Threshold of Danger (A Guardian Time Travel Novel Book 1)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  A flash of irritation surged upward. He couldn't even say it. Couldn't even discuss the anomaly to the equation that defined her career with Hope Alive. The failure Sam couldn't ever change. One she hadn't seen coming. Hadn't been able to negotiate.

  One that still kept her up at night. Had come right on the heels of the finalization of their divorce. He couldn't turn it into a full sentence. If it didn't have to do with procedure and crime scenes, it didn't exist.

  Emotions were messy. Divorce was messy.

  Divorced. At twenty-four. A huge humdinger she'd had over a year to get used to. A phenomenon she'd sworn would never happen to her.

  "Your mom." He said it.

  The urge to throw her phone, change her number, and move to a place where no one knew her or what today was reared up like a toddler with a bad attitude. "Thanks for calling. I gotta go."

  "Wait."

  She paused like the idiot she was. "What?"

  "I was hoping we could meet up."

  "For?"

  "Coffee or something." Guilt dripped from his words and oozed through the line. "Maybe catch up. We agreed to stay friends."

  He'd agreed to that. She'd seen no need for it—not that she'd wished him ill. They hadn't really been friends before they'd said I do—a huge mistake—and that hadn't changed in the time they'd been together. "Today's not a good day. I've got a new case and I'm a little busy."

  "Maybe I can help."

  Yes. That's exactly what she needed. Her ex-husband looking over her shoulder. Pointing out her lack of protocol—his idea of it anyway. Telling her whatever she was doing was far too dangerous and a criminal justice degree would only get her so far. Intuition couldn't be taught. It wasn't on a test. It was won on the field.

  She ground her teeth together. Drummed up the manners that had been drilled into her. "That's a very kind offer, but..."

  "Great. Where should we meet?"

  Where should they meet? He couldn't be serious. "I'm sorry. I'm going to have to decline. I've gotta run. Bye." Then she hung up. Blew out a breath.

  Another day. Nothing more. And she'd been dealing with it for the last seventeen years—probably the only person in her family that did. And regardless of her recent professional disaster, this year would be no different. She didn't need the Colonel or his screwed-up abnormal version of parental guidance on what grieving was supposed to look like. Professionally. Personally.

  He didn't even know what the word meant.

  "I assume you alerted the proper channels?" Lucinda's stern voice bounced from the doorway of Sam's office. Reminded Sam she wasn't alone in the quaint building located in north Fresno's sprawling Woodward Park neighborhood. Private funding allowed them the expanse of offices and a full-time staff—albeit it a three-person crew that included another five part-timers they utilized whenever schedules allowed or circumstances warranted.

  The Colonel had known Sam would protest. Would bring up a slew of valid arguments on why they needed to select someone else for this assignment. Anyone but Mr. Way-Too-Blue-Eyes-I-think-You're-A-Moron. And not one of them would matter, because this was all a rouse.

  So the Colonel wouldn't have to deal with Samantha at all—the constant reminder that their family was short one member.

  She took a breath. Shoved the case folder in her bag. The mother and daughter—Claudia and Anne Morris—had gone missing six months ago, the daughter still out there. The case she was supposed to work on with Elliot Knight.

  She was ready with well-rehearsed arguments. The Colonel would never listen, but Elliot would. He'd take her words into consideration. He had to. And if she got to Elliot before the Colonel...

  "I left a message." The deep timbre of Elliot's voice on his voicemail—polite with a hint of a Southern drawl—did something to her every time she heard it. Which sort of made her stupid in general.

  Elliot hated her—working with her, seeing her, talking to her. There wasn't room for anything else. She wasn't interested in anything else.

  One disastrous relationship was enough to last a lifetime.

  Sam sucked in a slow breath. Hate was probably a little strong. She'd never seen the other operative treat anybody with anything other than respect. Elliot even smiled at Lucinda—who typically had a disapproving frown on her face, her posture stiff, hair perfectly coiffed, and her clothing starched to a crisp to match her personality.

  While Sam elicited his distrust.

  In his defense, Lucinda had never almost gotten him killed. So there was that.

  Sam tried not to imagine how he'd react when he realized they would be working in direct contact. He'd likely never say a word to a soul, but she'd know in a millisecond.

  And it would mess with her mind. It always did. What this case needed was her undivided attention. Not shorts circuits. What she needed today—the anniversary of her mother's death—was for everything to go on as normal.

  To not have the Colonel micromanaging her guilt and sadness.

  "Samantha, I assume you'll fill Elliot in when he calls back." Lucinda's hazel eyes pinned Sam to the spot. She'd been following the family around as long as this day had existed—before that even. Sam had never been entirely sure whose doing that was, but Lucinda's dedication was always steadfast and questions about it unwelcome.

  "Of course." Sam stood, her right leg screaming in protest as she did—another little reminder of her failure last year. The throb had woken her up this morning, but she hadn't had time to work it out or stretch. It wasn't the first time she'd had to go through the day with a little bit of pain. It wouldn't be her last.

  She slung her bag over her shoulder. With any luck she'd catch Elliot and convince him his involvement wasn't needed. Then she'd choose someone else for this case. Elliot would be relieved. She'd be relieved. Lucinda would be...well, Lucinda.

  Everyone would live happily ever after.

  "Fill him in, Samantha." Lucinda's heels tapped across the hardwood floor as she walked in front of the desk, two fingers thumping the surface. "He was selected. You were selected. This assignment—all assignments—are based on your respective talents. There are some things in life you can't manipulate."

  Manipulate?

  Sam shook her head. There was no manipulation here. Not in the true sense of the word. "I'm only aiming to find the truth. As I always do. And what I need is a full-timer for this. Not someone with limited time and Uncle Sam breathing down his neck. You can relay that to the Colonel when he returns."

  Lucinda's brows rose. "You can't run from the past forever. What happened last year with the Trenton Case—"

  "I get it. Not my fault." Sam cleared her throat. Couldn't stop the full-blown headache taking over in her skull. The knowledge that, yes, the unnecessary death was her fault. And there was nothing anyone could say or do to make her believe otherwise. "Again, tell the Colonel thank you. The concern is appreciated."

  "This is not a power-play between you and your father, Samantha."

  But it was. It always was. After decades of experience with their family, Lucinda knew it. She likely had a disaster plan in effect for every Billings' family situation.

  Today it just happened to involve a case. Yesterday it was her choice to eat lunch at her desk. The day before that the way she interacted with the other Hope Alive agents, his personal disputes aiming to make up for a lifetime of faults.

  The biggest of them all—her mother's death, the Trenton case coming in a close second.

  While her sister had run from all of that as soon as she was able, Sam had stayed. Been determined to see change. Or to make sure the old man didn't give himself a heart attack. Fulfill the promises she'd made to their ailing mother at the whopping age of seven.

  They will need you, Sam. You'll take care of them when they can't do it for themselves.

  If she'd have known what a struggle those promises would be, she might have answered her mother differently. Been a little less eager to be the champion required.

  None o
f them could see what Sam did. They didn't experience life the way she did. Explanation could never leave her lips. Time-absorption, slingshotting, sleepwalking, and a bunch of other terms that often defined her life would never be understood or accepted.

  Especially by the Colonel.

  She moved toward the door.

  Lucinda cleared her throat. It halted Sam just as it had when she'd been a kid. It tightened every muscle inside her body.

  "That child is back for you."

  Lucinda's glare could melt paint off the wall. Sam understood that, but stayed silent.

  "If you could so kindly remind him that we are neither a daycare facility nor vending machine that would be most appreciated." Her lips formed a firm line. "The goods in the lobby are for our esteemed guests. Not a little boy who should be in school or some program for at-risk youth."

  Ricky.

  Most of their "esteemed guests" were so keyed up about their missing loved ones they hadn't eaten a whole meal in months. Most of the time Lucinda's baked goods went untouched unless the Colonel happened by.

  "Ricky is eleven and harmless."

  Judging from Lucinda's face, he'd clearly worn out his welcome. Which was too bad. Ricky was easily one of the coolest kids she'd ever met. Polite but on point. Smart. Brave. A large reason she and Elliot weren't dead right now.

  Not that Sam could point that out. Not without Lucinda launching a full-scale investigation regarding the entire exchange. She'd want to unearth every detail. Figure out where the foundation had gone wrong in the Trenton case.

  It was Sam's fault. It would always be her fault. No new finding on earth could change that.

  "No one who shows up so frequently is harmless, Samantha. You should know that."

  But she didn't. While Ricky had never expounded on his exact reason for showing up when he did—where he'd come from—she knew he could travel in time, too. He'd proven it without saying a word. She'd witnessed it—the blip of time travel almost unrecognizable. Like a burst of fireworks shooting into the summer sky. One minute color rained, the next it was gone.

  "What do we know about this boy?" Lucinda crossed her arms over her chest. "Nothing. We know nothing. Yet he is allowed to enter the premises whenever it suits him."

  "I promise, it's fine." Sam knew he'd recently moved and started a new school. His mom was a cop and his dad worked at a prison. He had a multitude of friends that sounded like they had good heads on their shoulders.

  "We need to alert the authorities."

  And have him disappear to a situation that might not be as safe? No. She wouldn't let that happen. Ricky could travel in time, but that didn't mean he'd always land on his feet. And if her guess was on par, he didn't have any intentions to slow down in that department. At least here she could keep an eye on him. "I've spoken with his mother at length."

  Lucinda's face puckered. "I find it odd that she would be okay with her son hanging around strangers. Would you be?"

  No. "I don't have kids, so that's a moot point. I don't know their situation. Their outlook on life. And his mother is a cop, so I'm sure she's run a background check on me."

  Lucinda's gaze heated. "I will not aid truancy. And I will not stand by and allow something disastrous to come from a situation that could've been avoided. Fix it, Samantha, or I will."

  Sam took a deep breath. "You sound like the Colonel. Don't try to understand it."

  "And you sound like your mother."

  The words stalled everything inside Sam.

  Lucinda's piercing gaze met hers. "Ready to jump into the fire for something you have very little information on."

  Of course. More damage control. "Tell the Colonel I am fine."

  "You need to slow down. See the big picture."

  "Which is what, exactly? I toss a kid out on his ear? Let him know we don't take his kind here? We only aid paying customers?"

  "This is a place of business."

  "It's also a place of compassion, but thanks for the advice. I'll handle it." Then she started down the hall.

  A year ago Ricky had shown up. He'd asked for Sam by name and in the time it had taken her to get to the front waiting area, he'd demolished half a plate of whatever Lucinda had brought in that day.

  Things had gone downhill rather rapidly from there. Lucinda could never understand there had been a reason for it all.

  A life hanging in the balance.

  CHAPTER TWO

  RICKY HAD ONE shot at saving the girl.

  An hour. Less.

  In that time, one shot at convincing Samantha Billings she was the only person who could help him accomplish the impossible.

  Her and Smell-iot Knight. The idiot.

  Not that he was the only one in this particular case. There were tons of unwilling adults centering around this problem. One Ricky had been working on for months, all the details caught up in his mind.

  The moments.

  Like the one where he'd prayed Miss Lucinda didn't call the cops as she threatened every time he entered the office. As if he'd come in and stolen the office valuables and had the nerve to come back for more.

  Not that she'd ever come out and admit she was waiting for it. The truth was clear in the way her hazel eyes never left him whenever he was inside Hope Alive. The way her mouth always formed a firm line and her posture got stiff as a board.

  Ricky put his skateboard—the one he'd mowed lawns an entire summer to earn—onto the marble flooring in Hope Alive's waiting room.

  He rolled around the room, past the expensive decorations Miss Lucinda insisted they have when Sam and the Colonel had set up shop several years ago. The breakable stuff she obsessed over people destroying.

  Namely, him.

  He finished the circle—could hear the murmur of Miss Lucinda and Sam's voices as he came to a stop in front of a table filled with pamphlets for support groups, detailed information about Hope Alive's specific resources, freshly brewed coffee, and a plateful of today's special treats.

  Ricky flipped up his board and grabbed a snickerdoodle cookie, then shoved it in his mouth. An explosion of vanilla and cinnamon on his tongue made him wonder how everyone in the office wasn't on a constant sugar high.

  If he could, he'd stuff the pockets of his cargo shorts with the remaining cookies on the tray. Take them home and demolish them in one sitting.

  But he wouldn't because his mom would have his hide for being rude and ruining his lunch. Or something along those lines. And Lucinda would likely grab him by the ear and toss him out on his rear end. Never let him back in again.

  An echo of footsteps grew louder, a slight shift in one step that most people wouldn't notice.

  His stomach soured.

  It was because of their close call last year.

  Sam's small sigh filled the space. Not the annoyed kind. The kind that came from frustration. From being the only person in her small circle that could see the bigger picture.

  Ricky wished he could change that.

  Right now he had to focus on the girl. On getting in and getting out and sticking to the truth. Maybe someday he'd get the chance to focus on Samantha Billings.

  If Smell-iot didn't mess it up. If Ricky didn't fail right here and now. The thought left a bad taste in his mouth that even a cookie couldn't rectify. Took every carefree cell inside his body and dried it up.

  He swiped two cookies from the plate. Took a breath. There was only one shot. Failure was not an option. He couldn't quit. Quitting meant death. "Sam, you gotta try these things." He tossed his board to the marble floor, hopped on and was at her side in a blink. Less than that really. Her gray eyes tracked the burst of time travel like nothing he'd ever seen.

  Did she even realize she could see it? That she was likely one of very few who could?

  He'd noticed it the very first time he'd ever slung to this point in time. She'd been talking with a man when Ricky had shown up. The man had been taller than her, dressed in a suit, and looked unhappy. She'd paused mid-sentence
and watched Ricky move from one time to that moment as if she could see both ends of the slingshot.

  He'd frozen, an eerie buzz floating around him. She still hadn't resumed talking. He hadn't known if he should run, disappear, or introduce himself. The phenomenon had never happened before. He'd never had anyone track his movements or see him the second he'd absorbed or slingshot.

  The man she was with started to turn toward Ricky and he'd known the last bit wasn't an option. There was annoyance written all over the stranger's body language. An interruption would be the last thing either of them wanted. Ricky had taken a step toward them anyway, hadn't gotten farther than that before he was thrown back in time the way he'd come.

  Sam's doing, not his.

  He'd been coming back ever since.

  He pulled her hand out now and placed the cinnamon-and-sugar-coated treat inside. "I swear she gets up at three in the morning to make these."

  Sam took a deep breath, the edge of a smile attempting to grip the corner of her lips. It did nothing to erase the lines of stress around her eyes. "She's a little ticked that you're eating them."

  "Miss Lucinda doesn't get ticked." He shoved the cookie into his mouth and chewed, the whoosh of blood in his ears amping up the adrenaline in his body. Time might be limited but he couldn't rush. He only had this one moment. "She gets uptight."

  Those gray eyes rolled upward. "Semantics."

  "You guys would miss me if I quit hanging around." He would miss them if...

  No time for that.

  "Aren't you full of confidence." Sam grabbed a Kleenex, placed the cookie inside, and laid it on Lucinda's desk. Wiped the crumbs from her palm, then motioned for him to pick up his board and follow her out of the office. "Let's get out of here."

  He rolled toward the exit and flipped up his board. A wall of California's Central Valley hot, dry air hit him as he opened the door and held it for her.

  She passed through the doorway. Started down the walkway. She didn't ask him about school, his friends, or if he'd learned any new tricks on his board. She didn't say anything—a sign Miss Lucinda's words had hit their mark.