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

by Rachel Trautmiller

  Pain ripped across Haley's face as Jeff jabbed something into her back. Blood came from a small gash above her eyebrow, where she'd likely hit the inside of the door when he'd drug her from the car.

  "I'm sparing a lot of people more heartache. Before she actually ends up killing someone. Before she ends up killing Sam." He shifted her forward with whatever he'd jammed into her spine—a gun, his hand—Simon didn't have a clear view.

  It amped up the adrenaline surging in his veins.

  "We're going to county lockup." Jeff's voice was full of anger.

  She struggled against him, her anxiety palpable. "Get your hands off me."

  A couple of his neighbors' lights flicked on. Mrs. Humphrey had abandoned her painting, her face pinched in disapproval as she watched them. Simon growled. "If you've got additional information, I'd love to hear it. In my office. This isn't the way to handle this."

  "At least I'm handling it." He shifted. "Not letting a woman cloud my judgment. All your talk about not getting involved is bull. Here you are doing exactly that."

  "You're such a moron." Haley jerked forward.

  Jeff stumbled a few feet with her. And it would only take one misstep to send them both crashing to the asphalt, Haley—and her unborn baby—taking the brunt of the fall.

  Simon held his hand up, palm out. If Jeff had a gun pressed against her spine... "You're out of line, Lieutenant. Check yourself."

  "It's her gun. Her prints. She's been inebriated so long, she wouldn't be able to tell you anything she's done in the last six months. She's probably drunk right now."

  You're going to have to arrest me.

  A gust of wind blew a few pages of Haley's research down the street. "Let her go, Jeff. Think about what you're doing." He holstered his gun. Pulled out his cuffs and moved toward them until he had one of Haley's arms, his fingers moving to her wrist in a gentle manner he prayed would quiet the raging storm he'd seen in her eyes...felt in her vibrating muscles. "If you're going to arrest her, do it the right way."

  "She'll run."

  "At that point you'll have reason to use force. Until then act with decorum." He placed the cuff on one wrist. Shifted her from Jeff's grip, no gun in sight.

  No gun. A whoosh of relief spread through him.

  He repeated the motion with the opposite wrist. Then moved her toward her car, his body between her and Jeff. "Get all those papers. Every last one. Those are evidence."

  Jeff straightened, his posture relaxing a fraction. "Right." Then he moved off toward the still-blowing pages.

  Haley moved toward Jeff. Simon halted her progress. "I've got this."

  "I don't want him touching my stuff." Fire shot from her eyes. "I don't—"

  He placed his hand in front of her lips. "You said I'd have to arrest you, that it would keep people safe."

  She froze, her breath hitting his fingers. "That's a no-brainer."

  "Do what you do."

  Confusion rolled over her features.

  He lowered his hand. Took her upper arm and moved her toward his vehicle. "Are you hurt?"

  "No."

  "Your head."

  "I've had worse. In Iraq. In L.A."

  He opened his back door, helped her inside. Then he opened his driver's side door and grabbed a tissue from his center console. Moved back toward Haley, crouched in front of her, and applied the tissue to the cut. "If you really think Theo's involved, go where there are answers."

  Jeff chased down a sheet of paper that had gone into Mrs. Humphrey's yard. He picked it up and then turned. The black weapon in his hands was as obvious as if he'd been standing a foot in front of them instead of ten.

  The sound of gunfire split through the quiet.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Iraq, 2009

  "HE'S STUDYING AGAIN."

  The words hit Haley's ears from across the rec tent at Balad Air Base. The tactical air crew chief in front of her was talking about life back home in some northern state—the details escaped Haley. At the present time, this woman had been a friend of sorts.

  Her story—a woman in a career position comprised of mostly men—had been immediately interesting. Not so much because of her gender, but because of the way she viewed a world that was quickly changing.

  SSGT Trish Delane.

  The name cropped up in her mind as if Haley held Vi's dossier in her hands now, their stories so clear.

  Trish Delane. Morgan Bellows. Chase Carter.

  They were all incredible stories of harrowing circumstances. Trish was killed while rescuing a child from an overturned bus. Morgan Bellows' plane crashed while he was offering aid to hurricane victims. Chance Carter had died protecting his fellow airmen by covering a homemade IED with his own body.

  "Like you're doing anything better, Carter." Simon's voice was clear, deep, that bit of normal she needed. He hadn't looked up from his laptop, because he was studying, his degree in criminology on track even through his current tour of duty in support of Iraqi Enduring Freedom.

  He scribbled something in the margin of his notepad, his view of the foosball table clear if he would stop studying long enough to watch the roll of the ball. "It looks like you're having your rear handed to you."

  And if he looked up he'd see Haley. He'd remember why they were here. The gun aimed in their direction and the way she'd knocked him backward a second before the bullet had shattered Simon's rear passenger window.

  One second there was glass raining down around them, the next she'd been standing here. Next to Trish Delane.

  Or maybe he wouldn't remember any of it, because the older version of him was still stuck outside his house. With Jeff.

  Because outside of moving Lucinda to the hospital, Haley wasn't strong enough to carry another person through an absorption. She never had been.

  The thought made her stomach swirl.

  She hadn't left him.

  Please God, don't let me have left him there.

  She was supposed to be protecting him, not leaving him in danger. That had been the goal of showing up at his home. He'd take her in. Sam wouldn't have to chase her around, risking her own life in the process.

  "He's got you there." Theo Trenton didn't look up from the foosball table, but kept his gaze centered on where the ball moved between him and Chance Carter.

  Determination rushed over Carter's face.

  Both men were from Seymour-Johnson Air Force Base and had arrived shortly after Simon had with his crew from Edwards. They had three solid months ahead of them. Plenty of time for studying, foosball, sand, and mortars.

  Plenty of time to die for a noble cause most of America couldn't ever fully understand. She'd grown up a military brat and hadn't understood until she'd stepped onto foreign soil for herself.

  And Haley had assumed—in this time—that she'd have plenty of time to use her press pass to her advantage. To unearth the secrets she was after. The secrets that were only starting to show through the rough exterior that was Theo Trenton.

  He'd expect her to round the room, gathering interviews and information—gossip. He'd expect that she'd eventually come to question him. How was he doing on his seventh deployment in four years? How was his family coping? Did he miss being home? What was the most thrilling part of his job? What made him continue to come back?

  Because she was smart enough to know she could never ask the one question he could never answer. Does your ability to travel in time help or hinder you here?

  Theo didn't give interviews. Didn't like drama or recognition. As far as Haley could tell, he liked doing his job. Keeping his team in line and ensuring they took time away from the barrage of mortars, meetings, and drills.

  Theo didn't care about the press or what the American people thought of Operation Enduring Freedom. This was his job. What he was meant to do—fight for their right to have opinions on what the president should involve the country in.

  Haley had seen the protesters in Washington. Had watched them march that space in front of
the White House, their signs as good as spit in the faces of the troops serving overseas.

  And while anger had boiled, she'd held it at bay. Had signed up to go overseas, the challenge in knowing the story was there, the chance to have it just out of reach. It would get her into trouble. Already had—even at this point in time.

  Across the foosball table, her eyes met Simon's, a zap of awareness stretching between them.

  How many times had she encountered him without interaction? Without recognition? How many times had he sat there waiting? With patience. With disgust. With hope.

  But the Haley he had experience with—the often drunk and unruly woman with problems trailing behind like the cans on a newlywed's car—was older.

  He'd expect her to overlook him, his story not even registering. But it did. It finally did. And she'd only gotten the first chapter.

  She grabbed Trish's wrist. Trish stopped mid-sentence.

  Haley gave a quick squeeze. "I'm so sorry to interrupt. Can you hold that thought?"

  "Yeah." She smiled, her teeth were straight and white. "Of course. Everything okay?"

  "Yeah." Haley held back the words about Trish walking away from being the hero. Not every situation could be helped. People would be what they would be without intervention. But if Trish knew, it might crumble her foundation. "You're a good friend, Trish. Thank you."

  Then she turned. Headed toward the foosball table. Toward Chance Carter and Theo. Simon would assume she'd walk right past him, her memory of their brief encounters so minuscule—maybe nonexistent for all he knew about absorptions and slingshots. And he'd be left wondering when or if she'd follow the road Ricky might've suggested she would.

  Or if one day she'd maybe open her eyes. Maybe he'd open his. Stop caring about things that were beyond his control.

  Here and now, Haley was already running. Chasing the next big break. Doing anything to make sure she didn't have to be stateside or think about the past. Her mother's death. The lies. Her father's absence. Her sister's perfection. Anything to drown out the noise in her skull.

  Anything to forget that she was not normal. That she carried secrets most people couldn't keep between their lips for a second, let alone decades.

  And if Simon were an average guy, that would be it. He'd sum up Haley's life by her actions and dismiss her in seconds. But he wasn't that kind of guy. He'd always liked to read between the lines. Liked to step back and see both sides to an equation.

  Even if that equation was drawn upside down and in a foreign language.

  He hadn't planned for the military. He hadn't planned for his family to die. To get placed with a foster family who had an ability to save lives in ways that was comic-book worthy. He hadn't planned to end up in the desert with guys from all over the United States.

  At fourteen his world had imploded. At sixteen he'd almost dropped out of school. At eighteen he'd been talked into joining the Air Force. Finding meaning. Making something of himself.

  The details were all right there within grasp.

  Haley moved past the table. Past Theo's story. Past the encounter where she got the first glimpse of the answer to the questions people like herself and Theo would never answer.

  Worse. The ones Simon would never answer.

  He closed his laptop. Busied himself gathering his study materials. But much like when he'd been leaning against the hood of his car years from this point in time, his attention seemingly elsewhere, she knew his mental faculties were everywhere but on what he was doing.

  The blare of sirens went through the tent, followed by the steady stream of pap-pap-pap-pap-pap that had become almost normal in her time here. He moved toward the exit. She followed. Stepped outside in time to see the yellowish-orange whiz of bullets into the night sky from the Counter Rocket Artillery and Mortar system. Taking down the threat of mortars from the enemy.

  A couple of people exited after her, a few had their phones recording the process. Haley had her fair share of video of it.

  Her focus wasn't on that zip of an orange arc protecting the troops inside the airbase, but the man standing a foot from her. His height and broad shoulders. The way he'd taken a chance on her—the last person worthy of that kind of faith. And she had to know. One way or the other. "That was a close call, huh?"

  He didn't even flinch. "That doesn't even come close to describing it. You've got a quick reaction time."

  "No." Relief poured through her. "That's not it at all and you know it." A prick of emotion hit her throat. The reign of fireworks ended, most everyone around them dispersing.

  Simon's gaze hadn't left the now-dark sky. As if he were contemplating what he might find if he turned around. "What's the plan, here?"

  "Operation keep you and Sam alive. Operation kick Jeff's—"

  "What makes me worthy?" He turned toward her then. The light from one of the utility poles illuminated the brown in his eyes. The emotion in them.

  It hit her chest. "What?"

  "People die every day. What makes my life any more important than those people in there?" He pointed toward the tent. "Or those people over there." He pointed toward the west. Repeated the motion north and south and east. "When I was sixteen, I almost got on a bus headed out of town. You showed up and I didn't get on it. It ended up off-road and end-over-end so many times there were no survivors."

  Her heart slammed into her ribcage. That she hadn't known. Or maybe she had in some dark corner of her mind.

  "I used to think all the times you showed up were nothing more than coincidence. You were drunk, in a bad place, and needed somewhere safe. Who was I to argue with that? But it's not coincidence, is it?"

  She couldn't help it, her feet moved her closer—the two steps between them—her hands gripping the front of his T-shirt and pulling him toward her until her lips found his.

  It could get her kicked off the base and him in a lot of trouble. But he didn't stop her, his hands finding her upper arms and resting there, neither pulling nor pushing. She reveled in the feel of both his touch and his lips on hers. Real.

  Right here. Right now.

  Maybe the only chance she'd get to have this moment. And then she pulled back. "It's not more important. It's just more important to someone." To her. "I'm going to go back to the night of Claudia's accident."

  "Haley..."

  "I need to know what I did or didn't do. I need to figure out how Jeff is involved. If I'm wrong about Theo. I'm not going to let anyone do anything to Sam. Or to you. You're right. There's a reason for everything. You didn't not get on the bus to put a gun to your head later in life."

  An uptake in laughter hit them seconds before someone exited the rec tent. "If you idiots are done, follow me." An exhale filled the space, a cloud of nicotine wafting around them as Theo moved toward and past them as if they would immediately follow.

  Hello, Hal. Long time no see...

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Present Day

  I'VE SEEN THEO. I think he's still alive.

  Haley's words still reverberated in Sam's brain hours after she'd said them. Well after she'd left. After she'd made Sam promise not to follow her into any more dangerous situations. Not to follow her at all.

  I promise I won't be reckless.

  And Sam had held her tongue about the future attempt on Haley's life. She hadn't been able to find the words to tell her sister she could be as safe as a nun, but danger would still find her.

  The knife could still end up against the vulnerable part of her neck. And maybe this time she wouldn't survive. Wouldn't have the will to push through in whatever manner she had.

  Sam hadn't had time to force Elliot into more details in that moment in the future before he'd pushed her back to this moment in time.

  Back to where Lucinda had been injured. And when he'd called seconds after her arrival back in this time, she'd had this crazy urge to find him, call him out on it, and then press her lips to his.

  Which was insane. Top to bottom. The Elliot of t
his time didn't have any knowledge on those events.

  All of it—the past, the future, Lucinda's precarious hold on life, and Haley's words—still rang in Sam's mind when she and Elliot pulled up to Hope Alive.

  The police had cleared them to reenter the building. The front window had been boarded up with plywood for the time being—Elliot and Simon's doing.

  The pool of Lucinda's blood had been cleaned up as well, courtesy of a crew who specialized in crime scene clean up.

  Crime scene clean up.

  In her office.

  Outside of it was where she expected to find these situations. Encountered on the field, outside of her personal circle. To people she could sympathize with and help, but didn't have personal attachment to.

  The map she'd laid out was ripped from the wall, the tacks missing from its surface and scattered across the floor.

  "You gonna talk to me now?" Elliot's voice came from behind her, his hands finding her shoulders. Warm, strong, and steady. Everything inside of her wanted to lean into him. To turn around and see if his lips would be as consuming right here and now as they had been in a future where she didn't exist.

  But that wasn't fair.

  Because if she did die, that only left him with memories he could never recreate or explore.

  "There's nothing to talk about." She moved toward the tacks. Began to pick them up, some with name tags still attached.

  TT. AM.

  "I saw the pictures." He knelt near her, mirrored her motion and grabbed several in his hand.

  "I wish you hadn't."

  "But I did." His gaze hit hers, earnest. "You went somewhere. I can tell."

  This isn't like the warehouse.

  She'd said that. Made that promise to herself to never repeat the mistake. But this...

  "Sam."

  She shook her head. "What am I supposed to say? I went forward in search of a reason—a specific reason—that my sister might want to end her life. Why she'd go to your parents' house and leave a final story before doing so. Those instances on your couch were nothing compared to this. Somebody tries to kill her, Elliot. She has the scar across her neck to prove it."