Threshold of Danger (A Guardian Time Travel Novel Book 1) Page 25

  A normal crime was no problem, but this...

  The panic on Elliot's face at the site floated in his mind. The way he'd dialed Sam's number about forty times before he'd finally gotten an answer.

  And in those moments, Simon hadn't dared breathe too much for fear it would shatter the last bit of normal in his life. The piece he'd been holding onto since the age of fourteen. When Elliot's dad had shown up with the cops at his door and told him his family had been killed in an accident.

  He'd been home sick, playing a video game on the couch in the living room. Remembered bringing the controller with him to the front door. Remembered it falling from his fingers. How it crashed to the tile and bounced. One of the black knobs had busted off and went flying toward the doorway, the event indicative of what his life would be thereafter.

  Like when he found pictures of Sam's dead body and flipped through the stack to find his own face, a hole in the side of his skull, his fingers still curled around a gun. The last one in the stack. The one he hadn't had the guts to show Elliot.

  He could explain it away as someone playing a really sick joke with a talented photo editor, but that wasn't what he had in his possession. He had crime scene photos.

  And there was a reason a man shouldn't be able to know his own demise. Because he hadn't been able to take a full breath since. He'd been working on keeping the panic at a slow simmer at the back of his mind instead of full-blast at the forefront.

  A rap of knuckles came seconds before Jeff poked his head through the door. "You wanted to see me?"

  Simon motioned him in. "Close the door. Have a seat."

  Jeff did as he was asked and situated himself in the chair across from Simon's desk, his hands clasped between his legs. "Is this about the incident at Hope Alive?"

  "Depends on the incident you're referring to."

  Jeff straightened. "What do you mean? I followed Haley there this morning. Sam wasn't happy about it. Has something else happened?"

  Simon waited a beat, the genuine shock on Jeff's face registering. He knew Lucinda, too. Had nobody told him? "Fresno PD believes it was a robbery gone wrong. Lucinda was injured. She's currently in the ICU."

  Simon had a different opinion on the entire ordeal, but he didn't have the luxury of voicing it. Not without some kind of proof. Not after he'd been granted a stay on Haley's arrest with little reason to back it.

  Little reason other than that he rarely asked for favors.

  Jeff stood. "Are they idiots? There's nothing to steal. There's no cash kept on site. There's a few vases, but nothing worth going to jail for."

  "Sit down."

  Jeff complied, his jaw clenched. His shoe tapped a hasty beat against the tile floor.

  "It's not in our direct jurisdiction and you're not to get involved."

  "I know them. Lucinda was sort of my mother-in-law." Anger raced across his face. "How am I supposed to stand by when they're in danger?"

  "You're too close to the situation. Any evidence you collect could be thrown out. If you want to help them, the best thing you can do is not get involved. At least in a professional capacity. If they want you holding their hands—fine." They didn't. Sam had made that more than clear. And he figured Haley felt the same.

  Haley, who had evidence all these years to prove that Jeff hadn't been the one to save her.

  Simon opened his desk drawer, grabbed the Jack Daniel's shooter he'd fished out of Hope Alive's trash can. It was in an evidence bag, tagged and sealed up tight. "Let's talk about this."

  Jeff's gaze flicked to the object. "It fell out of Haley's jacket this morning. I picked it up and called her out on it."

  "Not really an offense that warrants following her. It's not illegal for a person over the age of twenty-one to carry around alcohol in a sealed container."

  But he'd known it wasn't alcohol the second he'd found it in the trash. The lab had confirmed it twenty minutes ago.

  It was spiced sugar water.

  Which didn't make any sense at all. Why would Haley carry it around?

  "You and I both know Haley's been on a self-destructive path for a long time. I got an up-close and personal view of that when Sam and I were married."

  "I'm sure you did." And from his recollection, Jeff and Sam's relationship was already unraveling when Haley had been attacked outside that bar. Was that why Jeff claimed to saving Haley? A last ditch effort to save a dying marriage?

  Simon had pulled up the reports last night when Sam had asked for the details. Jeff's statement was among the paperwork, his signature clear, his words even more so.

  He found Haley. He called 9-1-1.

  In another universe the details might not even be an issue, but in the here and now, there was too much uncertainty floating around for Simon to let it fade.

  "Regardless of the fact that we're no longer together, I still care about her. I don't want to see her get hurt by Haley's poor choices. That's not illegal either."

  "But it is unlawful to give a false statement to the police."

  All emotion left Jeff's face. "Unless you have a formal complaint—a formal accusation to make—I'm not going to discuss the past with you."

  "Fair enough." Simon stood. "We're good, Lieutenant. Thanks for your time."

  Jeff stood, uncertainty in his gaze. "That's it?"

  No. It was so far from being it.

  "Have a good evening."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ENRAGED.

  It was the only emotion flowing through Haley's system as she sat in a chair inside Lucinda's hospital room. The space was silent save the monitors tracking the steady rise and fall of the woman's chest and the consistent beat of her heart.

  She'd lost so much blood that the doctors were surprised she was even alive when Haley had arrived with her in the emergency room. More perplexed that she'd come all the way from North Fresno without the older woman going into shock and dying.

  They weren't the only ones.

  She'd never been able to do much more than carry herself in an absorption or slingshot. Sam had all the talent there, which was probably okay considering the ways Haley had tried to harm herself with it.

  The emergency personnel had taken Lucinda from her, a man in scrubs barking orders about large bore IVs, units of blood, saline, and pressure bandages in rapid succession. They'd already been sticking a tube down her throat when another person in scrubs—Haley couldn't remember if it had been a man or woman—had told her she needed to wait in the lobby.

  The medical staff would do everything they could to save her. They hadn't mentioned that the cops had been called and she'd need to stick around to answer questions. But she should've realized the protocol.

  Instead, her thoughts had been on the woman who'd practically raised her and her sister. Lucinda had been a very strange role model. She hadn't left their family when it had been shredding at its core. She'd been hard on them and they'd given her grief—Haley anyway—and she'd never left. Never taken a look at two out-of-control teenagers and packed her bags. Told the Colonel to stick it.

  "Haley." Sam sat beside her. She'd arrived in the ER thirty minutes after Haley had called her. Elliot had been at her side, silent and brooding. Together, they'd fielded the questions from the cops who'd come to take a statement as if they'd been the one to find Lucinda instead of Haley.

  Sam had protected Haley again, while Haley couldn't even figure out how to do that for her.

  We've just got to figure out who did it before they do it.

  Yeah, great in theory, sort of difficult in actuality. Was she supposed to run all over Fresno interviewing random strangers?

  Sam's palm found the hands Haley had intertwined over her protruding belly. The three-quarter sleeved shirt she had on was covered in blobs of blood and did nothing to hide her growing abdomen. They'd taken her favorite jacket as evidence.

  "How far along are you?"

  Haley could hedge. She could avoid. She could storm off. "Sixteen weeks, give or take.
"

  Sam gave a small smile. "Mom would've been so excited."

  Haley shook her head. "If it were you."

  Sam's hand left her. "No."

  "If it were a baby that came from anything other than the circumstances."

  "You're too hard on yourself."

  She needed to be harder. Whip her mind and body into shape. She sat forward. "I remember going to Shaver with Claudia. I remember being afraid—for her. There was someone behind me—a man. I remember telling her to find you. And then we were on a beach and Ricky and Theo were there. She was drowning and there are these flashes where I see her being tied up to a cinder block and hear myself promising that someone will come for her. But I'm drunk and I have no idea why anyone would trust me in that state."

  Sam's gray eyes were glued to her. "Maybe because you weren't really drunk."

  "What?" Haley shook her head. "Have you been drinking? I've been on a two-year bender practically. I was drunk, my memory of it is hazy at best."

  She swallowed, her focus roving back to Lucinda. "After you left, Vi told me about an incident where you showed up at their North Carolina house sober. There was some nice conversation, you left them with your work, and then attempted to kill yourself."

  It can't end like this.

  Sam clenched her hands in her lap. "I slung myself forward, because I know it happens sometime after this point in time."

  Everything inside of Haley clenched. "And?"

  "I was hoping to figure out why and stop it. Instead I find out I'm dead." Her tone was flat.

  Haley leaned forward, her stomach rolling in on itself with a flash of Sam's gray face. "I keep seeing that, too."

  Sam pulled her purse from the floor, took a pack of gum out, and unwrapped one piece. "I'd ask when you were going to let me in on that, but I get it."

  Of course she did. Someone could punch Sam in the face—she'd probably deck them right back—but she'd understand the reason. The intent. Would easily forgive if the words were offered and came from a place of honesty.

  "Simon's dead, too."

  Haley straightened, a ripple of panic flaring through her. "No."

  "They rule it a suicide."

  Haley stood. The ripple turned into a flood. The urge to run boiled in her veins. She forced herself to stay inside Lucinda's room. Paced from one end to the other, counted the floor tiles as she went. "Where did it happen?"

  "A crowded bar from the sounds of it."

  Haley froze. Shook her head. "No. No, he would not blow his brains out in front of a crowd. Or ever. Anywhere."

  Sam fiddled with the gum wrapper. Folded it. Unfolded it. "I would agree, but I'd also say I'd be alive next year too, so what do I know?"

  "You will be." Haley would ensure that happened.

  "You and Elliot are set on finding the culprit. You empty out little shooters and refill them with a colored liquid you drink instead. You pretend to be drunk because that's what people have come to expect from you. Elliot warned me to be cautious of other travelers. He said that's the biggest threat."

  What do you mean where did I come from?

  Theo had regarded Haley as if she were a moron. He had burns all over him.

  "I've seen Theo." Haley recalled the cigarette smell she'd encountered inside Hope Alive. He couldn't be the deserter the media had so badly wanted to portray two years ago. He had to be the hero. "I think... I think he's still alive. I think he's somehow involved. In everything."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  SHE'D BEEN OUTSIDE his house for at least fifteen minutes. Sitting in her blue car, the dome light illuminating her dark hair and bent head.

  Simon had planned to give Haley another five minutes before wandering out there. Five minutes where he'd intended to figure out if he'd have to arrest her or deal with something worse.

  Then his neighbor, Mrs. Humphrey, a seventy-year-old woman who still ran marathons and painted in the wee hours of the morning, had called and alerted him to the blue car he already knew about.

  So he'd grabbed his gun and a flashlight—aimed the latter at her mirror as he approached and prayed she wasn't behind the wheel drunk.

  She blocked the light with her left hand. Kept flipping through the pages with the other. She rolled down the window as if she'd known it would be him and not some stranger with nefarious intentions.

  "Haley."

  "Simon." She didn't look up, but continued flipping through the folder on her lap. The scent of alcohol was nowhere in the vicinity. "Out for a stroll?"

  She knew he wasn't. "The neighbor said there was a suspicious vehicle out here. What are you doing?"

  She took out a paper. Set it on the center console. "Wanted to bring you some information."

  He holstered his gun. "It couldn't wait until morning?"

  She shook her head. "How long have you been dealing with me?"

  Everything around him stopped. He'd wondered when she'd make it back to Knight House. If she'd remember if she did. If he'd remember. There were little blips that had been with him forever and other incidents that came to him in waves.

  Like the time she'd shown up at Knight House so drunk he'd had to physically remove her. She'd bitten him. And he'd wondered why he even bothered to help her. But then he'd remembered her sitting next to him at that bus station. How he'd not gotten on it. How the bus had ended up in a large accident with no survivors. "Sixteen years. Off and on."

  Her deep brown gaze hit him then. "When were you planning on saying something?"

  "I made a feeble attempt a few months ago when I hauled you in for public intox. Although I had less information than I do now. And by feeble, I mean I opened my mouth and..."

  Haley had tried to kiss him. Not because she'd actually wanted to feel his lips on hers, but because she assumed that would buy her some freedom. She assumed that a kiss turned every man into a bumbling fool.

  Her eyes dropped to the papers in her lap as if she knew his thoughts. "Hard to have it all with the way it keeps changing."

  He scanned the surrounding houses, some with porch lights lit, others with blazing lights within. Mrs. Humphrey waved from her art room. He waved back. She resumed whatever project she worked on. "Why don't you come inside?"

  "Can't." She shook her head, a piece of dark hair falling into her eyes. "We both know what that would look like. I'm a possible suspect. My prints are on my gun, right?" She looked up at him. "There's gun residue on it, isn't there?"

  This should've been easy. All the evidence pointed right toward her. She'd serve a minimum amount of time if she pled guilty. But there was that thing in his gut. Valencourt's face in his mind, part of it gone.

  Her jaw clenched. "I'm not going to cost you your job over history that barely exists."

  It existed. He used his flashlight to gesture toward the passenger's side. "May I?"

  She flipped the unlock button and he moved around the car. Opened the door, got inside, and shut off his light. There was a bag with clothes stuffed into it in the backseat. A pillow. A blanket. There was a bottle near his feet. He grabbed it, the peeling black label catching his eyes. "Saving this?"

  "Depends on how you look at it. I bought it over a week ago. Threw it in the ocean and then retrieved it."

  He couldn't help the laughter that came from his mouth. It was exactly the sort of thing she'd do. "Good for you."

  Her head swung toward him, annoyance shooting from her dark eyes. "You don't even know if I'll drink it or not."

  "If you were going to, you would've already."

  "That's a lot of faith to put in someone with a consistently broken track record."

  The shooter in his office came to mind. He opened the cap.

  "What are you doing?" She moved away from him, closer to her door. Her hand was already on the door latch, anxiety swirling in the vehicle.

  He took a swig. A hint of apples, cinnamon, and sugar hit his tongue. "It's not alcohol."

  "What? I bought it from a liquor store. Of course
it's alcohol."

  "Which one?"

  "I don't know." Confusion moved across her face. "One down on Shaw?"

  "You can't remember making the purchase." Because she hadn't.

  A thunderbolt of emotion moved over her face. "I don't keep track of these things."

  He handed her the bottle.

  She shook her head. Held up her hands, palms facing him. "I'll take your word for it. Just get that thing away from me."

  He recapped it. Put it back at his feet.

  "In a little while you're going to arrest me, Simon." Her gaze held his. "I know you have to. It will keep you safe. It will keep Sam safe."

  Electricity flowed through the space. "How do you figure?"

  "If I'm behind bars, Theo can't draw me into a story. Sam won't have to follow me in hopes of rescuing me and you..." Her fingers reached toward his temple. Toward the place the bullet would pierce his skin. The touch was whisper light. Like she knew...

  "Theo Trenton is dead."

  Her hand dropped. "Like Claudia is supposed to be dead? I have this memory of her at Shaver. She's bleeding and we're in danger. And I'm drunk. There's someone behind me. And he's going to kill us both. I think it's Theo. So, no, I don't believe he's dead."

  "You don't have proof of any—"

  Haley's door whipped open. A man gripped her shoulders and pulled her from the car. "You're coming with me."

  Simon shot out of the car. Reached for his gun as he rounded the vehicle. "What the...?" He centered his weapon on where the guy—tall and dark-haired—struggled to get a flailing Haley under control. Her papers were scattered across the road. "Jeff? What are you doing?"

  "I'm doing what you should be doing." He jerked her arms behind her back, his forearm sliding behind her shoulder blades in a hold to prevent her from causing harm to him. The motion jerked her upper body outward, the bulge of what could only be early pregnancy evident.

  Simon couldn't help it, he moved closer, his heart in his throat, his gun centered. "Let's slow down."

  "Get that thing out of my face, Riley."