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

by Rachel Trautmiller

  He stopped and turned toward her, his hands on his hips. The abruptness of the motion made her pull up short to avoid smacking right into his broad chest. Left her standing there looking at him—his tall frame, muscular shoulders, the stupid edge of the tattoo on his bicep, and his serious demeanor that had her heart beating out of whack.

  "I plan to take his statement. And I plan to get yours. This is your opportunity to be forthcoming, Haley. Why does Ryan Henderson—a guy who donates millions of dollars and whom people will fly around the globe to see—hate you? Why were you against getting in my car earlier today, but changed your mind the second you saw him? What do you have that he wants? And why does he think you have anything to do with Claudia Morris?"

  Honesty isn't so hard.

  It wasn't the honesty that was the issue. It was the lack of knowledge. The fear that she'd done something beyond repair.

  She hadn't killed Claudia—hadn't hurt her, but the images. Her body. The woods. It had been on repeat for months. Distorted. Filled with rage. Only coming into focus in the last twenty-four hours. What if Haley had been the cause of the wound on her head? The cause of her daughter's disappearance?

  Haley couldn't sit on that information. Not if it could save a life. But she also couldn't just hand it over in the hopes that the person on the other end would do their due diligence and get to the very bottom of the barrel of answers.

  She had to figure it out. Give it to the world in a story. Maybe the last one she ever told.

  "Are you familiar with the cochlear implant for hearing impairment?"

  He eyed her. "Sure."

  "Ryan designed a hearing device that works similarly to a cochlear implant, but instead of using electrical pulses inside the ear, his instrument uses micro-LEDs."

  Simon gave a few quick shakes of his head. "Micro-LEDs? And this device has to do with his very deep hatred of you? What did you do? Steal it?"

  No. But maybe she should have. Maybe then Anne wouldn't be missing. And Claudia wouldn't be in a hospital bed fighting for her life. "A cochlear implant turns sound into electric signals sent to the brain, but Ryan's device turns sound into light. The LEDs flash on the neurons and that information is sent to the brain. They've spent years testing the device in rodents and primates with success. Anne Morris was their first human clinical trial."

  And she'd gone missing shortly after they'd had success. Before Ryan could show her off to the world—something Claudia did not want. More publicity. "Prior to the surgery, the Morris' had started scaling back Anne's music career. Gave fewer interviews."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. I wasn't in a position to care." But she should have, because you didn't have the kind of story the Morris' had—the talent—and then disappear off the radar. You didn't agree to an FDA trial and then not produce the results. "Ryan's an egotistical doctor who's only concerned about his FDA approval. And he thinks his reputation—all that money he donates and the people who fly around the world to see him—will hold him up in every situation."

  Even ending a life.

  "He said something similar about you." Simon stepped closer. So close she could feel the heat emanating from his large frame. "That you are so interested in making a name for yourself you'd go so far as to induce a story."

  There wasn't a way to answer that. She'd done a lot of things she wasn't proud of. A lot of things she could never take back.

  Broken into people's homes. Used every trick in the book to coerce a conversation from an unwilling subject. Taken things that didn't belong to her. But she'd never killed anyone. Never separated a family.

  Not that she could recall.

  It has to do with the beach.

  "Maybe create one where none exists." His brown gaze froze her. "Inflict harm."

  No. "Are you suggesting I'd hold a girl hostage for the heck of it?"

  "Would you?" He turned and walked away, his motions controlled. The kind of control that came with extreme anger.

  She rushed to keep up. She shouldn't have wanted to. She should've taken the hint and hightailed it for cover, because that anger had everything to do with her.

  "No." That accusation she should—could—answer definitively. There were no memories of holding anyone against their will. "I can barely take care of myself. Where would I even hide a teenage girl for six months?"

  "A dead body is easier to manage than an alive one."

  "I disagree. You still have to find a place to dispose of said body."

  The beach flashed in front of her. A rope in her hands. It was coarse. Her hands were bleeding. Raw.

  He'll come for you. I promise.

  "He also said you held him at gunpoint earlier today inside this hospital." Simon's voice drew her back to the present.

  Anger flashed through her. "That was the other way around."

  A maneuver she hadn't seen coming until he was already within feet of her inside the ICU. Her cameraman was already counting down until the live feed. Haley had bailed. Just dropped her mic and headed for the stairs. Hadn't wanted to risk getting stuck in an elevator with Ryan.

  The rest was history. The gun he'd had against her forehead. The hate emanating from him.

  Sam could vouch for that. She could—

  No. She couldn't, because they'd slung from that time to another and there was no way to explain that type of thing. Not without making all three of them sound like a bunch of idiots.

  She'd tried so many times in her life. Stupidly. For attention. To get whatever she wanted. And even though the selfish desire hummed near the surface, she didn't unleash it. It wasn't her story to tell. It was Sam's.

  And Sam was all Haley had left of normalcy.

  Sam, who'd dumped out the alcohol without question tonight. Sam, who'd always dealt with Haley's problems as if they were a simple fix. Sam, who'd just been the amazing woman their mother had always hoped they'd both be. And Haley had always struggled with both admiring and hating it. Not wanting to see it fade, but unable to be near and really watch it flourish.

  They rounded the corner. Came to stop in front of a set of glass doors. Monitors noted Claudia's progress, her body still under white bedding. Her husband held one hand, his eyes glued to the steady rise and fall of her chest.

  He'll come for you. I promise.

  The words popped into Haley's mind, leaving no doubt that the person on the receiving end of the words was the woman now in the hospital bed. The room had been spinning around Haley, an opened bottle heavy in her hand. She'd slurred something unintelligible. About the implant. About Anne. About some kind of plan.

  The drunkenness hadn't seemed to matter. Why wouldn't it? What mother in their right mind would place her faith in a stumbling drunk?

  Haley sucked in a slow breath. Tried to tamp down the urge to run. To get out and disappear. Find a bottle of liquor and drink it. Drink until the shaking in her hands stopped. And her heart ceased beating out of her chest.

  Her hand went to her abdomen, to the slight bulge of pregnancy only noticeable to her. She'd been unable to fit into her pants for about a week. Had resorted to using a belly band so she could wear the clothes she had. In another ten to twelve weeks there would be no way to hide it.

  From the Colonel. From Sam. From everybody.

  Haley didn't even have a house. A place to put any of the things a baby needed. Experience to help guide her in the way to care for a tiny human. She probably didn't have a job anymore either. Not after she'd bailed on the live feed.

  No amount of blackmail could change that.

  At this rate, she'd likely give birth behind bars and her name would be erased from her child's memory forever. It would only take a few well-respected voices to chime in.

  "Haley." Simon's voice pulled her to the present. To the hospital. To the man now standing in front of them. Shaking Simon's hand.

  Claudia's husband. Kent.

  "Kent, this is Haley Billings."

  Kent clasped her hand with both of his. "Hale
y. Yes. I remember you. You wrote an article about my daughter. About Anne."

  Except he'd been younger then, the lines in his face not so pronounced, no gray hair now interspersed with the dark. She remembered the way he'd commanded the attention of the room, the way he'd been so charismatic during the initial interview. So full of life as if nothing could ever get him down. Not even the accident that had taken his young daughter's hearing.

  "There was an immediate bond between you and Anne. We—we were so thankful you helped us with Anne's hearing. Put us in touch with Dr. Henderson. It was a miracle." He released her hand. Cleared his throat. "We—I thought that was the worst thing we'd ever go through. Helping our daughter cope with the sudden loss." His gaze flicked back to his wife. "Turns out there are worse things." He shook his head, his gaze swinging to Simon. "Captain Riley is about the only one left that hasn't stopped looking for our daughter in all these months."

  A sizzle of something—suspicion, curiosity—went through her. Why would Simon spend his spare time trying to find a girl everyone had written off? Of course a grieving father would cling to that, but why had he come to Hope Alive now?

  He looked at Simon. "We still have hope, Captain Riley."

  "Hope is a good thing." Simon's hand found her shoulder. Sent a spiral of sensation down her back. "Haley's part of the Hope Alive team."

  What? What was he saying? "I'm not—"

  Simon's fingers gave a squeeze before they left her. "She's got some inside knowledge, so that should be helpful."

  No. No, she didn't have any knowledge. She couldn't be helpful. Couldn't do a thing to aid her sister. She didn't have anything to do that with.

  Her chest got tight.

  Touch that girl and it will be your last visit...

  "I'm—" His voice took on a husky quality, hope fluid in the syllable. "Thank you so much, Haley. That means the world to me to know you're on our side."

  But was she? She couldn't be on his side if she'd been the one to cause all of this. And how could he trust a woman he'd met only a handful of times? A connection between her and Anne?

  No. It was the stupidest thing she'd heard.

  Anything she could say would make all of this worse, so she nodded. Worked down the panic boiling in her system.

  "We won't keep you. We only wanted to check in and let you know we're pulling for Claudia and we're not giving up on finding Anne."

  Mr. Morris nodded. "The body they said was Claudia's, but obviously isn't—you're looking into that, right? Someone's missing their family member. I know what that's like."

  "The department is following up on it, I assure you."

  Kent straightened. "We've had reporters in here. Asking for statements. I'm at a loss for words. I keep repeating the same thing. That I'm grateful she's alive and that we wish to have our privacy respected."

  "You need to post a guard." The words bounced around the space as her own. She swallowed. "It's pretty simple to get past security. And fact of the matter is you have no idea what you're up against. Regardless of the fact that she's alive, she's still been gone for six months. You'll need answers. You won't have them until she wakes up."

  And not ever if someone came in and made another attempt on her life.

  Kent's gaze swung to Simon.

  "We've already got some in place." Simon's eyes lit around the ICU, not touching any one specific person. And all Haley saw was busy hospital personnel buzzing from room to room, answering phones, and entering chart notes. "I'm sorry it didn't come sooner."

  "Thank you. Thank you both." Kent headed back beyond the glass doors. Back to his spot beside his wife's bed.

  He really thought Haley could help. He couldn't understand what everyone else did—that she truly was a waste of space.

  Until nine days ago, she'd enjoyed the no-strings type of lifestyle. Had romanticized the idea of answering to nothing and no one. Not having any roots.

  Simon moved away from the room, down the way they'd come. She caught up to him. Wanted to grab his attention and slap him so hard his head would spin. "You just promised him something that's not even true. Do you even actually have any guards up here?"

  He continue walking, his pace leisurely. "I do. And, no. I didn't."

  Frustration bubbled up. "I can't—"

  His brown eyes swung toward her, stern. Mesmerizing. Her breath caught in her throat. Caused her to stop in her tracks.

  He faced her. "You're going to help. And while you help find his daughter, I'll determine if you'd actually attempt to kill your sister."

  "What?" The word echoed through the quiet hall. Garnered a few stares from the nurses. She lowered her voice. "What are you talking about? I would not—she's my sister."

  "Ballistics say otherwise. Your prints. Likely your gun. Your ammo—purchased yesterday. Your actions don't help a lot either."

  "No." She shook her head, all the dread she'd been holding at bay overflowing. Her stomach hit a boil. A slideshow of the way she'd treated her sister in recent months flashed in front of her. The number of times she'd been drunk and uncontrollable. The way Ryan walked around with accusations.

  Simon could use it all against her. And all they'd need is someone respectable—someone like Ryan—to back it up.

  "I haven't touched my gun in months." It was in her trunk. In a safe that only she knew the code for. "I didn't buy any ammo."

  "Bank statements say otherwise. Where were you this morning between eight and ten?"

  She'd woken up at Elliot's. Driven to the station. Sat in her car contemplating opening the liquor bottle until Drew had come and told her about a Jane Doe—about Claudia. "In my car. Outside Channel 24."

  He shook his head. "You'll join Hope Alive. The other option is handcuffs, Haley. Immediately. A team using the search warrant I have. Due process."

  He had a search warrant? "I wouldn't—"

  "Good." He started forward again. "I expect to hear you arrived on time for work in the morning. And I'll know if you don't. This isn't a story you can rewrite. You've only got one shot at this. Don't mess it up."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  IT WAS DARK out when Elliot arrived at Sam's house in north Fresno. She opened her door with a tired smile and let him inside without any hesitation. She was dressed in black shorts and a teal T-shirt tied at one side. Her chestnut hair was up in a messy pony at the top of her head.

  And all the lines he'd rehearsed—the ways he'd envisioned breaking the truth to her—died in his throat.

  "Hi." She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "I was thinking about calling you."

  "Yeah?" He followed her past a long table filled with knickknacks. Past the colorful skateboard leaning against the wall beside it—his childhood skateboard.

  Everything inside him wanted to stop. Put the truth out there. See how she'd react. It was the perfect opening.

  Do you trust her?

  Could you go from a distanced regard to full-blown trust in less than twenty-four hours?

  "But I figured you were busy with the way you rushed out of Shaver Lake."

  "I had an appointment and a few briefings. Requested some leave." Had attempted to meet up with her as soon as possible, but the military was all about hurry up and wait.

  She turned back toward him, those eyes trapping him. "Please tell me you aren't using your vacation on Hope Alive."

  "I'm overdue for some time off."

  "Which by definition means you actually take time off." She started toward the kitchen again. "Do something fun. Not run around Fresno looking for a lost girl. Or get shot at in the woods."

  "I'm already committed, Sam. There's no going back. That ship sailed this morning. How's your cheek?"

  One hand went to the bandaged area. "Could be better, could be worse. Your shoulder?"

  "Fine." He'd cleaned it out in his childhood bathroom and applied a bandage.

  "Haley came by earlier—sober. She wanted my laptop and admitted to not having a place to stay. She
asked about the medallion and Ricky. Then Simon called and she freaked out. Disappeared."

  "As in ran out the front door or...?"

  Sam stopped at her kitchen table, papers scattered across it, her laptop open to a paused black and white video.

  "She slung herself forward. I saw where she was headed as if I were actually there with her. Ricky was right. I can actually see it as if I was in her mind too—I wasn't always paying attention to it." She cringed. "That's probably not the best scientific explanation..."

  The skateboard was in his line of sight. "About Ricky."

  "He's a kid—"

  "Not just any kid, Sam." He had to. Had to put it out there and see. He'd talked about mutual trust. That didn't get built without opening up. And while he would eventually figure out exactly why the younger version of himself continued to show up in this current time on his own, it would be easier with Sam's help.

  "I know, I know. Lucinda says I don't know enough about him. That I'm putting myself in a bad position. But he's special. He's smart. And he stepped in and saved me last summer in that warehouse."

  Everything inside of him froze. "What?"

  "I was already headed in after Haley and he showed up. Confirmed what I already knew. That if I didn't go in, Haley wouldn't come out alive."

  The building cropped up in his mind from a different vantage point—a point where his older self hadn't yet been present. He could see Sam, the hesitation on her face. The worry. The knowledge swirled around him, the source unclear.

  "If he hadn't been there, that beam would've fallen on my head. I'd be dead. And then you showed up..."

  And now everything made sense. The way she'd withheld information in the hospital—not a lot—but enough that he'd known she was doing it. Enough that it made him so angry he'd wanted to call her out, because it wasn't her norm. "I wanted to check it out. Get a good idea of what we were doing."

  Instead of a quiet building, he'd seen a mass inferno. He'd seen Sam's car, but she was nowhere in sight. His mind had made leaps in an instant and he'd been inside the burning building in seconds. He'd been angry, scared, and unprepared, his mind latching to the fact that he wasn't even supposed to show up for another couple of hours.