the problem—even to Maggie.

Within twenty minutes her meal had arrived and Callie was glad. Although she tried not to show it, she was nervous. From time to time, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed some of the pilots at the bar pointing disparagingly in her direction. The entire station knew about the newspaper article, which, thanks largely to Maggie’s outspokenness, had stirred up a lot of heated debate.

Why had she allowed Maggie to drag her into that interview? Callie thought for about the thousandth time since last Sunday. Not that she’d said much anyway. Maggie was so fiery and confident in comparison to Callie that the female reporter naturally had honed in on her. And for that, Callie was grateful. She concentrated on quickly eating her meal, mentally preparing for her upcoming class. Tonight she would be showing some photo techniques in the darkroom, and she wanted to get there a little early to look at her notes and doublecheck the equipment.

“Hey, sweet thing…”

Callie’s heart took one gigantic bound, and a french fry halted halfway to her mouth. She’d recognize that grating voice anywhere. It was Lieutenant Commander Remington. Lifting her head, Callie firmly ordered herself not to react although fear sizzled through her gut, tightening it into a knot.

Remington smiled and lifted his hand in a sloppy salute. “You know, you could dress in a burlap bag and it wouldn’t matter, Donovan,” he said, his words slurring slightly. He weaved unsteadily and took a step back to peer down at her crossed legs. “Your legs have been driving me nuts all day. I’m glad you stopped by the O Club. It gives me another chance to look at them.”

Callie gulped and saw that Remington’s narrow blue eyes were hazed from alcohol. He was her superior. What should she do? Her heart was bounding like a rabbit’s—a rabbit caught between the paws of a slavering wolf.

Maybe if she played along, tried teasing him back, it would make him go away, Callie thought. Attempting to smile, she set her food aside.

“Commander, I’m sure your wife has a very nice set of legs, too.” Remington had just recently married for a third time, from what she understood.

He lurched forward and placed his hands flat on the white linen cloth of the table. Patches adorned each arm of his olive green one-piece flight suit, and his name was printed in gold on a black leather square above the left breast pocket. His mouth drew into a little-boy smile as he pinned her with his gaze. “Sweet cheeks, I still think you’ve got the best legs on the station, despite that asinine article I read last Sunday.”

Inwardly, Callie winced. The article. The light in Remington’s assessing gaze was neither kind nor friendly. No, she saw savagery linked with a hatred that made her blood chill. He was smiling, but the expression never reached his eyes. Callie felt trapped—there was no place to run.

“Look, Commander, I’m in a hurry. I’ve got a class to teach tonight—”

Reaching out, Remington grazed her cheek with his fingers. “Damn, you’re a nice piece of flesh. Why did you have to side with your red-haired witch of a sister? Are you an ice queen like her?”

Paralyzed with fear, Callie allowed Remington to stroke her cheek for several seconds before she slowly pulled away. She felt heat flare up from her neck into her face. Blushing had always gotten her into trouble at Annapolis, she thought distractedly. Remington was her boss. She couldn’t make a scene or he’d put low ratings in her personnel record, and the promised rank would be pulled from her. She couldn’t overreact. Belatedly, Callie thought about what Maggie would have done: she’d have called him on his drunken behavior and insisted he leave. But Remington wasn’t Maggie’s boss….

Her mind whirling with options that might defuse Remington, Callie stammered, “My—my sister has her opinions. If you read the article, you probably noticed that I had very little to say about it. I’m not the pilot, she is.”

Remington slowly straightened, looked back to the bar and raised his hand. Two other aviators, obviously young Top Gun students, waved back, big grins on their faces. He smiled lopsidedly and placed his hands arrogantly on his hips.

“Honey, you got the same fighting blood in your veins. I don’t care whether you’re a pilot or not. You Donovans are nothing but man-hating Amazons. You think you’re better than us, don’t you?”

The pulse at Callie’s throat was throbbing. She’d completely lost her appetite. She felt like a cornered animal beneath Remington’s attack. In vain, she tried to smile again.

“Maggie is happily married, Commander. I don’t think that classifies her as a man-hater, do you?”

With a snort, Remington leered at her. “You know what, Donovan? You need a real man. You’re skittish. You’re distrustful. I can see it in your eyes. I see it at work. You don’t like to be touched. You don’t like men’s attention at all, do you?” His smile was deadly as he asked, “What’s the problem? Do you prefer the company of women over men?”

Callie gasped. Remington’s voice was deep and carried a long way. Inwardly, she felt as if she were dying. She was sure that Lieutenant Clark could hear every word. This wasn’t the way Callie wanted to start out three years of duty at Miramar. She knew what happened to women in the service when they got labeled; fair or not, the rumors followed them like a disease and could destroy their career.

With a brittle laugh, Callie sat back and held Remington’s gloating look. “Commander, I think you’ve had a few too many drinks.”

“That may be, honey,” he said as he lurched toward her. “Are you a lesbian?” He held out his hand and touched her cheek again. “Maybe what you need is someone like me. You split tails are all alike. You need a little taming.”

Callie froze again at Remington’s touch. There was no end to this torture, to this horrible, escalating humiliation. The few other patrons in the dining room were far away and mostly couples. She didn’t dare look in Andy’s direction, too mortified to ask for help.

Moving away from his touch again, Callie whispered, “Commander, I have a class coming up in less than an hour. If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my meal.”

Backing away, Remington grinned and flipped off a salute. “Sure, honey. You feed that beautiful brain of yours.” He winked at her. “I’ll take care of that hot property you call a body. Be seeing you around….”

Shattered, Callie shivered in terror and relief as Remington staggered back to the bar, toward his two young charges. Callie could see them slap him heartily on the back when he returned. Remington leaned over and said something, and all three broke out into raucous gales of laughter.

Thoroughly humiliated, Callie wanted nothing more than to get up and run out of the O Club as fast as her legs would carry her. But she thought of Maggie, who always accused her of running from showdowns. She’d run from them at Annapolis, too. There was no safe place. Callie knew from firsthand experience that knights on white horses no longer existed. There was such polarization between men and women in the military that the old ways were dead. Instead, Callie, like everyone else, was left floundering to find and establish new rules for dealing with the opposite gender.

After ten more minutes that felt like an eternity of forcing herself to nibble at her now-cold hamburger and fries, Callie decided she could leave. Her ears seemed keyed to Remington’s harsh, loud laughter, which rose above the din of voices. Gripping her white shoulder bag, she made herself get up slowly, as if nothing was wrong—even though everything was wrong. Now Remington was harassing her off duty as well as at work. What was she going to do? What could she do?

As Callie walked out of the dining room and toward the main entrance, she knew that any complaint over Remington’s head would be stonewalled. Remington was a “ring-knocker,” an Annapolis graduate, just as she was. And so was Commander Ferris, their boss. “The brotherhood” was alive and well in the navy, and Callie was familiar with their code: they would never squeal on one another. If she complained that Remington was bothering her, Commander Ferris would conveniently hush up the whole thing—and her job ratings would go down.

No, no one who valued her job would dare take on the male-dominated navy, especially over this kind of unprovable harassment. Compressing her lips, Callie blindly headed out the door. The huge parking lot was packed with all models of cars, and twilight hovered across the Southern California landscape. The soft plop of her sandals mingled with the sounds of jets taking off at a nearby concrete airstrip. Sea gulls were always present here, and a few still winged across the parking lot, silent and graceful. The lights above the lot had already come on in response to the rapidly fading light, and Callie glanced at her watch: she had forty minutes to get to her class.

“Hey! Sweet thing!”

Callie gasped and whirled around at the sound of Remington’s grating voice. She saw him hurrying toward her, the two other pilots in tow. No! If she didn’t escape, Remington would make her life miserable. She hurried to her car. Her hand shaking badly, Callie dug in her purse for the keys.

“Hey!” Remington boomed out, closing the distance.

Unable to locate her keys, Callie stopped digging and turned coolly toward Remington and his buddies. They couldn’t even walk a straight line, she noticed. They had to grip each other by the arm or shoulder. She saw a look of pure, unadulterated glee in Remington’s shadowed features, and his predatory smile was chilling.

“What is it, Commander?” Callie demanded in her firmest, most unruffled tone. Maybe if she came across as being in charge, they’d back down and leave her alone. She gripped her purse, tense and wary as the three pilots came to a halt less than a foot away from her, effectively trapping her against the side of her car.

“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 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 urge to gently tunnel his fingers through that black, shiny mass and tame it all back into order. The impulse was as crazy as it was unexpected, and Ty jammed his hands deep into his pockets. Although Callie was an officer, she didn’t have that outer toughness so many of the women seemed to wear as armor in the male-dominated military world.

Callie inwardly railed at Ty’s response. He could have said “I want to stay because you need help.” No, he was only concerned with his responsibility to get her back to her car. Now that the incident had passed, no doubt he’d take the side of Remington and his brother pilots. Trying to stop the aching hurt in her chest, she merely nodded and looked away. But why should she be hurt or affected by this man? Her emotions in utter disarray, Callie had no easy answers.

“Hi,” a tall woman in her forties said, pushing aside one of the sheet dividers, “I’m Dr. Rose Lipinski, duty physician. Looks like you took a few bumps and bruises, Lieutenant Donovan.”

Callie was thankful the doctor was a woman. A part of her relaxed as the redheaded Dr. Lipinski came forward to examine her. The doctor was lean as a rail, but her green eyes sparkled with warmth.

“I guess I do look a little beat up,” she said, automatically reaching to shake hands with the doctor. At the sight of her bloody, lacerated palm, she gave the doctor an apologetic look and pulled it back.

Lipinski smiled understandingly. “What happened, Ms. Donovan?” she asked, as she gently began to examine Callie’s hands, knees and the swollen right ankle.

“I was accosted in the O Club parking lot,” Callie whispered, her throat suddenly closing with tears. Embarrassed, she raised her hand to wipe the threatening moisture from her eyes. She saw Dr. Lipinski’s own eyes narrow speculatively as she continued her examination.

“Attacked,” Ballard growled.

The doctor stopped her examination, twisted to look over her shoulder and studied him in silence. “Really? And who are you?”

“Ty Ballard.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of you…. Top Gun, right?”

“Yes, an instructor.”

“Did you see Ms. Donovan being attacked, Commander?”

Ty nodded. “I was walking to my car after a beer at the O Club when I heard her scream.”

“I see.” Rose studied Callie’s drawn features. “You know the man who did this to you?”

“Men,” Ty corrected grimly, moving within a foot of the two women. “Three men.”

The doctor’s thin brows drew downward with censure. She turned and picked up some gauze from the nearby sink and methodically began to clean Callie’s hands and knees. “Can you identify them?” she asked quietly.

Callie nodded. “Yes.” She shrugged. “One is my boss, Lieutenant Commander Remington. The other two are Top Gun students.”

“Lieutenants Thorson and Oakley,” Ty provided darkly. “Both are TAD fighter pilots from the Enterprise. They’re at the top of their class so far, fighting it out for first place.” He scowled. “They’ve got real killer instincts.”

Callie felt a chill run through her. “That’s a good description of them,” she choked out.

“Oh?” Dr. Lipinski swabbed Callie’s palms with an antiseptic that stained her skin an orange color. “And how would you describe them, Ms. Donovan?”

Suddenly uncomfortable at the tension in the doctor’s voice, Callie murmured, “Drunk, arrogant and violent.”

“I see….” Dr. Lipinski carefully examined the swollen ankle. “Looks like a good sprain, Ms. Donovan. Does it hurt if I turn it this way? That?”

Callie withstood the jagged pain as the other woman gently moved the ankle in every conceivable direction. She was trying to be a good patient, but between Ballard’s angry intensity and Lipinski’s bird doglike snooping, she longed to escape.

“So,” the doctor continued in a low voice as she wrapped Callie’s ankle in an Ace bandage, “you saw the whole thing, Commander?”

Ty shrugged. “I saw part of it, Doc.”

“Were they all drunk?” she asked.

“Yes, they were. I could smell the liquor on their breath.”

“Boys will be boys, eh?” the doctor murmured, her frown deepening. As she finished wrapping Callie’s ankle, she smiled up at her. “I want you to tell me what happened from beginning to end, Ms. Donovan. I’ll need the information for my report.” She reached over to the counter and picked up a metal clipboard and pen.

Shifting uncomfortably on the gurney, Callie said, “I don’t think this is necessary, Doctor. All I want to do is go home and rest. I’m very tired. Exhausted, if you want the truth.”

“I understand,” Dr. Lipinski said soothingly as she rested her hip against the gurney. “But this is a serious offense, and I’ve got to report it.”

Callie’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at the grim-faced doctor, whose pen was poised above the form. “What do you mean, report it?”

“Lieutenant, at the least, you’ve been sexually harassed. At worst, the shore-patrol officials would say you’ve been assaulted. Now, I’m legally bound to report this kind of thing. If I don’t, I’m in hot water. Besides, these pilots think they’re a gift to women and I’m sick and tired of seeing these kinds of cases come through my doors. It’s time that it stopped.”

Her heart pounding, Callie stammered, “B-but I don’t want this reported! Doctor, I have a career to think about. It was my boss that did this to me! I’m up for an early promotion to lieutenant commander, and I don’t want to lose it. You can’t report this!”

Lipinski’s lean face softened slightly. “I’m sorry, Ms. Donovan. I have to do my duty, and you, more than most, should understand that. I have to note your injuries, the fact that your blouse has been torn. I have to provide a written report of your abrasions and the presence of several red marks on your chest between your breasts from their groping.” She shook her head adamantly. “Believe me, this is best.”

“For who?” Callie cried, her voice cracking. Wildly, she looked to Ballard for support. He stood, dark faced, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his eyes filled with anger. Probably at her—or the doctor? She wasn’t sure which.

“For you,” Lipinski said calmly, beginning to fill out the form. “And for every woman on or off this station who is sexually harassed by men who think they can keep getting away with it. Well, they can’t.”

Panic spread through Callie and she gripped the doctor’s arm. “Please, you can’t do this! I don’t want to press charges against them! I just want to drop it and let it go. My career is more important to me than this!”

Dr. Lipinski lifted her chin, her eyes assessing. “Lieutenant, it isn’t a matter of whether you want to press charges or not. I’m bound by law to report this to the shore patrol and the legal department. And I’m tired of seeing women coming in here too frightened to testify before either a civil court or a navy board of investigation. Don’t worry, you’ll have me as a corroborating witness.”

“That isn’t going to help me and you know it!” Callie rasped. “My career will be ruined! The navy will slot me into some dead-end job and then force me to resign. I’ve seen it done too many times. You can’t do this to me, Dr. Lipinski!”

Ty moved forward, his hand coming to rest on Callie’s tense shoulder. “The doctor doesn’t have a choice, Callie,” he offered, trying to soothe her.

Angrily, Callie shrugged his hand off her shoulder. Filled with a fear that made her more vocal than usual, she insisted, “Commander, that’s easy for you to say. You’re a man in a man’s world.”

Ty retreated, realizing that Callie was right. He saw the tears in her luminous eyes and wanted somehow to comfort her. But there was no comfort. “I can’t deny it,” he murmured apologetically.

“You’ll see the wisdom of this,” the doctor said gently, “after you get over the shock of being attacked, Ms. Donovan. Right now your senses are heightened, along with your feelings. I understand your concerns, but if women don’t stand up and fight back, more women are going to be hurt. Do you want that?”

Breathing hard, Callie wiped the tears from her cheeks. “My sister Maggie is just like you,” she answered angrily. “But I’m not like her, and I’m not like you! If this gets reported, my career is gone! Finished!”

“Lieutenant Maggie Donovan has been very influential,” Lipinski murmured, continuing to fill out the forms. “I admire her very much. She’s done a lot to help women in the military be seen as equals.”

Callie felt the doctor’s gaze, felt the accusation in her voice at Callie’s weak stance. Well, that was too bad, because she didn’t have Maggie’s guts. All her early confidence had been taken from her back in her plebe year at Annapolis. Once she’d been the kind of fighter that her sisters were, but she wasn’t anymore. She’d learned the hard way. It didn’t pay to fight back.

Bitterly, she sat, quietly answering the doctor’s pointed, specific questions, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Callie thought the inquisition would never end. Finally, forty-five minutes later, Dr. Lipinski released her.

“I’ll take you home,” Ty volunteered. With her right ankle injured, she wouldn’t be able to drive her car.

“Good idea,” Dr. Lipinski agreed. “I’m issuing you a pair of crutches for the next two weeks, Ms. Donovan. Commander, perhaps you’d be kind enough to go down to Supply, on the right, and pick them up for her?”

“Of course,” Ty said, and he left with the chit authorizing the crutches.

Callie remained on the gurney, feeling very much alone in a way she had hoped never to experience again. Dr. Lipinski had given her a mild sedative to take tonight in case she couldn’t sleep. Stuffing the pills into her purse, Callie squeezed her eyes shut in the silence of the now-deserted examination room. How could this have happened? It was her fault. Somehow, it must be her fault. Had she dressed too provocatively, bringing on Remington’s unwanted attention?

Burying her face in her hands, Callie tried to get a grip on her roiling feelings. If Dr. Lipinski turned in that report, her career was as good as dead. She had no other training. There were no intelligence jobs in the civilian world. It was all she knew. Job security meant everything to Callie—much more than it did to her three sisters. They moved through life with a freedom that she envied. But then, her freedom had been taken from her long ago.

Feeling like a trapped animal, Callie slowly eased off the gurney. As torn up as she felt, she needed Ballard’s company on the way home. A part of her wanted his continued support, even as another part—the part that distrusted men—wondered what his ulterior motives were. Ballard was a Top Gun—he was an instructor at the station. Someone like him didn’t get that plum assignment unless he was the very best at what he did—aggressive, arrogant and selfish.

No, Ty Ballard was a pilot—and she’d be wise to remember it.

Chapter Three

“For whatever it’s worth,” Ty said as he drove the car off the station, the darkness surrounding them, “I’m sorry about what Remington and those two other pilots did to you.”

Callie sat tensely in Ballard’s car. She’d been silent since leaving the dispensary. Wearily now she said, “You don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault.”

His mouth barely pulled into a one-cornered smile. “In a way, it is.”

Callie stared at his rugged profile for a moment. There seemed to be a vulnerability about him, although it was carefully closeted, and that appealed to her.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, before I got married, I caroused around a lot, too. I spent plenty of weekends drunk at the O Club, chasing the groupies.” Ty shrugged and avoided her wide, intelligent gaze. “I don’t believe that you teased Remington into following you out into the parking lot. From what you said to the doc, he was upset about that newspaper article and taking it out on you.”

His apology, his insight, startled Callie. “I can’t believe any navy pilot has the guts to admit he might have been wrong in chasing groupies. Most of those girls are eighteen and nineteen years old and don’t know what they’re getting into. The navy pilots at the O Club own that turf, and they see them as little more than property to be squabbled over.” Bitterness hardened her words. “You’re a surprise, Commander. I’ve been in the navy since I was eighteen, and I’ve never heard a man display those feelings.”

With a teasing smile, Ty said, “Hey, we’re not all bastards, you know.” He desperately wanted to make her smile, but she had such an abandoned look that he felt helpless. When she didn’t respond to his comment, he sighed. “I…I guess I never really realized until just now that the pilots play rough with a woman—whether she’s asking for it or not. It makes me feel guilty.”

“Then I guess that’s one good thing that will come out of this mess,” she muttered, “if one navy pilot sees that his chasing, his harassment of women, is wrong.” Misery settled around Callie. Ty Ballard piqued her interest, but the threat of losing her career kept intruding on her emotions.

“I can’t argue with you,” he said, feeling bad for Callie. Streetlights flooded the car with cyclical regularity as Ty guided his sports car into the La Mesa area, where Callie had told him her apartment was. Finally, he pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine. Her two-story apartment building was covered in stucco, of Spanish design with a red tile roof. Several palms lined the small, well-groomed lawn in front of the building.

“Let me help you to your apartment,” he offered, turning toward her.

“No, you’ve done enough, Commander. You’ve more than done your duty.”

Ty accepted her mutinous and accusing look. As he opened the door to get out, he murmured, “You’ve got every right to be upset. Use me for target practice. But I’m helping you to your apartment, no arguments.”

Frustrated, Callie felt on the verge of crying in earnest. She couldn’t fight Ballard’s continued perceptiveness and solicitude. Was it just an act for her benefit? She’d never met anyone like him—a man who had so much awareness of other people’s feelings. Most navy pilots were so egocentric that they existed in a very lofty, private world—a pilot fraternity they viewed as a close-knit brotherhood. Even family came second. Callie knew that divorces were the norm for navy pilots, and they frequently married two, even three times.

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.”

Maggie nodded apologetically. “I am sorry about that, Callie. Of all of us, you’re the least likely to crusade.” She touched Callie’s black hair. “Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like to stay with me? Wes is out on a United Parcel flight to Europe and won’t be back for at least a week.”

“No, thanks.”

Maggie smiled slightly. “You’ll lick your wounds by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Like always.”

“Like always.”

Maggie rose and straightened the long shirttails of her pink blouse. “Call me tomorrow and let me know what you’re doing, okay? I can get you groceries and stuff like that, if you want.”

Maggie, for all her fire and warriorlike assertiveness, was the soul of care, and Callie loved this part of her sister deeply. “I’ll let you know. First things first. The doctor has given me five days off from work with this ankle, so I’ve got to call my section head and let him know I’m not going to work tomorrow.”

Grimly, Maggie picked up her purse. “First thing I’m going to do tomorrow morning is get in Remington’s face. Who does that bastard think he is? I hate him. I hate his kind. He’s not going to get away with it, I promise you.”

“Maggie,” Callie begged, “please don’t start a fracas! I’ve got to work with Remington. My job’s in jeopardy as it is. Don’t make more trouble for me.”

Maggie shook her head. “Dammit, Callie, he had no right to do that to you.”

Tears swam in Callie’s eyes, and she self-consciously wiped them away. “Look, I need to take a bath and get some sleep. I’m totaled. Just let me handle this. I don’t need my big sister going in with boxing gloves and decking my boss—whether he deserves it or not.”

Leaning over, Maggie hugged her sister. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll ease off the throttles. Let me know if Legal is going to press charges against Remington and those other two jerks.”

Groaning, Callie released Maggie and sat back. “I hope not! That would mean a board investigation—and the end of my career. Oh, Maggie, I’m so tired of fighting this male system. We’re outsiders. We’ve always been. All I want is to be left alone to do my job. Is that so much to ask?”

Gently, Maggie smiled. “Callie, in some ways you’re so naive. I’ve been out on the leading edge, showing that women can fly fighter planes just as well as men. I know how brutal it is emotionally to take it again and again.”

“Yes, but you’ve always been a fighter.”

“You were once, too, you know,” Maggie said softly. “But now you aren’t. I don’t know why….”

Uneasy, Callie shrugged. “We grow up, Maggie. You were Don Quixote tilting at windmills. You still are.”

“Yes, but my insistence, my strength to stay and take it, is opening up Congress to the possibility of women in combat. At least, in the air war.”

“I’ll let you know what happens. Thanks for coming over,” Callie said, abruptly, desperately trying to bring the visit to an end.

Maggie hesitated, opened her mouth—then closed it. She looked around the quiet, neatly kept apartment. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay or something? You look really pale and alone.”

Alone was the right word. Callie shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. Really.”

The doorbell kept ringing and ringing. Groggily, Callie pulled out of the sleep she so desperately needed. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up stiffly. Sunlight peeked around the venetian blinds, telling her it was well past time to get up. Looking at the clock on the dresser opposite the bed, she saw it was 0700. Who was at her door?

Her white cotton nightgown was badly wrinkled, but she pulled her pale green silk robe over it and tied the sash, hoping she looked half presentable. Still mystified by who might be at her door, she reached for the crutches and made her way out to the hall.

When she opened the door, her breath escaped. Ty Ballard stood there in a freshly pressed flight uniform, his cap in hand. He gave her a sheepish smile and appeared almost shy.

“Hi. I—uh, thought I’d drop over and see how you were this morning,” he said awkwardly. “You didn’t look very good last night, and I was worried about you.” He groaned inwardly as he felt heat sweeping up his neck into his face. The truth of the matter was he had slept restlessly all night, thinking about—actually, feeling a lot about—Callie Donovan. He’d tried fighting it, but had finally awakened at 0600 grumpy and groggy from tossing and turning.

“Well—”

“I know it’s early—”

They both spoke at once, then broke off.

“No, it’s okay. Really,” Callie said. She saw the concern burning in his startlingly clear gray eyes. In the morning sunlight, Ty Ballard was ruggedly handsome in his own unique way. He stood straight and tall, his shoulders proudly thrown back, his face recently scraped free of the beard that had darkened his features last night. Callie saw a flush touch his cheeks and realized he was blushing. How long had it been since she’d seen a man blush?

Trying to still his nervousness, Ty said, “I’d give you a line, but I think you’ve had a gutful of those lately.”

With a grimace, Callie said, “I hate lines. They’re so shallow.” Pilots were shallow. Well, maybe not all of them….

“Yeah, we’re famous for them, aren’t we? Look, I thought I might take you out to breakfast or something, if you felt like it.” He was having one hell of a time not staring at her. The green silk robe lovingly outlined her body. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes slightly puffy from just waking up. Ty found himself wondering what it would be like to wake up with Callie at his side. The thought came out of left field, so startling that it left him momentarily speechless.

“Oh, no…” Callie’s heart was fluttering beneath his burning, hungry inspection, and she suddenly found herself at a loss.

Risking everything, Ty took a step forward and opened his hand in a gesture of peace. “Well, then, I’m pretty mean with scrambled eggs. I cook bacon reasonably well. How about if I come in and fix you breakfast before I head to work?”

She gave him a strange, searching look. “Why are you doing this?”

Ty stood nakedly beneath her scrutiny. With a one-shouldered shrug, he muttered, “I don’t know. Out of guilt, maybe. I know Remington. And I know his reputation. You’ve only been at Miramar a month, and this isn’t exactly a good welcome to the station. Maybe I’m trying to apologize.” Well, that was partly true, Ty told himself. If Callie Donovan ever found out that he was genuinely drawn to her, he was certain she’d slam the door in his face. He didn’t blame her for disliking navy pilots, but dammit, he liked her; and despite the circumstances, he wanted a chance to get to know her.

“I—”

“I’ll be quick about it,” he pleaded. “Come on, let me fix you breakfast.” He held his hands up. “No funny stuff, I promise.”

Callie’s defenses crumbled beneath his warm, cajoling look. If she believed the sincerity in his eyes and voice, she could allow him this privilege. “I feel kinda awkward about this, Commander.”

“Call me Ty.” He took another hopeful step forward. He wasn’t going to barge past her, or force himself on her. There was a fine line he was walking, and right now it felt like a double-edged sword. Callie’s huge blue eyes were touched with doubt and wariness. “How about it? My mother didn’t raise me not to cook and clean. Want to take a chance with me?”

The words felt like they were being etched into Callie’s heart. Take a chance. How many times had she done just that and gotten hurt? But there was such a boyish demeanor about Ballard that she finally managed a small laugh and stepped aside.

“I’ll bet you charm snakes for a living, too, Commander,” she grumbled.

Euphoric, Ty moved into the highly waxed foyer. He had the good grace not to gloat too obviously about his victory. “Can’t we be on a first-name basis?”

With a shrug, Callie shut the door. “I guess so.”

He walked with her toward the kitchen. “Callie’s an unusual name.”

“Yes, my full name is Calista, but it got shortened at a very early age. I’ve always been called Callie.”

He smiled as they entered the sunlit kitchen. “It’s not run-of-the-mill, but then, neither are you. The name suits you.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” Callie murmured as she moved away from Ballard. Just being close to him was intimidating. He made her pulse jag erratically, and she sensed that aura of power around him, that indestructible confidence. She felt his gaze on her back as she moved over to the stove and counter area. No doubt about it. He made her very nervous.

“I’m going to shower and get into something more appropriate,” she told him.

“Fine, fine. I’ll make myself at home in the kitchen. When you come back, I promise you’ll have a breakfast you’ll never forget.”

Callie hesitated in the doorway. Ballard looked positively happy. He placed his cap on the counter and began humming softly. With a shake of her head, she wondered which one of them was crazy. Her, for letting him into her apartment, or him for walking back into her life when he certainly didn’t have to?

Although her ankle was badly swollen and the color of a ripe, purple plum, Callie was able to take a hot, invigorating shower. In her bedroom, she dressed in a pair of light blue slacks and a pink short-sleeved blouse, then called the station. She told the man on duty at Intelligence that she had a sick chit authorizing five days of rest. If Commander Remington wanted any more information, he was to contact Dr. Lipinski.

Glad that she didn’t have to go in and face Remington, Callie sat on the bed and rewrapped her ankle with the Ace bandage. She had washed her hair, and now she took a brush to the dark mass. Because her hair was short, just above regulation collar level, it fell quickly into place.

Hating the crutches, she made her way on bare feet back out to the kitchen, from which wonderful scents were originating. Hungrily, Callie inhaled the aroma of frying bacon. Automatically, as she entered the kitchen, her pulse began to bound a little. Ty Ballard had tied one of her aprons around his waist. His sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, and he stood happily stirring eggs in the skillet. As if sensing her presence, he lifted his head and turned to look at her.

“Smells great, doesn’t it? Come on, have a seat. I’ve set the table.” Ty quickly moved over to pull out a chair for her. Trying not to stare like a slavering wolf, he forced himself to pay attention to the scrambled eggs. Callie looked like the proverbial girl-next-door in her simple slacks and blouse. And he liked the fact that she went around barefoot. Despite being one of the elite academy ring-knockers, she possessed an intriguing innocence that he ached to explore.

Callie moved to the table, which had been set with her good china, pink linen napkins rolled neatly beside the plates. A cup of recently poured coffee and a small glass of orange juice awaited her. Everything was perfect. She sat down and set the crutches aside.

“I’m in shock,” she said.

Ty twisted to look over his shoulder as he added cream cheese and bacon bits to the scrambled eggs. “Over what?”

“You. This.” Callie waved to the table. “Everything is so neat—thoughtful, I guess….”

“Brother, you must have had some bad experiences with men,” Ty teased as he whipped the scrambled eggs furiously. “Some of us are kitchen trained.”

His heartrending smile shattered her tension, and Callie laughed lightly. “I guess I had that coming, didn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Ty said smoothly as he brought the skillet over and served half the scrambled eggs to her and half to himself. “Maybe you haven’t run into very many thoughtful men of late.” He put the skillet in the sink, ran water into it, then quickly brought over the just-popped-up toast. Untying the apron, he laid it on the drainboard, then sat down at her elbow and grinned. “A meal fit for a queen. Dig in, Callie. You need some color back in those cheeks of yours.”

Nonplussed, Callie picked up the knife and buttered her toast. Ballard seemed like a happy little boy instead of a serious navy pilot. “I don’t know what to make of you,” she muttered between delicious bites of the scrambled eggs.

“Why?”

“You’re different.”

Shrugging, Ty launched into his meal with gusto. “My ex-wife said the same thing.” She might as well know he had a failed marriage. If nothing else, he had learned to be honest and keep all his cards on the table when it came to relationships. He knew he didn’t want to make the same mistakes twice. Especially not with Callie. Even as the thought passed through his head, Ty wondered what kind of crazy magic had come over him. From that first moment of seeing her helpless in the parking lot, something had sprung loose deep within him. What was it? Loneliness? God knew, he’d been like a lost wolf without a mate since the divorce.

It was impossible to ignore Ty’s upbeat presence. Callie glanced over at him when he mentioned the divorce. “You’re single now?” she asked pointedly. Once, she’d fallen in love with a pilot who’d said he was divorced. It had been a lie, but he had strung Callie along, getting what he wanted from her. When she’d discovered the lie, she’d confronted Mark. He’d laughed and shrugged it off as if it didn’t matter—as if she didn’t matter.

Ty held up his left hand to show the absence of a wedding ring. “Single.”

“How long were you married?”

“Five years.”

She pushed the eggs around on her plate. “That’s a long time for a navy pilot. Most of them seem to get married and divorced in two years.”

“Or less,” Ty agreed. He saw the wariness in Callie’s face again. There was a lot of unspoken pain there, too, and he surmised that she’d been burned by a pilot at some point. “I liked marriage,” he went on. “I liked the idea of having a home.”

“Do you have any children?”

He shook his head. “No….”

“Is your ex-wife a civilian?”

“Yeah. She lives in San Diego. She’s a bright, intelligent woman.”

Callie heard the hurt in his voice, although he tried to hide it with bravado. “You said she called you ‘different,’ too.”

“Well,” he sighed, “‘different’ wasn’t used in a complimentary way, Callie.”

Callie thrilled to hear her name slip from his lips. Trying to ignore the feelings it invoked, she found herself wanting to continue pursuing Ballard’s past. Why? she asked herself. Callie had no answers, and it left her feeling terribly vulnerable.

“Five years is a long time to spend with someone. You must have meant a lot to each other,” Callie hedged. She saw her comment strike Ballard with a direct hit. His smile slipped, and a shadow came across his eyes.

“Jackie wanted the divorce,” he said quietly. “I didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Ty felt Callie’s interest. He hadn’t meant to get into a discussion about his personal life—at least, not this morning. He’d wanted to come over, cheer Callie up a little and head to work. He frowned, pushing the last of the eggs onto his fork. There was pain from the past to deal with, now, too.

“I guess I wasn’t around when she needed me,” he began. “I was gone a lot. Most of the time I was out on carriers—I didn’t get the land-based assignments I’d hoped for.”

“That ruins a lot of marriages,” Callie agreed soberly. She reached over, placing her hand on his arm for just a moment. “I’m sorry. You seem nicer than most of the navy pilots I’ve known. It’s too bad it had to happen, Ty.”

Ty rallied under her soft, hesitant touch and the use of his first name. It was a start, and for that he was grateful. “Yeah, well, as the saying goes, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Look, I gotta run. I’m due to teach a class at 0800 over at Fightertown.” He pushed the chair away and stood up. Before he left, he placed his dishes and silverware in the sink.

Callie blinked at the abruptness of Ty’s departure. She sat back and watched a mask drop over his rugged features. Unable to take offense at his sudden retreat into silence, she felt deeply for him. Ty had really loved his wife. That was a new twist for her. Most navy pilots loved ’em and left ’em without so much as an “I’m sorry,” in her experience.

“Thanks for coming by…for everything,” she managed in a small voice. She wanted to apologize for raking up the painful coals of his past. His suffering was obvious.

“Thanks for letting me barge into your life,” Ty said. He picked up his cap and settled it over his military-short hair. “I’ll be seeing you around. Maybe I’ll call you in a couple of days—see how you’re recuperating?” He’d never wanted anyone to say yes as he did now. Callie’s upturned features were bathed with a pink blush that made her blue eyes sparkle with life—and suddenly Ty realized that his presence had helped her a bit. He felt good about that. He was just sorry he couldn’t hide his hurt over the divorce. He cursed himself for bringing it up in the first place.

“A phone call would be fine,” Callie agreed quietly. She saw a fierce longing burning in his gray eyes as he stood so proudly before her. The aura of a navy pilot was enough to knock any woman off her feet, she thought dizzily. And Ty Ballard was a very special man. Very special.

“Great.” He smiled and lifted his hand in farewell. “I’ll see you later, Callie. If you need anything, just call me at the office.” He pointed to her ankle. “With that injury, you aren’t going to be able to get to the commissary to buy groceries. Sure you wouldn’t like me to help in that department, now that I’ve proved myself in the kitchen?”

With a laugh, Callie shook her head. “No, thanks, Ty. Maggie is going to shop for me after she gets off work this evening.”

“I’ll be seeing you around,” he promised thickly.

Chapter Four

“Ty, Captain Martin wants to see you,” Jean Riva said.

His cup of coffee in hand, Ty halted in the passageway of the Top Gun facility. He had exactly fifteen minutes before he was scheduled to start class. As always, the facility buzzed with muted excitement. Still euphoric over the possibility that Callie might actually like him, he nodded and stepped toward his commanding officer’s office.

A short, dark-haired woman with piercing brown eyes that missed nothing, Riva was a GS-12 in Civil Service and was Captain Martin’s very able assistant and secretary. But right now she looked unhappy. Ty halted at her desk.

“What’s up, Jean?”

“A lot,” she muttered. Leaning over, she announced Ty’s arrival to the CO.

“Send him in, Jean,” the gravelly voice on the other end ordered.

She straightened and nodded. “Go right in, Commander.”

“No hints?” Ty teased. The woman was a no-nonsense, strictly-by-the-book civil servant of the best kind. She was famous for her organizational ability, because it was she, more than anyone else, who kept the facility glued together and functioning properly.

“No hints, Commander,” she announced brusquely and gave him a cardboard smile.

Ty never liked that smile when Jean chose to use it. It meant she was holding back a lot of feelings about something—and usually it meant bad news. Girding himself, he sighed and opened the door. Bob Martin was one of the youngest captains in the navy. He was a highly decorated Vietnam veteran—an ace with six kills to his credit—and was even more no-nonsense than his vaunted assistant.

Martin’s head snapped in his direction as Ty closed the door behind him. “Come in, Ty.” He gestured toward one of the two chairs in front of his large walnut desk. “Have a seat.”

“Yes, sir,” Ty murmured, sitting down and balancing the cup of coffee on his left thigh. He often thought that Martin looked snakelike—but in the most positive way. He could keep his narrow face absolutely devoid of expression, and he had coal black eyes that never seemed to blink. They just stared down the other party with such an intensity that Ty figured Martin could mesmerize them into immobility—much the way a cobra would hypnotize its prey.

Martin’s black hair was peppered with strands of gray at the temples, and now he was wearing his summer white uniform, the four gold stripes on black boards positioned on each of his shoulders shouting his authority.

“I understand you were a witness to the assault on Lieutenant Calista Donovan?”

Ty felt as if a bomb had been dropped in Martin’s office. He straightened unconsciously. His CO must have received Dr. Lipinski’s report via the legal department, he realized. “Er…yes, sir.”

“Tell me exactly what you saw and what happened,” Martin demanded in a clipped tone.

“Yes, sir,” Ty said, and he launched into a brief sketch of the incident. He watched Martin’s thin, black brows dip lower and lower as he completed the report. The man’s mouth was a flat line by the time he’d finished, his dark eyes flashing with anger.

Leaning back in his chair, Martin turned and looked out the window that viewed the revetment area where the jets used for training sat. “Commander, I was hoping against hope that Dr. Lipinski was embellishing this whole damn thing.” He turned around and placed his hands on the desk. “Obviously, she wasn’t.”

“No, sir.”

“You’ve recently returned from a two-week stint at the War College, where you took accelerated courses in the Uniform Code of Military Justice, right?” he barked out, so abruptly that Ty almost jumped.

The UCMJ, as it was known, was a huge, legal compendium of articles that applied to every phase of military organization. Ty nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Picking up a file near his left hand, Martin opened it. “And you were number one in standing, out of fifty attending officers?”

Flushing a bit, Ty murmured, “Yes, sir.”

“Do you realize that somehow, by someone, this incident involving Lieutenant Donovan has been leaked to the major newspapers in San Diego and Los Angeles, as well as to press organizations around the United States?”

Stunned, Ty sat frozen, his grip on the coffee cup tightening. “No, sir, I hadn’t.”

“Any idea who did it? Not that it matters anymore—the horse is out of the corral now.”

“I have no idea, Captain.” Ty began to sweat. Did Martin know that he had fraternized with Callie after the incident? He felt as if the walls had suddenly grown eyes and ears. The discussion was on shaky ground, and he didn’t know what Martin wanted from him.

“Well, within the next couple of hours, our station is going to be inundated with media attention. After that newspaper article by the Donovan sisters, things were already explosive.” With a shake of his head, Martin muttered, “We’ve got a real problem, Ty, and we’ve got to move quickly to institute damage control, or the navy could end up looking very bad—not only to our own tax-paying public, but around the world.”

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