Point Of Departure. Lindsay McKenna

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ