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

by Rachel Trautmiller

  He glanced at his watch. "It's seven in the morning."

  She shrugged. "And?"

  "Are you hiding from your family?"

  "They aren't looking for me." Her dark brown gaze centered on him. "I'm the black sheep, Elliot. You know that. We've had conversations about it."

  "I heard your perception." Haley's take on her familial connections was the only topic of conversation he'd thought to use the time she'd shown up drunk with a concussion. He'd insisted on taking her to the ER. She'd told him in pretty colorful language to jump off a bridge while riffling through his cupboards. And for some reason he couldn't pinpoint, he'd let her stay. Struck up a conversation to keep her awake—and not in search of more alcohol. "Keep the clothes, get out of my house, and don't come back unless you're going to knock or call first."

  Haley rolled her eyes heavenward. "Somebody's grumpy."

  Grumpy didn't cover it. "When you break into my house—"

  "I didn't break anything."

  Exasperation hummed through him. Experience had already taught him stern logic was the only thing that had a chance of working in this type of situation. "It's a figure of speech."

  "A lame one. No reason to act surly."

  He held back a groan. He wasn't in the mood for verbal backlash. "Forgive me for being a little leery of these visits. You've entered without being invited. You've thrown up in several places and on several different occasions. Once after ingesting twice the legal limit of alcohol and mixing it with a cocktail sure to put you six feet under."

  Something dark passed over her face. "That was a one-time deal."

  Anger flared to life in his veins at the image of her lying so still in the hospital after they'd pumped her stomach. He should've been able to see her to safety and move on with his day, but his conscience hadn't let him. Not that Haley would've known the difference. "Try again."

  Something hard appeared in her gaze. "You suck, Elliot."

  And just as if she'd been his actual sister, he wanted to blast her with all the irritation in his system. He took a breath. Had to get himself under control as much as he wanted to call her out. A person didn't get to mixing pills and alcohol for no reason.

  He pulled out his phone. He might have grown up helping people, but he also knew when he was out of his element. "I'll call Sam, she can come get you."

  Two birds, one stone. Sam could gather Haley and he could figure out why Sam had called him in the first place. Asked him to call her back at his "earliest convenience," the words so crisp he'd had to listen to the voicemail again to be sure.

  But it was right there, her anxiety barely masked. And if he'd been a stranger he'd have thought nothing of her tone nor that the usual warmth was missing.

  The warmth he'd been purposely ignoring for months.

  Haley swiped the phone from his hands, tossed it on the couch. "And have to explain why I'm wearing your clothes and in your house? That won't be awkward at all."

  Explaining it would be a little complicated, but he could handle it. Then again, Sam could be just as unpredictable as Haley in a situation like this. Especially if she thought Haley was in trouble. He'd been giving them both a wide berth—avoiding cases with Hope Alive and picking up extra flight hours. Apparently his time away from the sisters was up. "Is there something you need? I've got a briefing to get to."

  "One hundred grand, your couch, and a promise that you won't let my sister out of your sight today."

  "What?" Everything inside him ground to a halt with the mention of Sam. With the entire request, really.

  Haley smiled, a laugh coming from her mouth. There wasn't a hint of mirth in the actions. "I knew that would get you, forever the hero."

  He picked up her clothing. Shoved it in her arms. "Go home. Don't come back."

  "Is that a yes?"

  A twitch started in his right eye. He took a deep breath. "Can you elaborate?"

  Her free hand moved to the opposite arm. Gripped it hard. "That's unlikely to happen. Thanks for asking, though."

  The idea of physically shoving her out the door had a great deal of appeal. He held still. "Are you in trouble? Is Sam in trouble?"

  "I'm always in trouble. We got a deal?"

  "No." He wasn't going to give her money she'd blow on alcohol or permission to have permanent residence on his couch just because she'd mentioned Sam's name. "You can't show up and demand money and promises with no explanation."

  "Pretty sure I just did. Take it or leave it." Her brown eyes were anywhere but on him as she made a move for the hallway leading to his spare bathroom and the bedrooms beyond.

  He stepped in her path. Maybe he shouldn't have. Maybe the best thing was to let her leave without explanation and forget about this entire conversation. Let her find her own way in life—not pick up the pieces, if even in small ways. "Why don't you tell me what this is really all about?"

  "Money, things, and people." Then she ducked around him, the burst forward in time so seamless the average person wouldn't detect the progression at all. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. A ripple of change—like air conditioning rushing across overheated skin. He'd used the maneuver with regularity in his youth.

  Not so much anymore.

  She moved into his bathroom with the speed of a cougar, the lock flipping behind her.

  He turned toward the door. "This isn't a joke, Haley."

  Silence stretched like a piece of warm taffy. Then, "Don't worry, Elliot. I don't need your lumpy couch or your money. And the last time you and my sister were together, she nearly died, so she probably doesn't need your protection either."

  Everything inside of him stilled. He should've been quicker. Should've known—

  No. He wasn't going down that road. There wasn't any point. He couldn't change it. And Sam was fine.

  But Theo Trenton is dead.

  Theo was dead, Sam was scarred, and Haley kept showing up in his house. Maybe fine wasn't the right word.

  Elliot retrieved his phone from the couch. Pulled up Sam's number. She was reasonable enough. She'd know this was not what it looked like. She'd—

  He paused. The thought of him calling Sam hadn't bothered Haley at all. She hadn't even flinched. Which meant there was no way Haley would still be here when Sam arrived.

  That would leave him baring all the details to Sam without the added bonus of making Haley answer for some of her actions.

  A knock sounded on his front door. He froze. It wasn't even eight in the morning. He abandoned the call, slid the phone into his pocket, and headed in that direction. He glanced through the window.

  Retired Air Force Colonel Greyson Billings stood on the other side in a gray suit, one hand in his pocket, his back to Elliot. The other held a manila folder. The last time he'd shown up unannounced...

  Everything inside Elliot came to a grinding halt.

  This was bad. Worse than bad. The steady fall of water hit his ears. Elliot glanced in the direction of the bathroom. Haley wasn't likely to show herself to her father. The two shared blood, but not much else from his vantage point. The one time he'd seen them in a room together both father and daughter might as well have been distant strangers.

  In fact, he'd seen a lot of actual strangers engage more than Colonel Billings and his daughter.

  But a heavy shot of anxiety flooded through him anyway. Because this was Haley. And if he'd learned anything in the last few months, it was that predictability wasn't exactly her forte.

  He opened the door. Didn't make a move to let the Colonel inside even though every respectable principle drilled into him from an early age was screaming about decency. While he might be able to rationalize with Sam, the Colonel was a different matter altogether. And it wouldn't matter if he never talked to his oldest daughter again. She would always be his daughter and he would always be her father. And this situation looked exactly like something Elliot would be upset to find his own daughter submerged in. "Colonel."

  The former USAF base commander turne
d and held out his free hand. "I apologize for troubling you at home. I've got something that needs your immediate attention."

  Right. Immediate attention. Nothing to do with the mess inside Elliot's bathroom. He shook his hand.

  "I know you've taken a step back from Hope Alive cases recently, but this one could use your expertise."

  Elliot took the offered folder. Prayed like crazy it didn't have anything to do with Samantha. Not like last time. He couldn't repeat it. Not right now when there was already a headache beating at his temples.

  "A woman disappeared with her daughter. Claudia Morris. No sign of foul play. No evidence of marital strife. Just her empty sedan along the side of 168 and a little bit of her DNA inside. I'm sure you heard about this a while back."

  Elliot flipped through pictures of the crime scene where Claudia had been found. Blood splattered the woman's clothing and the roadside as if she'd been thrown into an oncoming traffic full of knives. He remembered seeing the story splashed across the local news for weeks. Had heard vague details from his long-time friend and former air force buddy during the investigation. When a man had come forward and confessed to the crime but took his own life before they could question him further.

  "No sign of the girl—her name is Anne—was ever recovered. Until recently. Some campers believe they saw her the day before yesterday. The police checked into it but found dead ends. The husband came to us. He's an old friend of a friend."

  Elliot released a burst of air. Not saving Sam. Not following her into some disaster.

  Call me at your earliest convenience.

  He found pictures of the family of three prior to the gruesome murder that had taken Claudia Morris' life. In it the daughter was happy and smiling. There were copies of official police reports, personal statements. The police had investigated the husband and closest relatives thoroughly and come up empty.

  Six months ago.

  The girl could be anywhere, including shipped down the I-5 corridor and in a foreign country by now. The idea left a sour taste in his mouth. "If campers saw her, I'm sure the police have some leads."

  The Colonel shook his head. "I'm sure they are working the proper channels, but they have very little to go on."

  "And Hope Alive has a better chance?"

  Colonel Billings shifted, one hand flicking to his face, the other in his pocket. "I know you'd have to take some leave, but this gentleman is at the end of his rope. He's hoping for a miracle. I've seen you accomplish that."

  The need to help tingled at the edge of his veins. Made him want to dive right in and chase the leads until the girl was safely at home. But he'd learned a long time ago to wait a beat. Let the thought settle.

  And the timing was off. His unit was preparing for deployment. He needed more time in the cockpit, not time doing footwork someone else was perfectly capable of. The Colonel would have to deal with it.

  But the girl's face latched on to him. Etched a home in his brain. Her smile was warm and bright—full of hope. She deserved to play softball or join ballet. She deserved to get asked to her first dance, go to prom, and excel in college. Maybe become a doctor, a vet, or a hairstylist.

  "You and Samantha." The Colonel's voice brought him from his thoughts.

  He flipped the file shut. In what universe? Separately, maybe. "I don't—"

  "If I know Sam, she's likely already on site."

  Alone? His heart kicked up a dozen notches. The image of a raging fire flicked into his brain. He had minimal time to get to Sam and get her out. There was something more. Something out of reach.

  Promise that you won't let my sister out of your sight...

  "The young girl was supposedly last seen up at Shaver Lake."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE GUN WAS out. It was against flesh, fingers at the ready, safety flipped.

  Fresno County Sheriff's Captain Simon Riley froze inside the interview room, zeroed in on the man in front of him. He was at least six feet tall and lanky. A dark beard peppered with flecks of gray covered his face, his green eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. An army green jacket hung open to reveal a paint-covered shirt and jeans that weren't much better. The fingers that held the gun were caked with grime—the kind that came from manual labor and didn't wash out without a good brush and less than a bar of soap. The muzzle of the pistol was up against the man's own temple.

  There was fear in his eyes. Fear as if someone else held the gun. Simon took one careful step toward him, his hand out. He couldn't let this happen. He needed the man alive. They needed more information from him even though his confession had been meticulous in its recounting. "Easy now."

  "You have everything you need."

  Harper Valencourt had walked into the station and requested Simon by name. The door to the interview room hadn't shut before the man admitted to murdering a woman in cold blood, the details turning Simon's insides in a way that would never go away.

  Simon needed to stop Harper, calm him down. He took another step, his blood whooshing inside his ears. The gun exploded in the quiet room. A spray of red shot from the opposite side of Harper's brain, the impact covering the white wall. Chunks of something wet and warm peppered his face. An electric zap went through the room, an emptiness that hit him in the chest. And then Harper slowly fell to the ground, the gun in his grip not falling far from fingers that would never touch anything—or anyone—ever again.

  "Captain Riley." The rap of knuckles hitting his open office door brought him from a five-month-old memory to the present. The gray matter was gone. The blood. The man who'd taken secrets—that of Claudia and Anne Morris—with him to the grave.

  Chief Lewis stood in the door way of his office, one hand tucked in his dark suit pant pocket. "You went out to Shaver? Talked to the family who supposedly saw Anne Morris?"

  Two days ago. Had hit dead ends, but he hadn't expected a breakthrough. He'd known better than to hope for it—his thirty-two years of life had taught him that nothing worth having came easy. Instead he'd focused on protocol. On details that weren't obvious. "Filed my report this morning."

  In Harper's final moments of life, he hadn't mentioned Claudia's daughter, Anne. Not once. And Simon had tried to get him to slip up. To mention something. An action. A place. A grave. The bullet Harper had placed into his own brain had ended all discussion. Had left Simon spending the subsequent months replaying the moment in the most inopportune moments.

  Like right now.

  And while the department had been forced to close the case, Simon hadn't really ever stopped looking for the kid.

  Never stopped wondering why every word out of Harper's mouth was so forced. Practiced. And if Simon was the only one who thought that. Or if everyone was so glad to have a killer off the streets they couldn't hear past the words.

  I abducted her. I forced her into her car. I tied her up. I used a kitchen knife—one from her house—I cut off a finger first.

  Chief Lewis stepped into the room, shut the door, and came to stand in front of Simon's desk. His eyes scanned the work sprawled across the surface—a dead body they'd found in an abandoned building off 168—before his blue eyes rested on Simon. "I know you weren't particularly satisfied with the way the Morris case ended."

  "That's part of my job." Part of what made searching out the hidden clues that much easier—the fact that he was rarely happy with status quo.

  "Kent Morris hired Hope Alive."

  "I'm aware." Simon had suggested it. The organization was part private investigation, part grief counseling and he'd liked the concept of it almost immediately.

  "Your job is here, Captain. Unless you'd like it to be elsewhere."

  Simon sat back in his chair. "Just because I donated money to Hope Alive's startup costs—a fact that should've stayed private—doesn't mean my focus isn't right here, sir."

  "A lot of people would've taken money earned on a tour of duty and spent it on a flat-screen TV, a fancy car, or even a down payment on a house. Not you. You take ten gra
nd and stick it in a private investigation company that's constantly dogging this department's heels."

  Or behind their bars. Simon banished the sudden image of Haley Billings from his mind. The angry way she'd glared at him when he'd booked her for public intox. "My money. My business."

  "Most people would've filed their report about the Morris case and been done with it."

  A wave of exhaustion stole over him. "I hope a closed case isn't the only reason you're in my office."

  Chief Lewis didn't say anything for what seemed like half a century. Simon had learned to remain stoic and wait him out.

  "Let's make it clear with Hope Alive that we don't need interference."

  "I doubt you'll get any interference from Samantha Billings. In fact, whenever Hope Alive ends up on scene, she's often aided the department."

  "And it's appreciated, but she doesn't have a badge. Hasn't been through the rigorous training, so until then, she's a civilian who's been lucky. I don't want to see that luck run out. The last thing the department needs is bad press and another body."

  Simon didn't want either end, the latter adding to the public's already misconstrued opinion of the police force. The former having consequences that went far beyond himself. "Understood."

  Lewis moved away from the desk, but turned back. "Lieutenant Hastings know about Hope Alive's involvement?"

  "Is there a need for him to know?"

  "His personal life has been called into question in relation to the job."

  Simon leaned back. "In what manner?"

  "His focus changes—his attention divided—whenever Samantha Billings is on scene. It puts the whole team at risk."

  "You want to pull our best investigator whenever Sam comes into the picture?"

  Lewis' gaze didn't waver. "It's not something I'm willing to gamble on."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SAM WAS OFF her game. Had been since the moment the Colonel had handed this case to her. Since he'd left that hand-scribbled note with the assumption that she would do exactly as he requested.