As if her words reminded his body of the area, it began to throb.
He released her. He needed to step away. Get away. Get his head back on straight. "It's a scratch. Any idea who'd want to shoot at us?"
She bit her lip. Shook her head.
"A client ticked off about an op? An ex-employee? An old boyfriend?"
She shook her head. "Minus last sum—" She cleared her throat. "Our clientele is, on the whole, satisfied and we don't have any ex-employees. Jeff called this morning, but I'm pretty sure the Colonel put him up to it." She brushed debris off her pants with hands that shook a little.
"Jeff?" His mind conjured the forensic investigator Sam had been married to. The one time they'd actually crossed paths. The way the other guy had been far too self-involved. Had thrown out his successes within minutes of meeting, including a laundry list of cases he'd been integral to. The way he jogged ten miles every other day. Never ate anything bad. Worked details like they were going out of style. He'd probably climb Everest sometime without any gear.
And he was all wrong for Sam.
Which was none of Elliot's business. Not then. Not now. He didn't know how long they'd been married nor why it had ended, who had started the process or if it had been mutual. He'd come to Hope Alive to save lives, not get entangled in the details of his coworkers' lives.
Which suddenly didn't sit well. He took the time to get to know everyone on his crew in the Air Force. It was important. It fostered trust. The action was like breathing. But he'd skipped it all right from the start at Hope Alive. For what? "Why would the Colonel put him up to calling you?"
She shook her head. "The same reason he put you on this case and cornered you in a way that left you little choice in the matter." Her eyes met his, the gray hue captivating. And challenging. "Admit it. You wanted to tell the Colonel no."
He folded his arms across his chest. "You didn't answer the question."
"Because it's irrelevant."
Was it? "How long were you married?"
Her mouth formed a firm line, her gaze tracing the wall to his left. "Almost two years."
He shook his head. "That's not enough time to foster any long-term loyalty. I've worked with the Colonel for years, Sam. He had a hand in my career. I'd go into combat with him and trust he'd drag me out if he had to."
Her gaze flashed back to him.
"I wouldn't call you for the heck of it just because he asked. Not if I didn't want to. Or didn't see a good reason."
This was no favor. He knew that deep down. Didn't want to analyze it. Like he didn't want to analyze everything else that had to do with Sam.
All emotion left her face. "It wasn't a request. It was a demand."
"Why?"
"It's complicated." She tried to move past him.
He caught her arm. Halted her forward progression, her skin soft against his hand. He knew from experience—from last year's fiasco—that if he let Sam off without explanation, she'd never come back around to it and he'd be left in the dark.
"I didn't tell the Colonel no. It didn't have anything to do with a request or a demand." It had everything to do with the woman in front of him. The one he shouldn't be touching. Shouldn't be pressing for answers. The one he should stay away from at all costs. Erase from his mind.
His days of jumping without a safety net were well in the past, but Sam was right in front of him. Begging him to do something. Her anxiety mixed with an unexplained emotion. He released her. He wasn't about to repeat last year's mistake. "I'm here, so explain it to me."
Her lips formed a firm line. "I'm interested in finding that girl. If someone saw her, we are wasting time here with trivial things."
"I wouldn't call them trivial." Judging from the rapid emotional retreat she was making, she didn't believe that either. "The last thing this place needs is a massacre attached to its name. And the last thing your family needs is you dead."
Her gaze was stuck on him, her mouth slightly parted as if she hadn't expected him to say anything, let alone release the slap of the simple truth.
And maybe that was his beef. Maybe the first time he'd ever walked in the door and shook hands with Sam, his mind had known she was different. Had known she'd tie him in knots if he ever got close. Would entice him to strap back into the time travel cockpit, in hopes of finding the ultimate G's.
And it scared you.
He took a breath. "I've got a friend with the Fresno County Sheriff's Department—an ex-Air Force guy. He might be able to help us get some answers. They can do some ballistics tests. Tell us what we might be up against."
She opened her mouth, but whatever she might have said was lost when the front door buzzer rang. A woman walked into the office with a bandage on her head. It was caked in dirt and blood, her bright blond hair sticking up in several places. Her eyes were bloodshot and wild as she focused on first Elliot and then Samantha.
"Sa—" The woman worked at swallowing, her voice a quiet, jerky whisper he could barely hear. The woman's clothing was drenched, water sliding from her skin and onto the carpet. "S-Samantha."
Sam moved closer even as everything inside of him urged her not to. "Ma'am, are you all right? You're soaked. And your head..."
The woman's gaze flicked back to him, her arm reaching out before liquid shot from her mouth and she crumpled to the ground.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY WEREN'T REAL.
The dog tags were not real. The woman—the stranger who'd burst into Hope Alive and asked for Sam by name—hadn't thrust them into Sam's hand as she'd fallen to the floor. Hadn't squeezed Sam's fingers together in an effort to keep the metal between the two of them.
This was all a part of a larger nightmare she'd wake from any moment. And the metal imprinted with a name, blood type, social security number, and faith preference would disappear.
Sam eyed the identification. It sat on the sink inside the bathroom she'd dodged into the moment they'd been alerted that their Jane Doe was alive and had been moved up to ICU inside Clovis Community Hospital.
She'd set them there the second she'd entered. Hadn't touched them since. The name was clear.
Theo Trenton.
He'd been buried—what they could find of his remains—in military honor. His wife had been presented the flag, Sam could see it like it was yesterday. Amelia Trenton was dressed in all black and wore a pair of giant sunglasses that hid her face from the world. She had taken the flag, the tags in her hand in an iron-clad grip.
So how had they gotten here?
This was a mess. Sam was a mess.
Literally. Figuratively. All the way around. Her reflection proved the fact. The cut she'd attempted to clean. There was dirt all over her clothing, stuck in the grooves of her favorite chunky black bracelets, and bits of twigs and forest growth in her hair.
She'd removed as much of it as she could and the only thing left to do was grab the tags and exit. And when she did, Elliot would be standing there. Expecting answers for why a woman she didn't know had called her by name. He'd expect a game plan she didn't have. An explanation for the dog tags he hadn't yet seen.
I'm here, so explain it to me.
And for once in her life, Sam had almost let it all out. Had almost bundled everything he'd done this morning—the compassion in relation to her mom, the way he'd protected her from harm with his own body—and thrown caution to the wind. Crossed a barrier she'd never glimpsed, let alone toed over.
Risked baring the truth. About everything from time travel to the disaster of Jeff.
Was Sam supposed to tell him the truth? Was she supposed to explain that the Colonel could blackmail Jeff after what had happened?
Two years ago Haley had gone after details on a story. She'd been with a group of friends—Jeff among them—and had been brutally assaulted in the process. Nothing had been the same since. Not that Haley had ever been predictable or super responsible beforehand.
No. Sam had known it wasn't a possibility, but the compulsi
on had been right there.
It had never happened before.
Growing up Haley had always been the one running around showing off this gift—or curse, depending on how one looked at it—as if it were a ghost story full of thrills. First with her close friends, then with anyone who would listen.
What she hadn't figured out until her teen years—what Sam had always known—was that there was no explaining this time travel thing. To a vast majority of people, what they did—absorption, slingshotting—was an illusion. Nothing more than a magic trick.
Sam had watched interest jump to distrust from the sidelines, while friends faded out. Until all that remained were people who were less than honest. People who wanted to use what Haley could do to their benefit.
They all eventually wanted answers. And the problem with answers was that most people didn't remember the progression of backward and forward momentum. Or if they did, it was of dreamlike quality easily dismissed.
And if the experience wasn't of those two types, it was dangerous.
For everyone involved.
There'd been no reasoning with her older sister. There never was.
Had Haley exposed her secret to Elliot? Was that why he hadn't been panicked about the odd progression of their morning?
Sam abandoned the efforts to right herself and pulled out her phone. Typed out a quick text message.
Where are you?
The phrase brought up a slew of memories. A game they'd played as kids—Haley's creation. A diversion to keep Sam out of her hair. Of course, back then it had been in notebooks and the replies hadn't been instantaneous. Sam would pose the question, Haley easily moving through time to reply with hints. The goal had always been to do so without getting caught.
At ten the game had been exciting, the thrill of figuring out where Haley had gone the highlight of her day. At twenty-four, the question wasn't a simple game. There were repercussions.
Haley would never reply with the truth. It would be a convoluted semi-truth as if Sam were her mother instead of her sister. Or she wouldn't respond at all. Which meant that Sam had been kidding herself. Clinging to hope when she should've busted down Haley's door and dragged her to some kind of get-your-life-together meeting.
Checked on her every single day. Been an actual sister instead of someone on the sidelines waiting for a miracle that needed a push to get off the ground.
Which is exactly what she'd do once she left here. Once she processed the fact that a stranger had asked for her by name. A stranger who had no identification and had collapsed in Sam's arms inside Hope Alive.
Sam pulled up another number—one she'd used only once—and hovered over the name. Shot off another text before she could change her mind. Before she could think about the ramifications. Because while she'd only talked to Ricky's mom one time, Sam knew she wouldn't be happy if her son revisited a crime scene, ended up hurt, or worse.
And there was only one way to stop that. One way to keep the kid safe. Even if that meant he never ended up in her neck of the woods with his multicolored skateboard ever again.
They could not, under any circumstances, repeat last year. An eleven-year-old should never even have an opportunity to save an adult. He should be as far from the situation as possible.
Sam wouldn't fail in that respect.
She took a breath. She needed to focus. Figure out who Jane Doe was and where she got the dog tags. Find Anne. Figure out what trouble Haley might be in. And she needed to come up with that game plan everyone expected from her.
She tucked her phone in her pocket, palmed the dog tags, and then exited the bathroom. Elliot stood in the hallway, his back toward her, the phone pressed to his ear. He turned as she neared, the slit near his right shoulder visible along with a small, dark stain. His eyes connected with hers. Roamed over her face, every place they touched lighting with the simmer of a slow burn.
She needed to get her act together. Pronto. Elliot's concern for her was just that. It didn't mean he'd forgotten their morning or their past. It didn't mean he'd ever understand how the universe worked for her. And she could never make him understand.
She'd had a moment of weakness. A moment where she hadn't wanted to be alone in this time travel thing. Wanted to have someone who understood. It wouldn't happen again.
"Thanks. Let me know what you find." He hung up and slipped his phone into his pocket. "Hey." He took a hesitant step closer. "I was wondering if you'd left."
"No." They'd followed the ambulance in her car, the stilted silence infused with unasked questions. His. Hers. Another opportunity where she'd almost opened her mouth and let it all out. Instead she'd tried to focus on the possible number of ways their Jane Doe might have come across her name.
Had failed to think straight sitting so close to Elliot.
"Did they take a look at your cheek?"
Sam moved toward the exit. "It's fine. How about your shoulder?"
He shook his head, kept pace with her. His gaze lit on the people around them. The mother trying to console her upset toddler at the far end of the hallway. An old woman surrounded by what had to be her family near the entrance to the ICU waiting area. The pregnant lady going into the bathroom.
"The doctors are saying our Jane Doe has pulmonary edema, which is consistent with a near drowning."
Sam stopped at a set of double doors, one already propped open. "She wasn't anywhere near the water. You don't almost drown and then walk any distance. You saw her. How she..."
Unless...
"They've got her on Lasix and a bunch of other drugs to help clear the water from her system and on a ventilator to help her breathe." His blue eyes landed on her. "When she came into the office, she asked for you. Do you know her?"
"No. But Hope Alive isn't exactly on the sidelines. Some of our cases have gotten national press—"
"Yeah. I remember." His jaw clenched, a frown taking up permanence.
Of course he did. Would likely never forget how Sam had almost gotten them all killed in that warehouse. She couldn't exactly defend herself.
A year ago, she'd been so focused on finding Theo Trenton, a young veteran who'd been heralded as a hero at home and abroad—restoring his family back to its rightful path and rescuing her sister in the same swoop—she hadn't seen the larger issue lurking. Hadn't seen the trap until it was too late.
All she'd known was that Haley was involved on the wrong side of the equation. That if her sister went inside that warehouse, she wouldn't come out alive. Every detail beyond that had been lost.
She'd needed to save Haley.
Had hoped to rescue Theo.
And there wasn't a moment that went by where she didn't question if that equation should've been the other way around with Theo being the main focus instead of a woman who obviously had no intention of living life to the fullest.
"It's possible she saw or heard my name somewhere."
"From beyond the grave? You said so yourself, you don't almost drown and then pick up and find shelter."
His words froze everything inside her.
His eyes were centered on her. Trapped her. Had her wondering if he could see a little deeper than everybody else. "What am I missing?"
"I'm pretty sure we just saved Claudia Morris."
What? No. That wasn't right. "How do you figure?"
"Just a hunch."
A hunch? No way. "She's dead. They found her five months ago. Her family had a funeral for her. It was all over the news. You saw the pictures of where she was found, right?"
His mouth formed a firm line.
"It's not her. It can't be." Not unless she could travel in time and had managed to save herself from the most brutal slaughter Sam had laid eyes on. Elliot should know... Should be questioning the idea. Freaking out a little even.
Except...
He hadn't panicked over their shift in location. Hadn't even questioned—just been determined to leave Hope Alive. Leave her. Her gaze hit his, awareness stretching between
them.
He wasn't panicking. Not even a little. Not because Haley or some other time traveler had exposed themselves in a way he could grasp, but because...
Sam's chest tightened. The air left the space. He wasn't panicking because this—time traveling, unexpected people showing up—was all normal.
"Don't." His voice was firm but the quietest she'd ever heard it, his eyes scanning the people around them again. Assessing for threat. For prying eyes and open ears. "Not here." Then he cleared his throat and stepped away from her. "They'll run her prints. We can verify then. In the meantime, we pray she makes it through the night."
Ricky was wrong. She couldn't see absorptions and slingshots. Not with everyone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HALEY HAD THE worst luck. The kind that made her want to hightail it back to the parking lot, dig through the box in her trunk, and find the unopened bottle of scotch. Down the whole thing.
It had been a gift. An I've-been-sober-two-days gift. One she'd given herself. Last week. The tamper-resistant plastic was only a little tattered.
That had to mean something. Right?
If she focused on that, maybe, just maybe everything would come up roses and sunshine.
She tossed her phone into her purse. Tried to drown out the text from her sister.
Not hello. Not how are you? Not want to hang out later?
Where are you?
The little moron thought she was so smart. Thinking that the one little phrase could turn everything around. That it could undo everything that had been done. That they could slip into the past and revisit better times.
There were so many responses, the most obvious that she was at work. Where she was supposed to be. Not causing trouble even though it dogged her back. Not chasing a story that refused to leave her be.
And in a different life she could be upset that her sister even had to ask the question. Would even dare to bring up the past. But in the here and now, Haley deserved the suspicion.
She deserved the pain of knowing it hadn't been her to start the conversation with her little sister.
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