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

by Rachel Trautmiller

  "But you have thought about dragging me to rehab or to a meeting. Shock therapy."

  She stood, the words bursting from her lips, "Because I love you." They bounced across the room and came back filled with far more than the simple truth. She clenched her jaw and met her sister's gaze head-on. "And if you keep going down this road, you're going to die young. This isn't a story you're following. This. Is. Your. Life. Don't you get it? Or are you too selfish to even notice?"

  Haley didn't even flinch. "Mom did it and it worked out fine for her."

  Pain ripped right through Sam's chest, deflating all the anger. She didn't want to see her sister wither away to nothing at the ripe old age of twenty-nine. Didn't want to see her gunned down by strangers. Didn't want to dictate anything. What she wanted was her sister to be happy. To make sound decisions. To be of sound mind. To be her sister, not throw the word around when it was convenient.

  "What happens when you're dead, Haley?"

  "The world goes on." Her tone was flat. "Same as always."

  The words were a punch to the gut.

  She could take a bullet for Haley all day long. She could dog her steps. Ensure her safety. In the end, what she couldn't do was make her move out of the way to begin with. Nobody could do that but Haley.

  And it was time Sam figured that out.

  She tossed the bag of ice. Opened her desk drawer, typed the code into her gun safe. Palmed the Glock and holster and strapped it to her hip. Then she grabbed her bag. "As much fun as this has been, I've got work to do. If you can think of any more information on Ryan-maybe-from-a-bar, let me know. And if you need a couch, mine is free."

  Then she moved past Haley and toward Elliot, who didn't say anything as she exited the room. At the front desk, Lucinda was on the phone and likely didn't think anything of Sam's quick exit out the front door.

  Once outside, she gripped the strap of her bag. Contemplated abandoning the confining weight. Abandoning this day. This place. Just taking off.

  She took in a slow breath. Willed her heart to slow. She couldn't leave. Couldn't even really contemplate it. She wasn't like Haley, able to easily travel. What she did was here. Her house. Her livelihood.

  Haley's blue Honda was at the curb, parked with the rear end sticking out into the street as if she'd pulled in, slammed on the brakes and hadn't bothered to check her mirrors. Hadn't bothered to consider if an unsuspecting driver might come along and destroy her rear end with one distracted lane change.

  Haley would eventually hightail it out of Hope Alive. Sam didn't want to be around when she did.

  For fear she'd say something she shouldn't. Do something she shouldn't. Be anything other than the woman her mother had taught her to be.

  She stepped up to the vehicle. Noted a flash drive on top of a notebook stuffed with papers, some of the edges peeking out—much like the car was parked.

  A name caught her eye. Theo Trenton.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HALEY HAD FINALLY blown it.

  The research was gone. The flash drive. Every bit of the interviews and details she'd drummed up over the last couple of years. She'd checked in every crevice of her car. Under the seats. The glove box. In the center console. Her trunk.

  It had vanished. As if it had never existed at all.

  Haley sat in the worn seat of her car and closed her eyes. Placed her head against the driver's side window. An image of a woman with blood dripping down her face blossomed behind her eyelids. The man was there again. In front of her. There were fingers snapping, a haze crowding in. But the woman was all she saw. Blond hair. Brown eyes. And fear. So much fear.

  Haley sat up, the image fading.

  She gripped the glass container in her hands. The bottle was cool against her fingers, but it wouldn't stay that way for long. Eventually the sweltering summer heat would bring it to a near-boil—an undrinkable temperature.

  Similar to her insides at this exact moment.

  She flexed her fingers. Tried to get the shaking in her hands to stop. One sip couldn't hurt. Not after weeks of heavy drinking.

  What happens when you're dead?

  She'd messed up. On so many levels.

  Going into the hospital. Having two seconds with her sister in which she'd been unable to stop all the hatred boiling in her soul. Going into the day at all.

  The promise of a story had gotten her out of bed—or off Elliot's couch. But in the time it had taken her to reach the end of Jane Doe's bed, she'd known there'd be no story she could write. Ever. There'd been only the still woman hooked to monitors who was familiar in ways that shouldn't exist.

  Her head was wrapped. There were bruises on her face. Her wrists had the reddish-purple imprint of some type of binding. A ventilator pushed oxygen into her lungs and an IV carried fluids and drugs to her system. Next to Haley, Drew had mentioned a head injury and Jane Doe's face had been right there in her mind. Taking shape. Moving from hazy to clear and full of blood. All the blood.

  And then Ryan had shown up.

  Ryan who wanted one thing. The one thing everybody wanted—her sister and Elliot included.

  Anne Morris.

  Ryan who'd been waiting forever for these particular answers. Ryan who probably had all of her research. Would use it against her in an effort to gain everything.

  Haley rotated the unopened scotch in her hands, glared at the hospital's sleek architecture. Cursed herself for the need to go up to Jane Doe's room. See if her eyes had deceived her.

  If she went back inside, she'd face Ryan. And she doubted he'd have little trouble pulling the trigger a second time. Or that she'd be able to escape.

  That slingshot had been all Sam.

  Sam who never used time travel unless absolutely necessary. Never even discussed it. Sam whose ability far outweighed Haley's. Always had.

  The way Sam had left the office sent panic flooding through her system. As if maybe that was it—the last time she'd ever talk to Haley.

  Forever.

  The empty place her papers had sat on her passenger's seat caught her eye. They were the only bit of her life that wasn't packed in boxes in a storage shed. The proof that once upon a time, she'd cared about something—someone other than herself and how quickly she could dull the pain. A reminder of when it had gone all wrong. And if she could take the information and put it together, she could kiss the central valley goodbye forever.

  Maybe get out of dodge before the world caught up with her in a bad way. Remake everything she'd fought so hard for in the first place.

  She could attempt to remember every word—the details were etched in her brain—but the eyewitness stories... She couldn't replicate them. She'd fought tooth and nail for them, some of those people had been so scared they'd barely agreed to go on record.

  People Theo Trenton had interacted with.

  A knock on her car window made her jump. An eleven-year-old boy stood on the other side. He balanced on a colorful skateboard, his blue eyes seeing far more than they should. The urge to throw the bottle to the backseat reared up. She held still.

  She was an adult. He was just a kid. A nosy, annoying kid.

  He whipped off his backpack. It hit the ground beside her car as he made a circular motion with his index finger.

  She rolled down the window. A blast of dry heat attempted to remove the moisture from her lungs. It rippled over her jacket and made sweat pop up over her skin. Why did he always show up in moments like these?

  Not that she'd had a lot of normal moments to draw from lately.

  Or ever.

  "What do you want, Ricky?"

  He eyed the bottle. "Rough day?"

  Bitter words rose to the back of her throat. She bit them back. Prayed the anxiety and anger they came with would go away. "Maybe."

  "Want to talk about it?"

  "Nope." Not with adults. Definitely not with a kid. Jane Doe, Ryan, Sam, Elliot, and the urge to drown herself into oblivion wasn't something she could explain.

  He
grabbed his backpack, opened it, and dug through it. Tossed a pair of elbow pads and a helmet through the window into her lap. "Put those on. Get out of the car. We're going skating."

  "Skating?" She hadn't done that in years. "I was a kid the last time I went. Sam and I crashed into each other." Sam had ended up with a broken arm and Haley had sprained an ankle that had kept her from the state track meet. The coach had been unhappy and her teammates upset.

  Lucinda had been in charge of caring for them while the Colonel was deployed. They'd recuperated with fluffed pillows and extra ice cream, but had endured Lucinda's lectures about safety. Lucinda wouldn't fluff any pillows or run out for mint chip ice cream this time around. "No, I don't think so, kid."

  "Hal..." He shouldered his backpack and put his hands on his hips. "If you don't put the skates on, you'll sit here and slowly pick at that bottle until you open it."

  And break her promise. "No."

  "You've got good intentions, but one wrong move..."

  "I'm a perfectly capable adult." Maybe. The jury was out there. A perfectly capable adult wouldn't...

  "Skates. Gear. Let's move." His voice held the quality of a military general.

  "Anybody ever tell you you're bossy?" She set the bottle on the floor of her car, consciously forcing her fingers to release it.

  She opened the door and swung her legs out, her feet hitting the concrete.

  "Usually I get thank yous. Or that was amazing. You're just more stubborn than most. Put on the skates and the gear."

  "It's not what you think." She didn't need to explain it. Not to anyone. And not to this kid. "I was just holding it."

  His lips formed a firm line. "Skates."

  Right. She grabbed rollerblades that were exactly her size. "What are we doing? Going around the block?"

  "Nope. You're gonna try the ramp at the skate park."

  She stilled. "No. I'm not. That's insane."

  "So is drinking yourself to death and going into dangerous situations for the fun of it. This buzz lasts a little longer. Doesn't come with a hangover."

  "That's because I'll end up splitting my skull open."

  He tapped the reinforced plastic in her hands. "That's what this is for."

  ____

  "When you said skate park I assumed you meant an actual park." Haley followed Ricky into a house with vaulted ceilings, wide skylights, and a spacious living room that led to what had to be a backyard. Family photos adorned the walls, the majority a family of three. The man in the photo next to Ricky looked familiar with his brown hair and violet eyes. "Not breaking and entering in someone's home to get to the wooden planks in their backyard."

  So she could break her neck on these stupid skates and go to jail for any number of things.

  He turned toward her. Walked backward, a grin covering his face. "Now you're worried about B & E?"

  Uh... "I do not break into people's homes."

  "What about that time you were working on that one story—"

  She clamped a hand over his mouth. Silenced the words about the last really great article she'd ever written. The one that had landed her in Fresno to begin with. Theo Trenton was a mistake. Top to bottom.

  And yet you kept digging...

  It was a disease. Some kind of Theo Trenton disease that captured her attention. Made her a little crazy with the idea that he hadn't actually been Missing In Action at all. That there had been some larger cover-up.

  Something wet touched her palm. She yanked away from Ricky's face. Slobber lined her hand. "Gross." She wiped it on her jeans. "Anyone ever tell you it's rude to spit on someone? And how do you know about that story anyway?"

  She needed to get out of here before an adult happened by. Started asking questions. Called the cops. They'd pull up her record. DUI. Public intox. An attempt to solicit sex in exchange for release from county lockup. Some unpaid parking tickets. One failure to appear in court.

  "It turns out I can read, Haley."

  Everything inside her froze. "Did you take my papers? The ones in my car?"

  He gave a slow shake of his head. "No. I read your article in a magazine. Powerful stuff. You should write again."

  "I never mentioned..." She'd never disclosed getting inside Theo Trenton's family home. Of talking to his wife. Meeting his children. Seeing inside a world of pain she could identify with on so many levels. "You took my papers and you dragged me to a stranger's house in the middle of I don't even know where."

  He rolled his eyes. "I didn't take them. I've read them. And this house belongs to my family, so you can relax. The wooden planks are amazing." He turned and headed toward the sliding glass door.

  Irritation rose up.

  "That was private information." Which was now probably in the wrong hands. "It could put innocent people in danger." Theo's family. His wife. His three children. "You get that, right?"

  "It could also save a couple of lives, so why don't you publish it?"

  No. It wasn't finished. It would never be finished. Theo was dead. The story was dead. "Why don't you mind your own business?"

  He opened the door. The vibrant sounds of laughter tumbled into the space along with sunshine and the muggy heat of day.

  The kind of humidity that sucked every drop from inside a body and pushed it outward in seconds. It wasn't common to California's central coast. It was more common in... "Where are we? Georgia?"

  "Close." He motioned for her to follow. "North Carolina." Then he turned toward the handful of boys all geared up and enjoying a giant skate ramp and various obstacles. Not makeshift wooden planks. Actual ramps made with quality supplies. It took up the majority of the backyard.

  "You weren't kidding. Did you build this yourselves?"

  "Yup."

  What would it have been like to have the Colonel build something for the heck of it?

  A treehouse. A swimming pool. A skate ramp. Things she and Sam could've enjoyed for hours, with memories lasting them a lifetime.

  "Hey, Mom."

  Mom? What?

  Ricky waved toward the group of kids.

  Oh, no. No. She wasn't meeting anyone's mom. Wasn't—

  Ricky's hand clamped onto her wrist. "Relax. She's not gonna arrest you or anything."

  "What?" Haley tugged from his grasp, the pound of her heart gaining speed in her ears. Her stomach surged upward. This was all wrong. She couldn't be here. "What do you mean arrest me?"

  "My mom's a cop, but..."

  The rest of his words faded into the gapping pit of terror in her mind. The harsh gasp of air exploding from her lungs. She had to get out of here.

  One of the skaters walked up. One of the skaters who was not much taller than the rest, but definitely not a boy—something Haley had missed on first glance.

  Because she'd been too busy being wowed by a stupid skate ramp and lost in all the maybes in her mind.

  "Mom, this is Haley Billings. Haley this is my mom, Vi."

  Vi removed her helmet, blond hair tumbling out. She tucked the plastic under her arm and stuck out a hand. Didn't give Haley much choice but to shake it when she wanted to do anything but meet a stranger.

  The thing her journalism degree depended on. Meeting strangers. Figuring out their stories. Putting pen to paper in the most satisfying way.

  But Ricky's mom was a cop. Was probably going to talk to all her cop friends. One thing would lead to another...

  "Nice to meet you, Haley. Come to skate?"

  "Against my will." Okay. All she had to do was take one breath in. One out. Draw from her arsenal of pleasantries.

  Which was likely bone dry and filled with cobwebs.

  Vi dropped her hand. Gave a small laugh. "I'd say most things are against your will though, right? Caused by decisions that feel out of control, but aren't."

  "Mom." Ricky let out a sigh. "Do we have to do this now?"

  She held one hand up to him. Didn't take her green eyes from Haley. "You're on an action-reaction seesaw. You're nine days sober, but you'
d kill for a drink. What's stopping you?"

  Everything. Nothing.

  "It's not your younger sister. Or your father. In fact, if either of them were here you'd be digging through my cupboards for booze or pills. Hoping for something to take the edge off. And eventually you'd take that too far."

  Yes. She'd love nothing more than the dulling roar of nothingness. The silence. Anything to drown out the increasing ball of dread forming in her gut. The way her head spun with questions. Accusations. Fear. Anxiety.

  Vi didn't even need to talk to her cop friends. Ricky might have told her a few things—maybe she'd guessed on the rest.

  That was all she would get. "Maybe I've lost the taste for it."

  Vi's eyes pierced through Haley as if she could see every lie she'd ever told. Every bad thing she'd ever done. Every sorry moment she'd ever had. Haley had been kicked out of a lot of places in her life. This would be no different.

  In fact, it would feel normal. It wouldn't take much to accomplish. A misstep here. A snide remark there. And a new acquaintance becomes an enemy.

  But everything inside of her was frozen. The zingers. The bossiness. The attitude. Indignation found in nothing.

  "I'm grabbing the boys some juice boxes." Vi gave a small smile. "Make yourself at home. I'll bring out some iced tea."

  "Sure." The word came out a lot less flippant than she'd intended. She watched Vi enter the house and close the sliding door behind her.

  Leaving Haley with six pair of eyes looking at her. Ricky worked on a stationary trick beside the table. "I'm gonna hit the ramp. You in?"

  Haley set her skates beside the patio set. Eyed the tall structure and the surrounding obstacles. "Is this how every day goes for you? Is your mom insane? She just left me—a stranger—out here with children."

  Ricky's board hit the concrete in a slap that was the loudest thing she'd heard in a long time. Maybe since she'd been in Iraq watching the Counter Rocket Artillery and Mortar system take down an incoming mortar from the Iraqi rebels.

  "I'm gonna hit the ramp." The repeated words came slow—almost practiced—his gaze glued to her. "You in?"

  What the...? "Maybe in a minute." What she needed was to leave. Just go home. Back to the chaos she'd been avoiding. Find her research. Find Sam.