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

by Rachel Trautmiller

  She ground her teeth together. He'd lied. Straight out.

  Why?

  Pounding on her front door made her jump. She shoved Haley's notes into a folder. Removed the drive.

  She stood and moved toward the door. The doorbell rang in quick succession. She peeked through the side window. Found Haley on the other side in the same black leather jacket she'd had on earlier, her hair in a ponytail and one arm hugging her middle. Her attention was on the street, her free hand reaching for the bell again.

  Sam opened the door, a squeaking sound coming from it as she did. It had been that way since she'd bought the place. She resisted the urge to throw her arms around her sister. Grill her on why she had that video at all. How many times had she watched it? And when had she planned on letting Sam know Jeff's recounting of the event was complete bull?

  Had she tried, only to have Sam not listen?

  "Hey."

  "I need to use your computer." Haley whipped toward her and moved inside the house. Shut and locked the door before Sam could take a full breath. Her gaze hit the skateboard and froze for a second. "You got company?"

  "No."

  Haley relaxed a fraction. "Where do you keep your laptop?"

  "In the kitchen."

  Haley moved to the right, toward a large living area that almost never got used. Sam had bought the house right after she'd finalized her divorce. Right after she'd followed Haley inside that warehouse and come out with a piece of herself missing.

  "The kitchen is at the back of the house."

  "Right." Haley switched directions. Moved under the curved staircase and into the open kitchen and attached dining area. "It's been forever since I've..."

  Sam followed. Noted the way her older sister still had on the leather jacket even in the ninety degree temps. Even now inside the house. She fiddled with the edge of one sleeve.

  "You've never been inside the house before, Hal."

  "Right. I knew that." Haley stopped in front of the table. Turned toward Sam. Her eyes were clear. Her breath didn't smell like booze. She wasn't unsteady on her feet. Not belligerent.

  Sam couldn't remember the last time that had been the case. But it didn't mean her sister was completely sober. It didn't mean she should latch on to the bit of hope rising in her chest.

  Haley looked around. "I like it. It suits you."

  Huh. That balloon of hope got a little larger. "Thanks."

  The fiddling increased, silence stretching.

  "Are you going to use the computer or not?" Sam gestured toward the table.

  Haley didn't move. "Can you..." She ran her hand over her face. "I can't..." Then she took a breath. "You gotta get rid of the glass. Just..." She flicked one hand toward the red liquid Sam had barely had two sips of. Sitting right next to the computer.

  "Oh crap. I didn't even—"

  "Don't." Haley sucked in a breath. Put her fingertips to the middle of her forehead and closed her eyes. "It's not a big deal. Let's not make it a big deal."

  Holy crap. Elliot had been right. Haley was sober. Struggling with it, but sober. Sam reached the table, picked up the glass, and moved to the sink. She dumped the contents and rinsed the glass.

  Right. Not a big deal.

  Sam resisted the urge to pepper her with questions. To hug her. To tell her she'd do anything to make sure her older sister continued with a sober lifestyle.

  "I just need your laptop for a few minutes. Then I'll get out of your way."

  "Don't you have a computer?"

  "Sold it." Haley moved toward the table. Slipped into the seat Sam had vacated. Her gaze was glued to the screen, the glow reflected in her eyes.

  "Why?"

  Haley paused. Her hands hovered over the keyboard for a moment. "Can we just not? I sold it—well, pawned it. You won't like the reason. I'm not going to explain it. Not right now. Probably never, to be honest."

  Honesty. Huh. Sam pulled out the adjacent chair and sat. She palmed the medallion behind the computer and the dog tags sitting next to them. "Okay."

  Haley's gaze flicked up. "That's it?"

  "I hope you pawned it for a decent price and that you didn't leave any sensitive information on it."

  Her sister's lips formed a firm line as she typed something into the internet browser. "Irrelevant. I'm sure they've sold it already. That was two months ago."

  "Was that before or after you lost your apartment?"

  "Around the same time."

  Her sister had been homeless or some version of it for two months? Two months where she'd woken up and not known where she'd sleep or shower or plain hang out. Two months and Sam hadn't known anything. Hadn't seen a change. Hadn't—

  "Don't get bent out of shape. I stayed with friends."

  Sure. Friends. More like acquaintances looking out for their own well-being. The type of people who only offered support if there was something they could get in return. She set the medallion and dog tags back on the table. "Did the Colonel talk to you at all today?"

  Haley's gaze flicked to them. She picked up the dog tags, her eyes glued to the name, her thumb running across the surface. "Every year it's the same thing, Sam. 'Come work at Hope Alive. It will be good for you'."

  "Maybe you'd enjoy it." Or maybe that's what everyone was hoping would happen. A miracle—maybe the only one that would save her sister from complete self-destruction.

  Haley shook her head, her gaze finding Sam. "I don't belong behind a desk. I need to be chasing a story. Telling it behind a camera. Writing it out so everyone could read it." She tapped the medallion. "I thought you lost that when we were kids."

  "I did. This boy—Ricky—found it."

  "Ricky?" Haley leaned back in her chair. Put her hand above her head, parallel to the floor. "About this high, brown hair, and seems to show up randomly?"

  "Yes. Seen him?" How many people was Ricky interacting with?

  "I've got a few bones to pick with him. He—"

  Sam's phone split through Haley's sentence. It rang and vibrated on the table, Captain Simon Riley's name flashing across the screen. She reached for it.

  Haley grabbed the device. Sent the call to voicemail. "Can I borrow your laptop?"

  "What?"

  The phone sprang to life again.

  Haley stood. She backed away from the table, fear slamming across her features. She dropped the tags to the wooden surface. They landed near the computer. "Forget the laptop. I'm not here. I was never here."

  Everything inside Sam sank. "What did you do?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE VOLUME OF the ringing phone might as well have been blasting from inside Haley's skull. While the actual sound had stopped the moment she'd left the house, the fictitious annoyance wouldn't let her rest.

  The noise and the knowledge that Simon was on the other end made her flee in panic. The medallions and Theo's dog tags were the eighth empty bottle of scotch in her bare cupboards.

  Haley knew Sam was drawing up possible scenarios in which Haley had found trouble. Possible rescue plans that weren't warranted. Gathering bail money. Preparing to visit her in an institution.

  What did you do?

  What was she supposed to say? Was she supposed to tell her sister—the woman who routinely put her life on the line for others—that she'd gone into that hospital to do a story but come out with a little blip of a memory that scared her to her toes? One that confirmed what she already knew about herself.

  She'd done something horrible—something she couldn't fully remember. She'd run from it. And history had already taught her that she could only escape for so long. Eventually she'd have to face whatever she'd done—or not done.

  Sam would never understand that.

  Sam would never have intentionally tried to harm Ryan today. Or run from the police. She would never have her prints on an object she hadn't touched in years. Or end up in another state with people she didn't know and likely had visited before.

  Haley couldn't even begin to put it all
into words. Words that wouldn't have her sister attempting to right every wrong. Putting herself in danger.

  She would have the answers Haley didn't.

  Instead of explaining even a small amount of it, she'd slung herself forward—not too far—twenty minutes. To a darkened area of Old Town Clovis and a bench that sat nestled in the corner of buildings that saw little use. A giant For Lease sign was in one window. Had been off and on for a number of years. The nightlife on the other side of the building suggested that of the weekly karaoke night, its current singer heavily intoxicated if the slurred words and missed notes were any indication.

  He or she had probably had help from a heavy dose of jack, scotch, vodka, or beer.

  Only nine days ago Haley might have been in that crowd. Working on whatever drink she'd been given. Drowning out the noise in her skull and in her chest. Using whatever excuse that worked for the night. It would be so easy to—

  "Thinking about heading over there?" The gentle glide of a skateboard came seconds before Ricky appeared in front of her. He stopped, abandoned the black board and sat next to her on the bench.

  She shook her head. "Missing something?" She nodded toward the board he'd left behind. The kid always had the multicolored one she'd seen in Sam's foyer.

  The music from the bar—and the singer—reached a full-scale crescendo. Something about a man missing his woman. It was followed by a chorus of equally ear-piercing cheers.

  "Nope. I left it at Sam's." He turned toward her, sat with his legs crisscrossed. "So, you were thinking about the bar."

  "I am thinking about kicking your...butt. Do not ever do what you did earlier today again."

  "What?" His forehead crinkled. "Bring you somewhere where someone wasn't afraid to call you out on the crap? Make you open your eyes."

  Open her eyes? "Maybe someone ought to do that to you."

  He raised one hand, waving toward himself. "Bring it."

  Fine. "Why did you leave the board at my sister's?"

  "She'll need it."

  Unlikely. "And I've really been to your house in North Carolina more than once?"

  "Yes. The very first time you came, you were sober."

  She couldn't bring it to mind. But if he wasn't messing with her, it had been happening for at least a year. Maybe longer. At this point there was only the drunken haze sprinkled with moments of sobriety that hadn't lasted. Sobriety that stemmed from a lack of funds or opportunity. "Where did you get that medallion you gave my sister?"

  He didn't even flinch. "Anne Morris."

  What? Haley stood. "Do you know where she is? Here. Now."

  "If I did, I would've tried to convince her to go home, but she won't. She's scared. And I think you know why. It has to do with the beach. If you could remember..."

  The beach. "What do you know about that?"

  "I know you have to remember it. How you ended up there. How Claudia ended up in the ocean with a cement block tied to her waist."

  An image of a pier came to mind. The rope was coarse in her hands. Her shaking hands. They were cut and bloody. The sand was soft beneath her bare feet. The waves were rolling over them, attempting to hide her ankles. There'd been so much she wanted to say. To do.

  And then the moment was gone and she was on Elliot's couch. Wishing she was dead. Knowing she wasn't even close.

  What did you do?

  The question had never bothered her before. Had never hit a place that was so raw. So open. Had never fallen near answers that weren't at the ready.

  Somebody hit her...

  "You were there, you tell me."

  He shook his head. "I found you on the beach, a giant goose egg on your—"

  "Should've known you would be near a bar." The deep voice came from behind her. Had every hair on her body standing on edge.

  She didn't have to turn around to know that Ryan was behind her. Maybe with a gun. Maybe something worse.

  A ripple of anxiety clawed at her. Ricky moved toward them, his body still in the shadows. As if he meant to fight this battle. She gave one shake of her head. This wasn't his fight. It was hers.

  He stopped. Faded to nothing, skateboard and all.

  Ryan's fingers circled her arm. Then he yanked her so she faced him. Far too close for comfort. Close enough for her to see the emotions moving across his face. The bandage on his head. And smell the scotch on his breath—he'd likely had it neat, two fingers, never more than that on any given day. "You never change."

  He'd expect her to be drunk. Expect her to be so far out of her mind she wouldn't put up a struggle. So he could choke her or shoot her or whatever got him off.

  "Back off." She jerked her arm, but his fingers only tightened.

  "After what you did earlier today?" He shook his head. "Where's the girl?"

  "Don't you think if I knew I'd have alerted someone by now? Helped bring her home to her family?" Made sure they knew to stay far away from Ryan Henderson. Made sure they understood that while Ryan may have given them back a fraction of their child's hearing, he couldn't give them anything else.

  His promises were worthless.

  "I think you'd do whatever would bring you the most fame."

  Right now she wanted to do whatever would bring him the most pain. "I think you don't know me at all."

  "Claudia Morris is alive. What do you think is going to happen when she regains consciousness?"

  The gash on the other woman's forehead and fear in her eyes flashed in Haley's vision. The knowledge that if she didn't do something Claudia would die.

  Find Samantha...

  Haley might have tried to save her, but that didn't mean her poor choices hadn't put Claudia in the position to begin with. "Maybe that's what I want."

  Ryan grabbed her other arm, his nostrils flared and his eyes alive with rage. They were nose to nose. She didn't dare breathe. And she could've rammed her knee into his groin, but she didn't.

  There was a story. It hummed in her spine. And maybe if she waited, she could draw it out. Expose the charitable donations, and all-around good boy for the darkness that had made him put his fingers around her neck.

  What happens when you're dead?

  "If something were to happen to you no one would miss you. You know it. You're a miserable waste of space. A liar and a cheat."

  She'd done a lot of things she wasn't proud of, there was no arguing that point. Ryan's fingers tightened on her arms. Caused a healthy dose of pain to ripple through her limbs. She refused to give into the urge to let him see that it affected her at all.

  "I'll take it from here, Ryan." Simon's deep voice proceeded him. He wore the same pants and button-up from earlier. The same calm demeanor, but his eyes... The second he got within range, Haley could see the anger shooting from them. Could feel the absolute stillness in the air.

  Ryan released her. Stepped back.

  Haley wanted to mirror those movements. Get as far from both men as she could—Ryan for obvious safety reasons. And Simon...

  He stopped in front of them, his gaze piercing her. "We need to have that chat we discussed."

  Right. A chat. More like a long interrogation in a shadowy room. Hours of that had to be better than Ryan's thinly veiled threats. "If you insist."

  "She'll run again." Ryan crossed his arms over his chest. "She's probably drunk. Maybe you ought to take her away in cuffs. Not let her out again."

  Simon's gaze wandered toward the other man. "If you've got a complaint regarding the incident earlier, file it down at the station."

  "She knows why Claudia Morris is in that hospital bed. And she probably knows where the woman's daughter is as well."

  "You've got my card. I'd be interested in any information you may have." Simon gestured toward the dark car parked in front of where they stood, his gaze hitting Haley in a way that flipped her heart over—made her want to run. Made her want to argue with whatever he might say or do. "After you."

  Haley had spent a lot of time in less-than-stellar situations. S
he'd covered the troops in Iraq. She'd interviewed the locals. She'd dealt with mortars, enemy gunfire, and friendly gunfire. She'd been through Katrina. Lived out of her car. Run from the police. Lost a mother. Lost a father. Been assaulted.

  Not one of those situations had prepared her for the absolute dread settling in her gut as she walked toward Simon's vehicle. Because Simon was the type of guy who was interested in far more than booking a criminal.

  He'd be interested in the truth.

  ____

  Haley followed Simon into Clovis Community Hospital. He hadn't said a word on the drive over. Hadn't taken her to the police station as she'd expected. Instead they'd pulled up to the hospital and he'd gotten out.

  She'd followed because the alternative wasn't worth it. Disappearing. Running forever. Leaving her sister to deal with the aftermath.

  Why hadn't he cuffed and taken her in?

  The unanswered questions were enough to propel her forward. To shrug off the threat of Ryan showing up here. Of Claudia remembering the elusive information Haley could not. The possibility that she'd call the authorities and Haley would be left defending actions she couldn't even give details on.

  She caught up to Simon. "What are we doing here?"

  He didn't even spare her a glance. Hadn't when they'd gotten in his car. When they'd parked. In the elevator. She'd used the tactic before. Sometimes it got people talking—people who couldn't stand silence.

  "You'll see."

  The lead anvil would drop. It was a matter of when. "I'm not drunk. Ryan—"

  "I know."

  Her step faltered. He knew? As in, he actually believed her?

  His dark eyes hit her then. "I've seen you drunk. I can tell the difference."

  Right. That. Shame blasted through her. "I—"

  "Tell me about Ryan Henderson. It appears his obvious dislike of you runs rather deep. Or is that par for the course?"

  Ryan Henderson was used to getting whatever he wanted. Fame. Money. Answers. "Why not take his statement and be done with whatever this is? I'm sure you have better things to do with your time."

  "I do."

  "Then why not expedite this process? Why parade me through the hospital?"