Point Of Departure. Lindsay McKenna

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ