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

by Rachel Trautmiller

  Vi's concentration was aimed at Lucinda.

  "Crap." Sam's voice was barely a whisper.

  Haley backed up. Ran into her sister, who stood right behind her. Then she turned. Headed toward her purse. Picked it up. The door was out. There was no way Vi wouldn't apprehend her. Do what Simon likely should've. "I gotta go."

  Sam's gaze flicked between the open doorway and Haley. "Why do you look like Lucinda just caught you smoking pot behind the garage and is about to tell the Colonel?"

  Sam would remember that one moment in history. Haley had caught more grief from Lucinda than the Colonel who was more interested in the information not leaving the house. "I can't be here."

  "Why?" Her sister's eyes shot back toward the door. She shifted.

  "I—wait—" Haley froze. "Why do you keep looking at the door? Like you want to grab your stuff and bolt." Sam never ran. Always stood her ground. Faced a challenge. If she wanted out...

  "I asked you first."

  "I'm older, moron."

  Sam folded her arms over her chest. Didn't move. And Haley had enough sense to know that Sam could stand there without saying a thing for hours. Haley had tested the fact on numerous occasions in their youth.

  "I—I ended up at her house yesterday and it evidently was not my first time visiting. I don't remember any other time. She knew everything about me. She had all these details to back it up."

  "Of course she did. She works for the FBI."

  Haley shook her head. "No. This was above and beyond."

  How's the tough act working for you?

  She had to get out now. Go somewhere. Maybe the beach. She'd come back. When the dust settled. When Vi was gone. When she'd found Anne and gotten more details. When she could remember the details locked in her brain.

  There was already warm sand on her feet. The call of birds overhead, making shadows on the sand. The whip of wind in her face. The smell of sunscreen, melting ice cream, and hot dogs. A distant giggle.

  And a hand on her arm. Pulling her back. From the beach. Right back to Hope Alive. The fluorescent lighting and office equipment.

  And just like that the beach faded.

  Sam made her sit in a chair as if she'd never gone anywhere. As if she'd always been right in this office. As if the only thing happening was the slow loss of her mind.

  And the fact that she couldn't take in any air. She hadn't imagined it. "What was that?"

  Sam held out a hand. "Just breathe a minute."

  "Just breathe..." Haley shook her head. Pointed toward the wall where Sam had hung her map as if a door would open up and contain the universe. "I was at the beach. There was sand."

  Her sister stood directly in front of Haley. Didn't look like she meant to move anytime soon. "You were running. You've been running since mom died."

  A huge ball of ugly swelled in her throat. "Don't."

  "Since the assault."

  You have to take the good out of what you can and move forward...

  Haley gripped the edges of the arms of her office chair. Worked really hard not to come undone by words.

  By memories—even the ones she didn't have a full grasp on. All of it was her war to fight. Not Sam's. "What did you do? How did you do it?"

  "You said you ended up at her house yesterday."

  "That's what I said." What in the world was happening? She'd been on the beach. And somehow Sam had known that. Pulled her back. "She called me out on my baggage. I attempted to insult her by making lewd comments about her husband. Can we focus on what you did? What you did yesterday in the stairwell?"

  Sam's face was carefully blank. "Do you even know her husband?"

  "Of course not." Haley rubbed her hands over her face. "I opened my mouth and the words came out. I never apologized. I should've, but I didn't."

  Sam shifted. "An awkward moment hasn't really bothered you before."

  Because she'd been too drunk to care. Too lost in pain. Too selfish. Only after a story.

  Just like Sam had said. Like everyone assumed.

  "She's a cop. And she knows all this stuff about me. Anne was there—not aware of us—it triggered these memories. I think they're memories. But there are parts of my mind that are blank. I used to blame the alcohol. It's easy to shrug off when you know you've basically been drinking yourself stupid. But I've been sober ten days."

  "And?"

  "I don't know where I was yesterday when you were shot at. I don't know why Claudia says I brought her to Shaver. I don't know how I ended up on Elliot's couch."

  Vi appeared in the doorway. "I believe I do."

  ____

  Sam had never done anything like it. Had never watched someone travel and reached out. Interfered. Even with the experiment with Elliot last night, she'd only watched the progress. Not done anything to garner attention or change anything.

  The buzz of it still vibrated through her body. She'd seen the beach. The birds. The waves. The sun. A family building a sandcastle near the shore. She hadn't put much thought into it. Just grabbed Haley's arm. Pulled her back.

  Stopped Haley's domino effect. Her storm. The panic. The running. Invariably, the drinking. Sam needed her sister right here. Right now.

  And Haley needed her, too.

  She had information locked up in her brain—or maybe she was right—maybe it hadn't happened yet. Either way, she couldn't run off without the two of them figuring this out.

  Haley's gaze flicked from Sam to where Vi stood in the doorway. Lucinda held the doorknob, her back braced against the open door. "Girls, this is Agent Knight with the FBI. She has some questions regarding a case." Her hazel gaze hit Haley and then bounced to Sam. "Samantha, I trust you will show Haley the ropes in these matters."

  In her peripheral vision, Haley shifted. As if she meant to get up. Do something classically Haley. Like make a lewd comment about Elliot's dad again.

  Sam imagined that was a seriously awkward moment, even without the additional information of who Vi was. And Vi wouldn't be here if Sam hadn't texted her.

  Before she knew that Vi's son was Elliot.

  Before she knew that Vi's son was capable of traveling in a way that was impressive. Haley had to have caught the last name. Would wonder. Or maybe there was too much in her brain—the past, the assault, Theo's death—for her to focus closely on everything.

  Haley hadn't moved from the chair, her legs crossed with one foot tapping while both arms were wrapped around her upper body.

  Her gaze was stuck to a place in the far corner of the room.

  "I'm sure the Colonel feels Haley is more than prepared for this type of situation, Lucinda. He's been pushing for her to start for years."

  Lucinda said nothing, her mouth pressed into a firm line. Didn't move for three of the longest seconds. Then, "I'll bring in some refreshments." She moved out of the space and shut the door behind her.

  Sam held out her hand. "Hi, Vi. It's a pleasure to meet you in person. I can only assume you received my text regarding Ricky."

  Vi shook her hand.

  Haley sat up straight. "You texted her? Why? When were you planning to mention that?"

  "I would be here without it, Haley." Vi's voice held a slight rasp—one Sam had heard over the phone. Vi moved farther into the room. Handed a file to both of them as she did. "I imagine it's difficult to confide in someone who takes off without a word. Who regularly is in questionable company with little regard for her own safety."

  Haley held the file with her bandaged hands, but didn't open it, her gaze tracking Vi. "What's this?"

  Sam opened hers, the picture of Harper Valencourt clipped to the top of the dossier. Details on his life swam in front of her eyes. A stamp with the word deceased.

  All Sam saw was the way he'd held down her sister outside that bar. It had to be him—the description matched. Same muscular build and dark brown hair, but his face... That had been off camera. Pointed toward her sister, gauging her reactions.

  A thunk hit the table as Haley sto
od, the file finding the surface and the pages fanning out. Exposing faces and words. Her face was pale. "He's dead. Case closed."

  "Not entirely."

  "I'm sorry." She closed her eyes. Held out a hand. "You said you had answers to how I've ended up on Elliot's couch or why Claudia Morris thinks I took her to Shaver Lake. Can we skip all this and get to that?"

  Vi gave a small smile. "That's not how you conduct an interview, is it? Skipping all the seemingly small tidbits that make the story great?"

  Impatience was all over Haley's face. "I'm not conducting an interview for a story or article. I'm trying not to die while I force myself to remember what should be in my brain. I don't have time to talk to you about anything other than that."

  All humor left Vi's face. "I've been waiting fourteen years to have this conversation. You can give me a few minutes."

  Haley opened her mouth, the motion making Sam cringe.

  "Sit down." The rasp in Vi's voice was amplified, adding a sternness to her words that would have had Sam following any order. "Zip it."

  Haley sat.

  "Ever heard of Biovalume?"

  Sam shook her head. Watched her sister's face change from surly teenager to something else. Like something was clicking inside her brain.

  "They're a lab that specializes in innovative medical advances, the majority of their work with DNA mining," Vi continued. "Of course it's marketed as a way to find ancestry, disease disposition, possible cures to those diseases, and a large host of other things." She handed the file back to Haley. "Look at the next dossier."

  Haley straightened, her face carefully blank. A year ago she would've been so out of control, she'd have hit a boil in seconds and decimated any semblance of professionalism.

  Sam moved to her desk. Sat. Flipped to the next photo. Theo Trenton's face was there. Military haircut. Serious features.

  Deceased.

  The file held a blond-haired girl. Anne Morris. Presumed dead.

  The next was a mother of one. Deceased.

  A grandmother. Deceased.

  A CEO. Deceased.

  There were about twenty in total. All gone except Anne.

  Sam looked up. "These deaths span years."

  Vi grabbed a handful of tacks. Moved toward Sam's map. Pushed the first one in a place Sam had marked for Theo Trenton. "Trish Delane." She put in another, right next to Theo. "Chance Carter." Another. "Morgan Bellows."

  Sam stood and moved toward Vi as the names came faster, the pins easily creating a road map. "Are you suggesting that Theo Trenton is the common denominator?"

  "No." Vi's green eyes watched her. "I'm telling you he is. There's only one person on that list that doesn't fall somewhere on this map at exactly the same time Theo was spotted in the vicinity."

  "Harper Valencourt." The whispered words came from Haley.

  Everything inside Sam stilled. Harper and Theo had been in the same spot. And without the video Haley had, no one knew about it beyond their small circle. Not unless Haley had said something.

  If she had, there would be evidence to find these men.

  She turned toward her sister. Found the chair empty. Resisted the stab of disappointment coursing through her. "What does a guy who supposedly murdered a woman—confessed in detail before committing suicide—have to do with any of this?"

  "That's something only Haley can answer."

  "Why has she been on your son's couch?"

  "Because when my son was younger he traveled all the time. If there was someone to rescue, he did it. He would jump into dangerous situations without an emergency exit plan. There were some close calls—lessons—that turned him into the man you know now. Cautious, but still very much aware of where the danger lies. And what he can do to prevent it. He'd just turned eleven the first time Haley showed up."

  "Where?"

  "At our home in North Carolina. She was sober. She introduced herself and explained that she knew our son—the older version. We talked for a long time. She was very open about her life. Your mother's death. Her college years. What led her to follow Theo's story. The assault. She asked us to keep something for her—a story she was working on—and then she left. And that might have been it, but my son followed her. Found her in a dark alley preparing to end her life."

  Sam's stomach surged upward. She didn't have to ask why. Haley had been working toward that for two years. While Sam stood here trying to believe that her sister might see the light and make a turnaround. "He talked her down."

  "Somehow, yes."

  Elliot didn't remember this. He would've mentioned it. Which meant Haley might be right. "It hasn't happened yet, has it?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  North Carolina, July 2004

  THE SKATE RAMP came into view in sharp contrast to the green trees and blooming flowers. It was missing the boys Haley had seen last time, the only noise the whisper of the breeze floating over her skin. It was the opposite of the racket in her brain.

  The names inside Vi's dossier.

  The snapping fingers. The rope.

  Harper Valencourt's distorted face.

  Theo Trenton is the common denominator?

  "Miss Vi said you'd be back." The masculine voice was young and had her spinning toward the sliding glass door that led into the house. The tall dark-haired teenager she'd noticed at the far end of the skate ramp last time approached with a sure and steady gate. It was familiar.

  All of this was familiar.

  Coming here hadn't been a conscious decision, she'd only needed to get away from Hope Alive. From the names and faces. From memories that wouldn't let her rest, but didn't make any sense. "Is she around?"

  "She'll be back later." He stopped in front of her, his arms across his chest. He was a least six inches taller than her, but judging from his lean frame, not more than a teenager. He had that look about him. As if he expected her to do the unexpected and was braced for it. Like nothing would shake him, even though he was young.

  His dark brown eyes watched her. Flicked to her still-wrapped hands.

  "What happened?"

  Seriousness emanated from him like a heavy cloak. Just like...Simon. No. That couldn't be, could it? The height was the same, the build not quite as developed, and the eyes... A black tattoo peeked out from under the sleeve of his blue shirt. Of their own volition, her hands reached toward it. Lifted the material of his T-shirt upward to reveal the face of a clock in the swirl of an intricate spiral staircase. She dropped the fabric.

  "Simon?" Her heart began a frantic beat.

  "We're going down that road again?" His jaw clenched, anger evident in his words. "That's great."

  "H-how old are you?"

  He shook his head. "You've got to lay off the alcohol. Drugs. Whatever you're doing that keeps you so far out of your mind. You're better than this."

  The words reverberated in her mind. Were over taken by the double-edged sword of defense. It had her wanting to stomp off and find a bottle just to prove the difference. She swallowed it back. "I'm not drunk."

  "The last time we spoke you were."

  "When was that?" And why didn't she remember? Was it the alcohol or was it something else?

  "Last month. You were so belligerent, I physically removed you from this very spot."

  There was a distant memory of being slung over a sturdy shoulder. Of fighting—kicking, punching—and then being subdued in a hold meant for that of a toddler out to hurt themselves with a tantrum.

  "I'm—I don't really remember much about that. Did I—did I hurt you?"

  He laughed, but there was no mirth in the motion. "Not unless a sloppy kiss counts."

  She swallowed. This was all wrong. But everything had been wrong for a long time. This little blip shouldn't have mattered. Which meant he couldn't be Simon. She was only seeing an ally because she needed one. Somewhere. Someone other than Sam who was likely to get herself killed chasing ghosts. Ghosts whose names were all familiar to Haley.

  Trish Delane. Ch
ase Carter. Morgan Bellows.

  "You're like sixteen. I would not—"

  "Eighteen."

  "Oh, okay. That changes everything." Not. "I would not kiss a kid that's eleven years younger than me."

  He took in a deep breath. Closed his eyes a second. "You are the stupidest smart person I know."

  "That's charming. You should use that on a date sometime when you're old enough to actually shave. It should open a lot of doors for you."

  His jaw clenched. "This is the last time I'm going to explain this. Try to remember it, okay? Right now, right here—" His finger punched toward the concrete with each word. "I'm younger than you, but where you're from—fourteen years give or take from this point in time—I'm actually older than you."

  Fourteen years. I've waited fourteen years...

  She figured she'd gone a few years into the past, not over a decade. A decade? No, no, no.

  Her stomach started to swirl. Simon had the same mannerisms. The patience. The seriousness. The on-point sarcasm. Was he like her? Like Sam? Like...Ricky?

  Vi Knight.

  Elliot Knight.

  Fourteen years.

  Ricky always seemed to know when she was in trouble. Elliot dealt with her random appearances. Her bad mood. The time she'd mixed alcohol with pain killers that was definitely not an accident. The time she'd gotten a concussion and had no memory of how. When she'd just needed a safe place to sleep.

  Those things happened because Ricky and Elliot were the same person. Which meant he could travel in time. He could do it and he'd never said a thing.

  And she couldn't even blame him. If the positions were reversed she probably wouldn't have been so kind. Wouldn't have allowed a stranger to take up residence on her couch. Offered kindness. She would've called the cops.

  Her gaze hit Simon. "Can you—?"

  "My feet are firmly planted in the here and now. No flights of fancy for me."

  "This is a joke. I'm dreaming. I'll wake up and—"