Whispering Hearts (23 page)

“Twenty minutes. But Dante shouldn't be back in surgery for another couple of weeks. He has to heal before they can do anything else.”

“Something must have already gone wrong, then. Misha says he's being operated on now.”

“Shit.” Garrett started to pace.

“We have to get to the hospital to warn them. We can ward the room to keep Dante safe while they work.”

“No,
I
will ward the room. If these ghosts can throw around scalpels, they might have tricked Misha to lure you into a trap. Plus the hospital staff won't let you into the OR. They're not going to like me spreading salt in the doorways, either.”

Garrett ran his hands through his hair, leaving them on top of his head so his bangs were pulled back from his face. “I don't know how to help him.”

“If you can at least be there, maybe you can run interference. You'll know that something might go wrong.”

He dropped his arms to his sides. “I won't leave you alone in the city. You'll be swamped by ghosts.”

“Then I'll stay here. I can re-cleanse the house and put the wards back up. Elsa and Dante will need a safe place to stay anyway. And Winston and Leo. When Dante is able to be moved, you can bring them all home with you. I'll keep trying to call so I can warn them. Maybe talk them through setting up some wards of their own.”

She could sense how torn he was—wanting to help his friends and facing the overpowering urge to protect her. Pulling him into a hug, she said, “I'll be okay. Misha is here and seems to genuinely want to help. He can warn me if they start to focus on something more than blocking the cell signal.”

Honestly, she'd be the safest one of them all. She hated the idea of staying behind, but at the same time, she didn't know what would happen if she went back to the city now.

All of her mental energy would be spent just sifting through the voices that would undoubtedly be piled on top of each other vying for her attention. And she doubted the ghosts of Michael's victims were the only ones savvy enough to make physical contact.

She remembered all the pinching and shoving, invisible hands grabbing at her wherever she went. She had to stop thinking about this. If Garrett sensed her fear, he'd never go.

Instead, she willed her determination into him. They were going to help their friends. She would make a haven for them when they returned. Garrett would make a temporary safe spot for Dante in the hospital. They could do this.

“I get it,” he said. “Enough with the psychic pep talk. I'll go.”

She followed him to the foyer. He quickly pressed his lips to hers in an urgent kiss. Then he grabbed his wallet and keys from the table and headed for the car.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

At barely lunch time, the sky was so dark it looked to be dusk. Clouds hung above—thick and heavy, and low enough he felt he could reach up and touch them. Garrett's grip on the wheel was turning his knuckles white. Twenty minutes to the hospital meant he was driving fast enough that there was no room for error.

The sky opened up as soon as he had the thought.

“Shit!”

Water hit the windshield like a tidal wave. His instincts told him to slam on the brakes, but he refused to listen. His arms tried to spasm from the jolt of adrenaline in his already saturated system. Years of training and experience helped him control his response.

Surprises happened in the ER all the time. Twitching could cost someone their life. In this case, it would be his.

He eased up on the gas pedal and let gravity and the weight of the car slow him down steady and safe. Florida might be full of bugs and snakes, but at least it was flat. Hills and ditches could have meant disaster.

Even though the road had to be slick, it traveled through the countryside in a straight line toward the city. All he had to do was keep himself calm and let physics do the work for him.

When the speedometer was in a more reasonable range, he turned on his wipers and checked his bearing. He was driving down the center of the road, but at least he wasn't close to running off either side. Rain that thick would turn the ground to quicksand as far as his car was concerned.

The wipers swung furiously back and forth over the glass. The deluge instantly replaced the water they flung away. Lightning crackled right next to his car, bright enough to blind him briefly. Thunder pounded his eardrums right after.

“Fuck!”

This time, his nerves got the better of him and the wheel twitched to the side. The roads were as slick as he thought. The back end of the car swung around so that he was facing the wrong direction.

His momentum kept him going, coasting backward down the straight road. He used the passenger's seat headrest for leverage as he twisted around to look out the back window and keep himself on the asphalt.

He said a silent prayer of thanks that he lived far enough out of town that the roads to and from his home were deserted on weekdays. Gently hitting the brakes, he slowed the car to a crawl. He was planning to stop it, but was too stunned when bright sunshine dazzled his eyes.

Turning back to face the front of the car, he finally stepped on the brake fully, his inertia making the seatbelt pull across his chest. Steam was already rising from the hood as the summer sun heated the water running down its surface.

Rain while the sun was shining wasn't new to him. But this… This was something else. Garrett put the car in park and stepped out so he could see the sky.

In front of him, a wall of dark gray clouds rose up through the atmosphere—a smooth wall that curved away from him. It was like the storm was centered right over his house. A house where Rachel was trapped. Alone.

Well, not exactly alone. She was with Dylan.

Or Misha…

A sick feeling filled Garrett's stomach, spreading out through his body. Something was very wrong. Beyond the bugs, the snakes, the storm, the pissed off ghosts behind it all. They were missing something.

Dante's doctors were at the top of their fields. Garrett had hooked Dante up personally, calling in every possible favor to ensure he received the best care. If Garrett could keep himself from wrecking during that freakish storm, Dante's surgeons could handle a moth in the face or a poke in the ribs. They were trained to deal with distractions, power outages, emergencies.

If Rachel had taught Garrett anything over the past few days, it was that he didn't have to be the one to run in and fix things. He pulled out his phone and saw a full-strength signal.

Letting out a huge breath of relief, he called Elsa.

“Hi, Garrett.”

She giggled. Not the sound someone makes sitting in a waiting room while the love of her life was undergoing emergency surgery.

“Is Dante with you?”

“Where else would he be? Stop it!”

“Elsa!” Garrett didn't mean to yell, but he needed her full attention.

Dante came on the call, his voice low and filled with a quiet challenge.

“Good morning, Garrett. I trust you have good reason for speaking to Elsa in such a harsh tone that I could hear it even sitting next to her.”

Dante sounded as pissed as he ever had, and Garrett was near giddy with relief. Hearing Dante on the phone meant that he was okay. It also meant he wasn't in surgery.

The ghosts that were after Rachel might have tricked Dylan—no, Misha—into leading them astray.

Or Misha had lied.

When Garrett didn't respond, Dante went on. “I will ask you to nonetheless forgo using such a stern tone in the future, as she is quite sensitive to it.”

“I'm sorry.” Garrett ran his hand through his hair. He had forgotten about Elsa's parents. Not that he had the full details on that. They could catch up later.

“Listen, we're kind of in a shitstorm here.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Right. Dante was from the 1800s.
Shitstorm
probably wasn't used back then.

“A mess. Problems. Danger.”

“What do you need?”

“First, I need to know that you're okay.”

“We are both fine.”

There was a pause, then Garrett heard Elsa say, “You're on speaker.” Her voice was a bit colder than usual, but at least she seemed focused. “What's going on?”

Damned if he knew.

“Dante, are you due for surgery anytime soon?” Garrett asked.

“Not for at least several weeks. While the preliminary reviews have been promising, the doctors wish to see how well I have healed from the initial surgery before following up with additional procedures.”

That was the first thing that made sense all day.

“Okay. Good. Listen, I don't know for sure what's going on here, but there are some ghosts that are threatening Rachel. They've even brought you both into it, trying to trick us and…”

And get Rachel alone.

The churning in Garrett's stomach intensified and a chill swept over his skin making his hair stand on end. When it came to the ghosts threatening Rachel, Garrett wasn't sure who he was talking about—Michael's victims or Misha.

Michael.

It had to be.

Michael had been enough of a narcissistic prick to call himself “Michael Angelo” as a painter. Going by Misha as he fooled Rachel into thinking he was a friend of Hiram's would be just the thing to play to his ego. She had said ghosts sometimes shared information. Michael could have learned about Hiram and…

Fuck!

Garrett jumped back into his car and pulled on his seatbelt. Who knew what was in store for him once he drove back into that storm. He had to be alive to help Rachel. He had to get to her.

He also had to warn Elsa. She was in even more danger than they thought.

“What can we do?” Elsa asked.

“I don't have time to explain, but Michael is back. I'm sure of it.”

How the hell was he supposed to protect everybody? Rachel was miles away in the center of what was building up to a landlocked hurricane from the looks of it, Elsa and Dante were miles in the other direction, ignorant of the issue and how to protect themselves. Even Winston and Jazz might be on Michael's list.

“You know that little bookstore on Sunny Lane with the dragon reading a book on the sign?” he asked.

“Bookwyrm. Yes, I did a signing there last year.”

“Good. Then you know the owner.”

“Chloe.”

He relaxed the tiniest bit. “Call her. She's a medium and can help you. Tell her there's at least one poltergeist coming after you and everyone you care about. If you can't reach her—”

This was going to sound crazy, but he barreled on. “Make up some saltwater in spray bottles. Spray it on the windows, doors, any entry to the loft.”

“Our windows are two stories high,” Elsa said.

Shit!
He'd forgotten about that. “Then make lines of salt across all your windowsills and the door to your place. And cover your mirrors. Make sure Winston and Leo stay inside too. And call Jazz and tell her what's up.”

“How great is the danger?” Dante asked.

Lightning streaked from the sky and hit the ground less than a mile in front of Garrett. The thunder rolled in after like a warning. Or a challenge.

Garrett's jaws tightened, the muscles nearly cramping. He bit out each word. “Ward your place. I'll take care of the rest.”

He ended the call, then dropped his phone in the drink tray and knocked the car into drive, flooring the gas. Once he was home, he was going to figure out a way to end this once and for all.

He felt the car hit the water like it was a solid thing, but then it gave and he was back in the downpour. He just had to keep the car going straight. And not miss his driveway.

The rain started to lessen. It made him more anxious. What else did Michael have up his sleeve? What was distracting him from trying to drown Garrett?

By the time Garrett neared his home, the rain had all but stopped. He started to turn into his driveway when something huge lurched up from the brush lining his property. Swerving to miss it, his car went off the drive and into the sand.

“Shit!”

He looked out his window to see an eight-foot alligator walking toward his car. He hit the gas again, but all his wheels did was spin, throwing up patches of grass and digging in deeper.

The gator opened its jaws and hissed. Rows of sharp teeth surrounded the pale flesh of its mouth. Its eyes should have been black, but they glowed bright blue.

At this point, it was just one more weird thing. He pushed it from his mind and focused on what to do next.

His drive was long. Maybe fifty yards. Gators were faster on land than most people knew, but if he had a head start, Garrett could outrun it.

He slid his chair back and climbed into the passenger's seat. As he opened the door to jump out, something slammed against it. The door hit him in the head with enough force to send him sprawling back, seeing stars.

The tip of another gator's nose came into view through the passenger's window.

His heart was pounding. He took a few breaths to calm himself. Looking at his hands, he saw they were okay. If they'd been in the door when it shut—hell, if he'd made it out of the car…

Best not to think of that.

He was a little dizzy and his forehead itched. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw blood flowing down along his temple.

The wound was superficial. Head wounds always bled more. He could fix it later.

At the moment, what he needed to do was think of a way out of his car. Crawling out the windows or using the doors wouldn't work. A gator could jump up and grab him easily. And if he hit the ground too close to one, the same thing would happen. They could strike like a snake.

His heart sank.

Please don't let there be snakes waiting out there too.

Surely gators were enough. Right?

One way or another, he was getting to his house. He would get to Rachel.

He looked around the car for a way to escape. There was no sun roof. Damn, he should have bought a convertible. He could pop the top off, climb on the hood, jump clear of the gators, and run like hell for the house.

Wait…

He turned around to face the trunk of his car. He pushed his chair flat and crawled into the back. The releases for the back seat were a little hard to track down, but once he did, he lowered it so he could reach into his trunk and dig out his tire iron.

He pushed the seat up again and took a deep breath, staring out the glass of his rear windshield as he tested the weight of the metal in his hand. He really wished he was wearing thicker clothes.

Covering his eyes with his elbow, he pulled back his other arm and struck the window as hard as he could.