Читать книгу Point Of Departure - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 7

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.