Ryan's gaze lit on Elliot and then Sam. Lingered. Made everything inside him rear up. Prepare.
Haley's head whipped toward them. Her face went a shade past pale. Then she sucked in a breath and turned back toward Ryan.
"You're not going anywhere. We need to talk." Ryan placed a hand on his hip, effectively revealing his gun in the process.
Haley didn't even flinch. As if she expected the outcome. The gun. This man. His obvious hatred.
Elliot moved his hand backward a fraction. Came into contact with Sam's arm, his fingers instinctively circling around it. Assuring him she wouldn't move. She'd seen the gun. She wouldn't risk...
The muscles beneath his fingers flexed. Strained.
Of course she would do anything for anyone—give the shirt off her back, risk her life—her sister included, regardless of anything anyone said. Regardless of whatever mess Haley had created.
This was the warehouse all over again. But the cold sweat on his back was new.
Ryan's gaze flicked from Haley to Sam. "You two know this woman?"
"Yeah." Haley stopped and let Ryan advance. "I run into people I know in the stairwell all the time."
Ryan pulled his gun. Centered it on her forehead. "Then they won't miss your lying, cheating ways."
Sam's arm left his fingers, her form moving in front of Haley in the time it took to blink, the progression lost.
The ripple of a slingshot echoed through his body. One he couldn't stop. Couldn't change. One that took the breath from his lungs.
Ryan's arm reared up, the butt of the gun headed for Sam's head.
CHAPTER TEN
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. Then a toe.
The words had come out even and tempered—emotionless and rehearsed—but his eyes...his eyes held something else. Anger, sadness, and distrust.
The latter had gotten Simon, the emotion wiggling down in his bones. Stirred up in intervals over the last four months that wouldn't let him rest. Had there been more he should've been able to see or do? The seconds between Harper Valencourt's confession and the gun breaking the silence should've been filled with something.
Understanding. Compassion. Suspicion.
The department had made him file his reports and take a couple of days off. See the psychologist who'd explained that Simon was simply throwing emotions on the situation because it hadn't been within standard protocol.
There'd been nothing standard about it at all. The murder, the confession, nor the suicide. The frenzy of press that had followed and the initial week where he'd been careful to check his surroundings before going anywhere for fear there would be a microphone shoved in his face.
Exactly like this moment.
Minus the press, but that would come if there was a story to be had.
I think we found Claudia Morris.
His long-time friend Elliot Knight's words had been echoing in his mind for the better part of an hour. As he made his way to Shaver Lake. Hiked ten yards above the picturesque shoreline and wondered why anyone would attempt to shoot two people in broad daylight.
With plenty of witnesses.
It was wrong. All wrong. The feel. The place. The stillness of the lake and the people around it.
Claudia Morris was dead. Harper Valencourt had killed her before killing himself. Any resemblance was exactly that.
Nothing else. He'd repeat the idea until it took root. It didn't matter that he'd been attempting to do that for months.
A bug buzzed near his head and Simon shooed it along with a swarm of gnats.
"We've roped off a perimeter near where we found the casings—I'd guess it was a Glock." Lieutenant Jeff Hastings came to stand next him inside the section he'd described. He wore a set of crime scene booties same as Simon. A Tyvek suit covered his attire. "There's a couple of trees with the same markings. We've got three shots for sure. All of them about ten feet apart and zig-zagging up the trail."
Three.
Elliot said he and Sam had been talking when it happened. Stationary. That both of them had frozen for a second which would have been opportunity enough to rectify a bad shot. Their guy hadn't done that. Had waited for them to move before taking aim again.
Why?
"There were two people out here?"
Simon hadn't relayed the specifics. It wasn't abnormal for him to sequester information until it was needed, but Jeff would eventually want more than the vague details he'd given.
On the heels of the Chief's brief questions regarding Hope Alive, Simon had wanted to harbor it for a moment. He hadn't wanted his top investigator's skills clouded by the mention of Samantha Billings being on site. Nearly gunned down looking for evidence regarding Anne Morris. "A man and a woman."
"Campers?"
"No."
Jeff shifted. "I'm going to want to talk to them sooner rather than later. I'd like to do that before the press gets wind of whatever this is. All we need is a nosy and overzealous reporter messing with our scene."
The image of the only reporter he knew on a far more personal level than he wanted to popped into his mind. The way she'd been when he'd last come across her—drunk and unruly—his first day back after the incident with Valencourt.
It had been an accident—though his belief in that department had been severely tested over the years. First with the death of his mom, dad, and brother, and then when Elliot's family had taken him in.
He'd been on his way to grab a late lunch when he'd walked past Haley Billings. She had a brown paper bag in her hand, the outline of a forty clear as day. She'd been in an argument with a group of people, a uniformed Fresno Police Officer among them.
He could've walked by. Let that be it. Instead he'd stopped, everything inside of him urging him to take control of the situation. He talked to the officer—a rookie with a level head, but a rookie nonetheless. Noted the way one of the men in the group purposely provoked her. The way Haley responded in kind.
The outline of the gun in his waistband hadn't been lost on Simon. It had sealed his decision.
He'd managed to subdue her and get her in the back of his cruiser with very little effort while the rookie asked the man for permits and the group dispersed.
The rest was history.
"You know it's only a matter of time." Jeff still stood next to him, patient. Waiting.
Simon did. "Hope Alive was out here following a lead on a case."
That someone had seen Anne Morris after six months of silence was irony that wasn't lost on him. Instead of questioning every person in the area for a second time, he'd forced himself to assess the situation as he would any other.
Trust his team to figure out if whomever had attempted to shoot Elliot and Sam had done so with a large plan or something else.
"Hope Alive?" Something dark gathered over Jeff's face. His gaze moved to the other crew members inspecting something in the bark of one tree. "You didn't think that was important to mention?"
Divorce was messy. He'd seen a couple people go through it. Some were more amicable than others. "I want you focused on the details here. Not the past. No one should be able to question it."
Integrity. Actions had to have integrity.
His father had lived by the motto. Died by it. Simon had vowed to live up to the legacy. He couldn't fail now.
With one investigation that might hit too close to home for his top investigator. Too close for Simon, too.
"It sounds like you are already doing that." Jeff's words were terse.
Simon moved toward a tree that had been recently cut due to an increase in bark beetles. "I'd like to avoid it if at all possible."
Jeff shook his head.
"I don't know what happened with you and Sam." He'd seen enough from the sidelines to know the Lieutenant had signed divorce paperwork out of necessity—out of a last-ditch effort to appease Sam—and not much else. And he'd had enough experience with Sam
to know that when she made up her mind that was it, but she'd never made a decision that didn't make sense. A divorce didn't mean either side was wrong. It just meant they couldn't see eye to eye. "I don't need to know. The only thing I'm concerned about is your attention to this case."
The crunch of Jeff's footsteps echoed behind him. "My attention—"
Simon turned. "Wavers. According to the Chief."
The Lieutenant shook his head. "I'm the best this department has. I'd say that makes my attention—my dedication—pretty steadfast."
"Until Sam enters the picture." Simon should've dealt with this sooner. The chief shouldn't have had to point out the obvious issue.
Jeff let out a scoff.
"You can deny it all day. When her name is mentioned you lose your head." Simon had seen it happen. During their marriage. After. Whenever Sam happened to be on site, he ceased to be an investigator—someone who knew when a situation could turn.
"It has never affected my ability to track down leads."
But it stalled the progress for a short time. And that time was valuable. "I hope it never does. Let's canvas the area. Talk to the people down at the beach. There's no way gunshots were fired and no one saw anything."
Anger stretched across Jeff's face. He hesitated a second. Brought his lips inward. "You understand I'm going to need to talk to her at some point. That's part of my job."
And it was part of Simon's to see the possible pitfalls. "Check the beach, Lieutenant."
Jeff nodded. Then he moved off toward the area.
Left Simon wondering if he shouldn't pull his best investigator. If maybe he shouldn't pull himself.
He scanned the trees. Tried to imagine why anyone would shoot at Sam or Elliot. Why they would take aim without any accuracy.
Unless there was something here to guard. Something to protect. Something to take or hide.
His gaze hit the ground near his feet. A circular medallion was near his left foot. He squatted near it. An "H" was on the exterior.
An "H" with a latent print across the surface.
Everything inside of him went on alert.
He'd seen the item somewhere. He'd seen it. Held it.
Take this...
CHAPTER ELEVEN
YOU WALKED INTO that warehouse like a rookie...
Sam didn't have time for this.
She didn't have the patience. Not for Haley's sullen form in the far corner of her office nor Elliot's anger emanating from the doorway. Every so often he'd scan the bag of ice she held over the bruise forming on her cheek without saying a word. As if he could actually see and feel the damage Ryan's gun had caused.
She'd seen the gun. The way Ryan had pointed it toward Haley, hatred pouring from him without words. Without movement.
A flash of their childhood had gone through Sam. The times they'd gone on adventures together. The mischief. Fighting over clothes. The way Haley had held Sam's hand when their mother's casket lowered into the ground.
That had been it.
Even Elliot's fingers on her—his earlier words about using something other than her heart—hadn't made a difference.
She didn't care what Haley may or may not have done to deserve a bullet, this was her sister. Sam wasn't going to watch her get injured or killed.
She couldn't do nothing.
Where Elliot might have used calm tones—asked the stranger to put the gun down, to think about his actions—and maybe even been successful in that endeavor, she'd slung forward. A couple of seconds. Nothing major.
Ryan's gun had struck her before she could do anything to stop it. Before she could take a breath. Move. And then she'd been falling backward in a half roll down the unforgiving stairs. Until Elliot had managed to get an arm around her. Halted the possibility of more bruised or broken body parts.
Remember Shaver Lake...
The words had been quiet, the memory instant.
The blast of a gun had echoed in the stairwell.
Then they'd all ended up right here in a slingshot like no other. She'd barely resisted the urge to ensure there were no holes in any of them.
Elliot hadn't said one word since their arrival. Had found her some ice. Made her sit down. Took up residence at the entry to her office, his arms across his muscled chest as if waiting for one of the females in the room to do something completely idiotic.
Sam would probably top that list right now, even with Haley pacing the small area like a caged animal. Her anxiety filled the room with every step she took. Five steps toward the door. Six back. Repeat.
She probably needed a drink. Or her next hit. Was biding her time until that could happen.
"Is anybody going to address what that was back at the hospital?" Haley moved toward where Sam sat. "That slingshot was wicked. It—"
"I'd ask the same question of you." Sam tossed the ice on her desk. Watched it slide to the far corner and come to a stop halfway toward the floor. She couldn't even contemplate the wicked slingshot. The one Elliot likely would never discuss. The one Haley didn't need details on.
Or maybe Sam was the only one out of the loop.
Was that it? Was she the only idiot in this room searching for answers both Haley and Elliot already had?
"Why is this Ryan character attacking you inside a hospital? Who is he?"
"Just some creep I ran into in a bar." The words came too fast. Too practiced. If she'd met him somewhere, it wasn't a bar. But something had definitely gone south between them.
"He didn't look like a creep."
Haley's chin rose a fraction. "They come in all kinds of packages it turns out."
"I'll give you that. Why were you even at the hospital?"
"Got wind of a Jane Doe." Haley picked up the frame of the four of them—before their mother's death—off of Sam's desk. Her brown gaze was stuck to it, almost mesmerized. Her voice was low when she said, "I went in to do a story. You know, for my job. Ran into Ryan."
"By the look of things, you've run into him before." Elliot shifted near the door, his face carefully blank.
Haley rolled her eyes. Set the frame back down. It crashed to the wooden surface, face down. Her eyes flicked to it a moment. She reached for it. Then stopped. Dropped her hands to her sides. "I shacked up with him for a night. I didn't ask what he did for a living or about his pedigree. I didn't care. I still don't."
Another practiced line. Spoken too fast. Sam righted the picture. Their mother's face was happy and smiling, her gaze on both daughters who sat in front of her. If she could see them now, that smile would be gone. "Who is he looking for?"
"Geez." Haley crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you guys? The FBI?"
Elliot shook his head, anger evident in his tight stance. "I can get them here within the hour."
"Yeah, yeah, Elliot." Haley threw up one hand. "Everyone knows you have connections. We're all thrilled. News flash. They wouldn't care about who some woman screwed. They don't have a dossier filled with my conquests."
A sudden intense pound started at Sam's temples. The pinch behind her eyes fought for precedence.
You'll have to take care of them...
Maybe it hadn't been a request so much as a premonition. Maybe it wasn't a promise her mother had actually meant for Sam to keep.
Both Haley and the Colonel were so bent on their own way of life, Sam may as well have been a stranger. A person who managed to interject once in a while. A pest and nothing more.
Haley picked up the bag of ice at the edge of Sam's desk and slapped it to her face. "You look like you're gonna puke everywhere. I'm not cleaning it up."
A shot of pain went through her body, but she didn't move. Fought the urge to stand up and deck her older sister. "You do realize you had a gun pointed in your face, right? This isn't a joke."
Haley's dark eyes—eyes the same shade as the Colonel's—hit hers. "Next time someone pulls a gun, don't freaking play hero, moron."
Sam grabbed the bag. Resisted the urge to whip it at her sist
er's head. Opted for moving out of her sister's reach. "Don't have one aimed at your head. This isn't like someone stole your bike and you'll just get a new one. What are you? Twelve?"
"Yeah." Her eyebrows shot up, defiance written all over her body. In the way she'd backed up a step, her arms braced out a little, her mouth a tight line. "Today I get to be twelve."
The same age she'd been the year their mother had died. The same age she'd been when she'd stood at their mother's grave and held Sam's hand tightly in hers. Promised it would all be okay.
Sam resisted the urge to get up and walk out. Remind her older sister she wasn't the only one who'd been young and confused when their mother had left this world. She wasn't the only one who'd walked a mile in the wrong direction and retraced steps through quicksand to return.
"You asked Elliot for money." Sam sucked in a low breath. Tried to calm the myriad of emotions raging in her system. "What did you need it for?"
Haley hesitated half a second. "A business venture."
A business venture? Right. "Why do you need to sleep on Elliot's couch?"
"I'm in the middle of moving to a new place."
Sam shook her head. Wasn't sure why she'd even bothered to ask. Haley had been evicted. For lack of payment. For lack of manners. For disobeying the community rules. For not dealing with any of the emotions life often invoked.
The list could go on.
"You could've said something."
"Why?" She scoffed. "So you and the Colonel can drag me to some kind of program that will make me into a robot, dictate where I live, where I work, and who I see." She pointed at Sam. "You'd probably arrange my marriage and suggest I have two children before I'm thirty-five. And then you'd shake your head when it all crumbled. Admit you've thought about it."
Frustration built in Sam's system, the urge to tell her sister she didn't give a crap about who she married or if she ever had kids humming behind it. She swallowed it back. "Despite what you think, I'm not waiting for you to fail." Sam just wished she would at least try to succeed.
Threshold of Danger (A Guardian Time Travel Novel Book 1) Page 9
