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

by Rachel Trautmiller

  In that other life, this moment would be about proving she was worthy. Right now it was about not losing what she had left. It required a level of honesty she wasn't sure she could stomach.

  Because if she were honest, she'd have to admit she'd messed up beyond repair. In a way even her sister—the person who refused to give up on her when everyone else did—wouldn't be able to overlook.

  It was only a matter of time.

  "We're first on scene." Her cameraman, Drew, shifted his equipment, oblivious to the sweat forming on her upper lip and forehead. The shaking in her fingers as she attempted to apply powder to her face. The way her gut was rolling in on itself and threatening to purge all of its contents as they rode the elevator to Clovis Community's ICU.

  The things a drink would solve—for a moment. And that moment was all she needed. It was all she ever needed.

  A moment.

  An image of sightless eyes, blood, fire, and a man flashed through her mind. She was on the floor. Frozen. The man hunched in front of her. There wasn't any fear. Not for herself but for the person with her. The faceless person she couldn't help.

  A drink would dull the scenes swimming in her mind.

  But she couldn't. Because she'd made a promise. And if that promise had been to her sister or the Colonel—even Elliot who'd saved her life on more than one occasion—she'd have broken it seven different ways already. But this promise...

  It was a line even she couldn't cross. Not that she'd been given a lot of opportunity thus far.

  Semantics.

  She hadn't crossed the line. It didn't matter that said line might as well have been light years away.

  She finished applying the powder to her face, the sheen of anxiety disappearing beneath it. Then she worked on additional lipstick and mascara. Transformed her face from wrung out to camera ready.

  Or as far as that thinking would get her. Fake it 'til you make it. One eventually joined the other.

  Usually.

  Unless she actually went to her car and got that bottle of alcohol out. Ended nine days of hell. Started day one of the next circle of it.

  "We might get some flak from the hospital staff." Drew hoisted the camera on his shoulder.

  "Just make sure you follow the guidelines and we'll blur whatever faces we have to during edits. No close-up of our Jane Doe. Give me a few hints to tease the viewers, not the whole shot."

  Haley had gotten them this far into the hospital under the assumption that they planned to aid local authorities in identifying Jane Doe. The woman who maybe had a family out there looking for her. All she'd had to do was mention Hope Alive's name—instant open doors.

  It left a foul taste in her mouth. Once upon a time she'd dreamed it would be her name that would unlock success. Not the family business.

  Drew looked down at her. "Maybe you can work your magic and get us inside the ICU. Talk to some of the nurses. Find out who the first responders were."

  Haley didn't have any "magic" left. What she had was a giant detox hangover and a stupid promise. She lifted her water bottle to her lips and took a small sip. Didn't trust her stomach for more than that. If she puked on air she could kiss this gig goodbye. The job the station manager had only given her because she'd forced him into it.

  No. You blackmailed him.

  It was wrong. She knew that. She did, but she needed this job. Needed the money until her next big break. Needed it until the elusive story she'd spent the better part of a decade chasing finally came to a close.

  That's never going to happen.

  Her other option had been going back to Hope Alive—to a desk job she'd never asked for. Where the story wasn't the focus at all. Where the paperwork and the numbers would eventually grind her into nothing. The Colonel would dictate her life. Sam would join in. Of course, her little sister wouldn't see it that way. She'd simply be doing what she did best. Rescuing the lost.

  And if being rescued meant Haley could never step foot into the dangerous situations being a foreign correspondent often required, she didn't want it. She wanted details, secrets. Action.

  Like what you're doing now?

  No. What she was doing now was getting her life together. That didn't happen without a little effort. Without finding a story and proving she still had what it took.

  She smoothed a hand over the ponytail she'd put her long hair into. "Run me through the details once more." The elevator stopped and they stepped off.

  "An unidentified woman nearly drowned this morning..."

  Drew's voice droned on, the words not registering in her mind—nothing registering because Sam was here.

  She stood down the hallway, talking to Elliot, her attention focused on him in a way that should be obvious to him but likely wasn't. Elliot, who had ignored all of her serious requests except that last one. Elliot, who could easily disclose all of Haley's failures. Give Sam all the ammo she needed to make sure Haley never went anywhere alone again.

  She didn't even remember getting to his house. Or finding his couch. Or his cereal. Or his clothes. There wasn't any alcohol to blame this time. Certainly no randomly unlocked doors.

  It scared her in a way that nothing had in a very long time. And while her first thought had been downing the closest bit of liquid sanity, she hadn't.

  Another point in her favor.

  Right?

  He and Sam were deep in conversation, but Haley wasn't stupid enough to think they wouldn't notice her.

  That Elliot wouldn't call her out with the intentions of attempting to fix the issue. Or that Sam wouldn't drag her straight to some kind of twelve-step program.

  What are you doing in my house?

  Elliot's words might as well have been a bucket of icy water. The truth had been right there. She could've spewed it all and been done with it. Let him know she had no idea and could he help her.

  She already knew the answer to that.

  She'd covered enough headlines to know what happened when you attempted to leave the darkness behind. When you picked up and expected the world to forget your misdeeds.

  It followed. Colored everything you touched. Right now it bled onto the single white page left in her arsenal.

  Rejoining everyday society had been a risk.

  She'd never been good at calculating them. That was Sam's department. Find the threat. Assess. Move on. She'd always been the diplomat. Before their mother's death. More so after.

  But this—the story—this was Haley's domain. And she could spin one anywhere and with the most basic details. She thrived off knowing someone's background. Figuring out what had led them to whatever precipice they stood on. Knowing when to push and when to release. Knowing when she had the most unbelievable—yet true—story that millions would gobble up.

  "Hal? You coming?" Drew was five steps in front of her, headed for the entrance. Headed for Sam, Elliot, and a possible family showdown, because while Sam was well-versed in what it took to disarm an assailant, Haley had never been in a battle she hadn't fought to the bitter end.

  But this battle had to wait.

  A nurse came from a doorway that led to the stairs, her badge in plain view.

  Haley could swipe it with little effort. It was wrong, but... "I've got an idea."

  Drew's face lit up.

  "Let's do this." Then she started toward the door. This story needed her.

  Right now.

  And she was going to get it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  FOR ONE SMALL second everything had been normal.

  And then it wasn't.

  Elliot shouldn't have expected anything else. But he'd stupidly assumed he'd catch up with Sam, make sure she wasn't in a tricky situation. They'd discuss the case and he'd make it clear they couldn't repeat last year. Then they'd form a plan of action. Sometimes a case took a few weeks. Sometimes it hit a dead end and stalled out.

  He'd imagined Sam would do what she did best—hunt down details—and he'd help whenever time allowed. Anything that kep
t their contact minimal and the danger non-existent.

  Which wasn't entirely true.

  He'd assumed he'd catch up with Sam. In fact, he'd known he would find her in that plot of the woods, not because she'd stuck out like a shark at a cocktail party, but because he'd felt her—a sense he hadn't used since his youth.

  The bare mention of her name had conjured the image of her position at Shaver Lake. There hadn't been much thought beyond that. Not when everything inside of him had been screaming for him to get to her. Not until he'd arrived and found she wasn't in any danger at all.

  Of course that was the case.

  She wasn't trapped beneath layers of burning building materials. Not trying to go deeper into the smoky structure. She was fine and his brain had gone into overdrive on the exact way this case would play out—without his direct involvement.

  For one small second everything had been normal.

  And then it wasn't.

  There were bullets flying and a strange woman—now in a hospital bed—who should be dead. A family who had come forward and asked for help now. After months without resolution. After a kid had seen her alive in the same spot they'd been shot at.

  And Sam...

  Elliot hadn't expected her to heed his bare hint of a warning. Haley wouldn't have. She would've continued talking. Handing out secrets and truths to any listening ear.

  But this was Sam. The woman who hadn't panicked in the forest with an active shooter aiming at them. Had rushed toward a stranger spewing water and offered helped. The woman who'd run into a warehouse because she believed that was the best and only thing to do.

  And Elliot knew better—or at least he should. The two might be sisters, but they weren't alike. One did not respond like the other and vice versa.

  Right now the younger of the two—the more trustworthy—might as well have dismissed him for all the effort she put in to pretending he didn't exist as they took the stairs out of the ICU.

  The ring of her phone echoed through the space, her movements jerky as she pulled it from her pocket. Elliot caught a flash of Jeff Hastings' name before she stabbed the screen with her index finger, the call disappearing.

  "Talk to me, Sam."

  She didn't say anything. Just kept moving.

  She was pissed. It boiled in the space between them. And for reasons he understood. If he had a sibling and someone was withholding information, he'd probably feel the same. And if that someone could also travel in time and hadn't said a word about the rare anomaly that he exercised with probable frequency, he'd be a bit out of sorts.

  Heck, he had been for a minute or two back at Hope Alive. The difference was he'd already accepted the truth. Gained a foothold.

  And he should have explained right then and there. Everything right down to the time travel. Should have done anything but let her think that forward progression was of her doing alone.

  Get in. Get out.

  That had been a solid motto along with all the others in his childhood. Sharing the secret of time travel was outside of his norm. Had been for more than a decade. Even in his childhood he'd never really told anyone, just done what needed to be done. But this was different. And he'd blown it.

  "Can we—"

  "I need you to drop me off at my sister's. Please." The words came out in a stiffness he usually only heard from Lucinda, the last bit forced.

  The request made him pause. "When is the last time you went to your sister's house?"

  Sam shot him a glare. Stopped two steps below him and turned around. "Maybe you should explain why you're asking. Maybe exercise some of that mutual trust."

  "Right. That." A small part of him wanted to laugh at the way her eyes flashed fire and her arms instantly folded across her chest. The way her lips pressed together.

  The way she sort of had him cornered.

  But the other part of him was all too aware that this conversation didn't have a happy ending and that Sam wouldn't relent until she had the answers. Anything she could use to protect her older sister, even at the risk of her own life.

  It would be easy to escape this line of questioning. Just move past it and forget about Sam altogether. He moved toward her a step.

  Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that.

  Her phone split through the silence again. She didn't even bother looking at it, only kept her gaze on him, the tiny flecks of blue visible in the gray. There was a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose he'd never noticed before. A wisp of hair threatened to fall forward. And while her lips were in a frown, they were full, her teeth catching the edge of one side.

  A shot of electricity bolted right through him. Everything in him yearned to put her at ease. Erase the annoyance from her face.

  Annoyance and another emotion he couldn't place.

  "Do you need to get that?"

  She shoved it in her back pocket. "You were saying something about my sister?"

  "No." He took in a deep breath. "I asked if you'd been to her place recently."

  "Which implies that you might have."

  "Not even close. She did ask for money and slept on my couch. This morning." He already had a guess on the money and he suspected Haley had thrown in the couch comment for good measure. Not because she actually needed a place to stay.

  He hoped.

  His couch was not up for grabs.

  Sam gave an audible swallow, the only sign that his words bothered her. "How much?"

  "One hundred grand."

  Shock blasted across her face. "Are you and my sister seeing each other?"

  "What? No." That was a little too much crazy for him. "I tell you she asked for a large amount of money and the first thing you assume is that we're seeing each other?"

  "Why was she on your couch?" She started down the steps, her movements quick and jerky.

  Elliot followed. Tried to process the quickly spiraling conversation. "There was no invitation from me." The need to further defend himself in a situation that needed none reared up, big and ugly. He managed to get in front of her. "You're angry. About more than one thing. I get it."

  She licked her lips, let out a sigh. "You saw Haley this morning. Any idea where she was headed?"

  Haley. Right. This was about Sam's sister. And everything else, but that was first. "Work? The bar? A gang meeting? Squatting on someone else's couch?"

  She shot him another glare. He'd seen her use the look successfully in the field. Right now it made him want to smile—a feeling he should absolutely run from.

  And he would. As soon as he got this case and her sister in order. As soon as he made sure Sam understood that she needed to treat each case like a war zone. Stop charging right into danger. She needed to slow down. Assess. And she needed to tell Jeff to get lost. Maybe have a serious talk with the Colonel about personal boundaries. "The gang one probably isn't true."

  She moved around him. Headed downward again. "It better not be."

  He followed, his heart caught up in the maybes of Sam's life. "Or what? You'll swoop right in and drag Haley out?"

  "Yeah." She shot the words over her shoulder. "I will."

  There was so much conviction in her words—her stance—it left no doubt about how far she'd go for her sister. For anyone. It was admirable. It was noble. But the thought of her going to war without a way to defend herself scared him to the core. "That's not how these things work."

  "I don't know how you treat your family, but I can't do nothing."

  "This is not about how anyone treats their family." It was about the actions that had landed her in that warehouse last year. All the reservations he had about Sam—the fear—stemmed from that moment in time.

  He'd met the Trenton family. Talked with Theo's wife and children. He'd wanted to save the man as much as she did. Bring the hero home. Be a hero himself if only in one family's eyes. When they'd finally discovered a possible location for his whereabouts, Elliot had wanted to get in his F-15 and figuratively blow open the place. Drag the guy out
. Get him home where he belonged with his wife and children.

  Outwardly, it had seemed like a straightforward deal. Stake out the warehouse, extract the veteran. They'd had FPD backup. But then Haley had come into the picture—a story he still hadn't pieced together—and he'd known things were going to go south fast.

  Haley was a walking disaster. Top to bottom. And he'd already been privy to a few of her sob stories while she'd been under the influence. There'd been no warning Sam. No, at that point the building had already been crumbling—literally and figuratively—and his thoughts had been getting her out and little else.

  "When you walk into the field your heart can't be anywhere out there. Afterward, you can take it out all you want. Explore the rush of feelings, but on that field you need to take a step back. Assess the situation regardless of circumstance or involvement." Everyone risked dying without it.

  Her lips formed a firm line. "This isn't my first go at this."

  "I'm aware. You're good at what you do." He'd seen that in full effect. Times when Haley hadn't been involved.

  "Then why are we having this conversation?"

  The morning—the last year—caught up to him in one giant rush, that had a ball of anger and fear forming in his chest. "Because you walked into a burning building as if you were a rookie out to prove something."

  Her face lost all emotion. "I'm sure it appeared that way."

  The door to the top of the stairs banged open, the echo flowing through him. It stopped him in his tracks, tightened his chest, and had him turning, his mind prepared to push Sam to the floor. Cover her body with his.

  Haley moved downward, her gaze stuck on the door she'd come from, her hand knuckling the railing with each hurried step.

  "Where is she?" Rage-filled words preceded the figure into the stairwell. The man was dressed in a navy blue, pin-striped suit, a lapel pin adorned with a red ruby accenting the color. A hospital-issued ID badge hung underneath. His blond hair was a little longer than average and parted left in a way that shouted personal stylist.

  "Oh, hey, Ryan. Didn't see you there." Haley's words held a slight wobble, but her feet kept moving downward. "I'm in a bit of a hurry." She yanked up the press card hanging from a lanyard around her neck and tucked it back into the partially zipped leather jacket she wore. "Working."