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

by Rachel Trautmiller

  The lock released. He opened it. Found a flash drive and an envelope. He picked up the envelope, opened it, and pulled out several pictures.

  The pale skin and sightless eyes registered in an instant that had him back at the bus station sitting next to Haley as if it were yesterday. As if the sadness emanating from her was present, right here, and not years in the past.

  That maybe more than anything else had kept him off that bus.

  Elliot stood.

  "It's Sam." Simon followed suit. It had been Sam forever. In little bursts that came to him like a movie he could see. Haley showing up at Knight House. Most times drunk. A few times sober.

  It was those sober moments.

  Elliot shook his head. A storm raged across his face. He already had his phone out. "That's not—those pictures. No."

  "You said Haley asked you to look after Sam."

  "Yeah." Elliot's voice was shrill and loud—far from the I'm-in-command-of-everything tone he usually used. "I assumed she said that out of a benign reason, not because we'd be shot at or that there was actual threat of Sam getting killed."

  "You obviously took it to heart."

  Elliot had, even if he didn't realize it. Otherwise he wouldn't have checked up on her out at Shaver. He would've dismissed Haley. And Sam might be dead, her body left for campers to stumble upon. "We need to ask why."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  HALEY NEEDED ANSWERS. Needed to remember everything. Needed to know why she kept showing up in the past.

  She'd done a lot of messed-up things, but she wasn't messing around. Wasn't killing time. And Sam was not dead. She'd never been dead. So the images...

  It can't end like this.

  The voice had come from beyond the dark alley where she stood. A street lamp shed a bit of light on the road. There was no way anyone could see her in this dark area. She already had the safety off her Glock, the muzzle of it at her temple, her body angled so it would fall into the industrial-sized dumpster. It would be days before anyone discovered her, bugs and critters eating up her flesh in those hours.

  It would silence the voices forever. The good ones. The bad ones. The ones with interesting stories she hadn't yet explored. The memories she couldn't escape.

  There was a shadowy figure approaching—two of them—one a kid, the other older. The roll of Ricky's skateboard came through the light fall of rain. The droplets pelted her jacket and wiggled between her collar and onto her skin.

  Ricky had been a real pest she would miss—or maybe she wouldn't, because she'd be dead and there would be nothing following the blast of the metal into her brain.

  The man he was with stopped at the edge of the street light. It illuminated his military haircut, chiseled jaw, and overall annoyance that was Theo Trenton's signature emotion. Maybe the one he'd been born with.

  Ricky rolled forward, a little slower.

  She knew them both. In adult form. One was dead, the other overworked and desperate for change. She lowered her weapon and flicked the safety. The goal here was not to traumatize anyone—especially a kid. The goal had been a chance to get her story out before she ended it in a place where no one knew who she was.

  "Go home." Her mind wasn't nearly powerful enough to sling either of them anywhere. Sam had been good at that. Sam could've taken these two and sent them home where they belonged. Or wherever she saw fit.

  But Sam was gone. And there was no bringing her back. And the story she'd been chasing—Theo's story—was finished and in the Knight's hands for safe keeping.

  "Come on, kid." Theo spit a wad of saliva toward the asphalt. He grabbed something from his pocket and then a flick of a lighter came, followed by the red glow of a cigarette. "I told you this was a waste of time."

  Ricky was right in front of her now—his blast forward seamless. "You can save her."

  "Death is final." She'd tried so many times to go back and fix what had been done. And every time, the same thing happened in a different manner. She couldn't live through it again. She had too few details to make a lasting change. "You know that."

  He held out his hand. "We can save her. Trust me." Two circular pieces of metal sat in his palm, the edge of light catching them. There was an "S" on one and an "H" on the other.

  Haley wanted to grab them both and squeeze them in her fingers. Fall to the concrete and let the heavens—let her sister—know that she was sorry. That it should've been Haley who'd been drug out into the forest and shot between the eyes.

  "We've just got to figure out who did it before they do it."

  Haley sucked in a deep breath. Wetness dribbled down her chin, her breathing stilted. She rubbed a palm across her cheeks. Brought back tears.

  The alley was gone. Ricky was gone. Theo was gone. The sweltering summer heat replaced the rain. There was no gun at her hip as she stood outside of Hope Alive.

  We've just got to figure out who...

  She needed to get to Sam. Needed to find her. Hug her. Tell her she was sorry for being a horrible screwup. That she could change. She would.

  Starting with the information locked in her brain.

  The hazy details of Claudia's accident. The beach with Ricky and Theo. The moment in the past with Simon. The fact that maybe—just maybe—Theo Trenton hadn't been dead all this time.

  Sam would understand. Or she would try.

  Haley walked into Hope Alive.

  The crack of gunfire split the air. The glass door shattered behind her. She hit the floor in a crouch and rolled toward Lucinda's desk.

  An arm came into sight. Haley's heart shot into her throat. She crawled in that direction. A pool of blood surrounded Lucinda's torso, a trail of red coming from her left shoulder.

  Haley pressed her fingers to the woman's neck. Felt a faint pulse against her fingertips.

  Her stomach shot upward as she grappled to get her phone from her pocket. Dialed 9-1-1. Set the phone on the floor and hit speaker. An operator came over the line in seconds. "9-1-1, state your emergency."

  There was a shuffle from the back of the office. The careful tap of soles on marble. The wafting smell of nicotine.

  No, no, no.

  "9-1-1, state your emergency."

  She took the call off speaker. Knew the operator on the other end would have steps she'd take. They'd try to get her to communicate via a series of beeps or taps. They'd attempt to locate her phone. But the cops wouldn't get here in time. And Lucinda... Her face was already pale.

  It was a through-and-through shot. Had to be. She'd seen them in Iraq. Seen them...

  Sam's sightless eyes came to mind.

  There were wounds on other parts of her body. Her shoulder. Her arm. Her leg.

  Focus.

  The shooter was nowhere in sight. Lucinda's desk hid them from the direction the bullet had come. Why wasn't this guy coming after them? Why hadn't he shown himself and gunned her down?

  She whipped off her jacket. Pressed the inside of it to Lucinda's wound.

  The woman's eyes fluttered open, then focused on her. "Haley?" One hand gripped her T-shirt, red tracking across the surface. "You shouldn't be here."

  She shook her head. "Well, I am. Where's Sam?"

  "Gone."

  No. Everything inside of her stopped, her heart dropping out of her body. She couldn't be too late. "Gone, how?"

  "Out with Agent Knight."

  Relief whooshed inside her ears. "You're sure?"

  "Yes." Lucinda's eyes closed. "This is not your fault."

  No. She lifted Lucinda into her arms. This was not her fault, but somebody was going to pay.

  ____

  2019

  Sam should've done anything but sling herself forward the second she'd walked Vi out of Hope Alive. The second she'd gotten in her car and moved down the road.

  Sam should've figured out where Haley had gone. What Jeff was up to. What Simon and Elliot had found at the old warehouse.

  If Haley had appeared in Vi's time—fourteen years give or take—sobe
r and wanting to end her life, there was a reason. And Sam had to make sure that reason didn't exist. Didn't propel her sister from this world forever.

  Instead she found herself in front of her house.

  There were changes, subtle, but there. The door was new—a maroon color instead of the blue she'd purchased it with.

  She put her key in the lock. It didn't budge. She removed it and tried the lever. Heard the latch click. The blue one had always creaked when opened, this one had well-oiled hinges that didn't make a sound.

  She never left it unlocked. Not even when she was home. She had her gun out of its holster and the safety flipped in less than a second.

  An aroma of apples and cinnamon wafted to her as she stepped inside and toed the door shut. A clank came from the kitchen. Sam took careful steps in that direction, her heart pounding through her with every one.

  Intruders didn't make apple pie. What if in the future this wasn't her house? What if...

  The edge of a shadow appeared where the kitchen met the hallway. "Show yourself. Hands up."

  "Sam?" Haley's voice held the edge of incredulity, as she peeked around the wall, only half of her face showing.

  "Haley?" Sam flipped the safety on her weapon. Holstered it, a whoosh of air leaving her body. The pound of adrenaline made her legs like wet noodles. She braced a hand on the wall near the stairs. "I could've shot you. What are you doing?"

  "Sam!" A clank reverberated in the space as Haley moved around the corner and grabbed her in a hug that squeezed the life out of her. Haley's body shook.

  Worry shot through Sam. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine." There was a sniffle, faint, but there. "You... You just caught me by surprise."

  "You don't sound fine." Sam pulled back, noted the tears in her sister's brown eyes. "You're crying."

  Haley wiped at her face, then rubbed her fingers along the red apron she wore over a dark colored pair of jeans and a light blue shirt. "I'm good. I promise."

  There was a red mark across her neck, the pink of healing skin shouting its recent history. It was jagged and uneven. Sam reached toward it. "What happened?"

  Haley slapped a hand to the area, backed up a step.

  And Sam prepared for a lie, a half-truth, or complete avoidance. For her sister to flip out and disappear off the radar for a few weeks.

  "Someone tried to slit my throat, but they were in a hurry and missed my jugular." Her gaze hit the floor. "And they underestimated my will to survive."

  Shock had her stuck to the spot. Had her seeing red. "When? Was it Ryan?"

  "It happened a year ago. They never caught the guy."

  "What?" No way. If it had happened in Fresno, there's no way Simon wouldn't have been all over it. "And you're leaving doors open?"

  Haley moved into the kitchen. There was a plethora of empty Jack Daniel's shooters on the counter next to a funnel and a pot of something on the stove. "Nobody cares about a drunk, Sam."

  Everything inside her sank. Her sister didn't look drunk. There hadn't been the sharp scent of alcohol. The slurred words and unsteady gait. "You don't seem drunk to me."

  Haley threw a gaze over her shoulder. "Congratulations, then. You're not a moron."

  The click of the front door opening hit her ears. Elliot walked through and into the kitchen, a bag in his hand, his eyes glued to his phone. "They didn't have..." He looked up. His eyes locked on Sam, his violet-blue gaze hungry and roaming her face in a way that stripped her bare. Then it flicked to Haley before returning to Sam.

  A zap of something stretched between them.

  The bag dropped from his fingers and hit the floor. And then he headed toward her. Had her in an embrace, his lips on hers, soft and sure and far better than she'd imagined. Her hand found his face, the prickliness of a man in need of a shave registering in a way that pulled her closer.

  He smelled like warm sunshine, laundry soap, and something that was purely Elliot.

  He deepened the kiss as if he hadn't seen her in years. As if he had to make up for that time in the only way he knew how. As if he never intended to stop.

  "So much for going slow in this situation, Elliot." Haley's voice cut into the silence.

  He broke away from her. There were dark circles under his eyes. Lines across his forehead that hadn't been there last time she'd seen him. "I'm sorry. That probably seems a little out of left field to you."

  "I'm not complaining. I mean, if you want to get that kind of kiss out of your system again anytime, I'm happy to help."

  Elliot's gaze flicked to her lips, heavy lidded, every desire right there. It sparked her own. Sam could've easily stepped back into his embrace for another round, but she didn't.

  "I'm a little concerned. You're both acting strange." She turned toward her sister, whose gaze was stuck on the pot she tended with a wooden spoon. "You're in my house and there are liquor bottles everywhere. Somebody attempted to kill Haley. So, who's going to explain this?"

  Elliot retrieved the bag from the floor and set it on the table. "We—" His gaze flicked to her sister. "I empty them and then Haley fills them back up with a caramel-colored liquid."

  Haley rolled her eyes. "I'm capable of doing it. I told you that."

  He shook his head.

  Her sister's brown eyes hit Sam. "He doesn't trust me."

  "I worry about you." Elliot crossed his arms over his chest. "There's a difference."

  "I spend a lot of time in bars and around alcohol. I haven't touched a drop."

  "Why?" Why would her sister put herself through that?

  His gaze flicked to Haley before bouncing back to Sam. "We're working on something."

  Haley shrugged. "People tend to give a drunk person more information. Or they have open conversations around them assuming they aren't coherent. Everybody is used to me being that person, so it works out."

  "I still don't understand why you're doing it. Are you trying to catch the person responsible for trying to kill you? Because that's dang—"

  "You were murdered, Samantha." The Colonel's voice emerged as he appeared in the kitchen in a pressed suit, his hands in his pockets. "The same night someone attacked Haley."

  "What?" A buzz hummed inside her skull. Her breath got jammed in her esophagus.

  "Colonel." There was a warning in Elliot's tone, the same one he'd given her inside the hospital.

  Slow down.

  No. There wasn't any slowing down here. "What are you talking about?"

  Colonel's jaw clenched a moment, his lips forming a firm line with the motion. "The case quickly became a cold one, especially once Simon Riley committed suicide."

  "Suicide?"

  Haley's back was toward them, a stillness falling around her. She stirred the pot with a control that bordered on angry. "He was murdered working the case."

  No. No. This was all wrong. "This isn't funny."

  The Colonel hadn't moved from his spot. "Simon walked into a crowded bar full of people and pulled the trigger on himself. There's no evidence to support anything different."

  Haley spun around, her spoon pointed toward the Colonel. A bit of liquid splattered the tile. "I'm finding evidence."

  "It's nearly been a year. What evidence there was is gone."

  Sam sank to the chair at the table. The Colonel and Haley continued their verbal sparring. Elliot sat next to her, his blue-violet gaze latching on to her. "You're here." His voice was soft and filled with turmoil.

  And that mind-blowing kiss made sense now.

  "I needed some answers. Your mom said Haley showed up at your childhood home sober. That she tried to kill herself, but you—Ricky—talked her out of it." She watched him. She couldn't be dead. Simon couldn't be dead. It wasn't real. "Can you tell me...?"

  He shook his head. "We don't have a lot of information."

  "You obviously have enough." Her hand flicked to the counter filled with empty containers. "You've formed a plan. You're exacting it. When did it happen?"

  "I don't—can't
—" His beautiful gaze flicked to the Colonel and Haley. "He shouldn't have told you that. It's too much. Too shocking. You shouldn't spend your time looking over your shoulder."

  "Or maybe I should. We're not just talking about my life here. Simon's also involved. Simon. One of your oldest friends."

  Elliot flinched as if she'd slapped him. "You knowing the details won't do any good."

  "Says you."

  He grabbed her hands. "I need you to do what you do, but be very careful, okay? Remember what I said about other travelers being the biggest threat."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Present Day

  SIMON HAD STUPIDLY assumed he'd put everything time-travel related behind him when he'd left North Carolina. Even when Elliot had moved to town he'd given it little thought.

  They were older. Wiser. They both understood that things happened that were outside of anyone's control. Running around trying to fix all the wrongs in the world with absorptions and slingshots could only accomplish so much.

  And then Haley had started showing up. In his jurisdiction. Under his watch. In his lockup. Claudia and Anne Morris went missing and Harper Valencourt blew his brains all over the Fresno County Sheriff's Department interview room.

  And he'd known. Somewhere inside himself, he'd known that the simplicity of normal cases was at an end.

  Still he'd held to the slim hope that he was way off base. That he was simply seeing evidence of time travel where none existed.

  He'd had better days convincing himself.

  Today wasn't one of them and the very last thing he wanted to do was confront his lieutenant about an event that shouldn't even be an issue—wouldn't be an issue if he didn't have a case that involved his ex-wife. If he didn't have a gun in his possession that had Haley's prints on it and residue from a recent firing.

  If he didn't have the chief watching his every move for those reasons alone and the grace period of twelve hours to get to the bottom of everything. If he didn't have the pictures of that ex-wife, dead. The feeling in his gut that this day—this week—was about to get a lot worse. And there was nothing he could do to stop it or fix it.