Whispering Hearts (3 page)

Rachel hovered in the doorway. “Sorry.”

She tended to fade next to her mother, like a flower folding in darkness, but this took it to a whole new level. He was used to her being vibrant, lighting up a room with her conversation and charm.

“It's all those dreadful medicines they have you on. Hurry up and change, dear. And do something with your hair.”

“Yes, mother.”

Garrett's chest felt tight—too full from everything he was having to process, all the things he could imagine that woman saying to Rachel when no one else was around to hear.

“Don't trouble yourself,” he said. Rachel had trouble enough.

She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, but her mother spoke over her.

“Are you leaving so soon then?” Mrs. Montgomery's tone was smug. She thought she had won some victory. Garrett was through playing her games.

“Yeah. And Rachel's coming with me.”

Rachel's gaze came into sharp focus as she started to back away. “I won't go back to the hospital.”

“You don't have to. But you can't stay in this toxic environment.”

“Excuse me!” Mrs. Montgomery must have been taking another sip of that damned tea, because he heard the cup and saucer clink on the table.

Garrett rounded on her. “There is no excusing the things you just said to me. And if that's how you talk to company, I can't imagine what you've been saying to Rachel since she came home.”

He turned back to Rachel, approaching her slowly to be sure he didn't scare her. He didn't want to bring up memories of the nightmare she had endured just two months ago.

The urge to protect her was overpowering. When he was close enough he rested his hands on her arms.

She looked up at him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Where would I go?”

“We'll figure that out.” He kept his voice as soft as he could manage, barely above a whisper. “But you don't have to stay here. Please let me help you.”

She pressed her lips together tightly. He knew that look. She wanted to argue. But she nodded instead. She must be worse off than he thought.

He let out a breath of relief, only then realizing he was dusting his thumbs back and forth over the soft skin of her arms. He stopped and said, “Go and pack a bag. Holler from the front door when you're ready.”

Mrs. Montgomery rose from her chair. “I will not be disrespected in my own home!”

She started toward Rachel, but Garrett turned and crossed his arms, shifting so that he entirely blocked the door to the small room. Sometimes being a giant was very useful. He let himself be intimidating.

“If you think I'm going to let you near Rachel again, you are very much mistaken. Sit down and finish your tea.”

Mrs. Montgomery raised her voice enough for Rachel to hear. “If you leave now, don't bother coming back.”

The stunning lack of compassion left him speechless. He looked over his shoulder at Rachel to see how she would take the callous remark.

Rachel paused at the base of a staircase, one hand on the bannister. Without turning to even glance at them she said, “I won't.”

Then she vanished up the stairs.

“How dare you come into my house and cause such a disturbance!”

Garrett turned back to the livid woman before him. “How dare you treat your daughter like this?”

Mrs. Montgomery snorted—a sound he never expected to hear from her. Then she narrowed her eyes and smiled.

“She'll come crawling back, eventually.”

Garrett laughed and shook his head. “You have no idea, do you? Those friends that you seem to have such a low opinion of? We all
love
her. Every single one of us. We would die for her. Two of us damn near did. She has homes with us all, places where the people will care for her and treat her right. Speak to her with the respect and compassion that she deserves.” He tried to stop himself, but he was too angry and kept going. “But you? You deserve to live a long, lonely life. Because that's what you're making for yourself. That's your choice.”

She gave him a strange smile, like she knew something he didn't. Then she shook her head and walked to the table, a casual stride instead of her usual elegant glide. It unnerved him.

By the time she sat down, her mask of fine manners had swept back over her face. She took a sip of her tea, once more the proper lady.

“You want to take her off my hands? Fine.” Her voice was low and somehow menacing. “But you will find, Dr. Wolfstrom, that my little girl is never alone. And you might not appreciate the company she keeps quite as much as you think.”

Chapter Two

Socks, underwear, jeans…
Rachel gathered the things she would need, stuffing each into her backpack as she checked them off her mental list. A few button-up shirts followed, then a pair of sneakers on top.

Shoes. Right, shoes.

She shoved her feet into some sandals before she forgot she was barefoot. The pavement would be hot and she didn't want anything to delay her in getting the hell out of here.

Was she really doing this? Leaving her sanctuary?

She had wanted to leave. Of course she had. But her room was safe. The one spot in the world where she knew she could actually be alone.

She glanced around at the powder-blue walls, the white slatted closet doors and canopy bed that had barely changed since she was a child. The stuffed animals and boy-band posters were gone in a vain attempt to make her room look more like an apartment.

Instead it was stark. Barren. Like a prison cell.

This was no way to live.

She told herself she was staying with her parents to help with their political aspirations. Photo-ops were much more effective with the entire family embracing and smiling at the cameras. The pictures were just another kind of lie.

In truth she was terrified—afraid to make the simplest changes in case it somehow opened a crack in her defenses. Even when studying Interior Design in college, she hadn't changed the color of the paint, added different furniture, or even put in area rugs. She kept everything the same.

She couldn't stay here anymore, listening to her mother's daily barrage of deprecating statements and watching the help avoid her or make the sign of the cross when they thought she wasn't looking. A lifetime of that scared her more. She could make other places safe.

She walked to the window and put her fingers behind the plain white poppet hanging there—a tiny doll with no distinguishing features aside from its hominid form. A medley of herbs were inside along with the cotton stuffing that gave it its shape. The few times people caught her making them, she said it was her take on potpourri sachets.

It wasn't.

“Salt.” She spoke as if the little doll could hear her. “I'm going to need salt.” She let it go and watched it swing back and forth in the window for a moment.

No more time for dallying. She ran to her bathroom and opened her medicine cabinet. The door was plain wood—she had removed the mirror decades ago. She grabbed the large cylinder of salt that was inside, along with her hairbrush. No way she was leaving stray hairs around. The brush and salt went into the top of her backpack, which was lying open on her bed.

There was a medium-sized suitcase in her closet that already held most of what she needed. Books, notes, a few necessary supplies. Hidden away where the staff—and her mother—wouldn't get at them.

She pulled it out, then wheeled it to her bed and opened the zipper so she could shove in a few extra things like toiletries and…more books. She dropped to her knees and pulled her best book on psychic self-defense from under her bedside table.

The tattered thing was wrapped in cloth to prevent further damage to the binding. Rachel had slept with it under her pillow every night for as long as she could remember. Each morning, she hid it in the thin space between the bedside table and floor. She placed it in her suitcase with reverent care.

From the drawer in the small table she grabbed scissors, thread, needles, and white fabric—the basic materials to make new poppets—then shoved them in her backpack. Wherever she was going, she hoped they had a well-stocked kitchen. She would need fresh herbs.

“You about ready?”

When she heard Garrett's voice, she let out a little yell and fell backwards onto her bottom. He ran to her and knelt at her side.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. Large, strong, warm. The hair on her arms stood on end as a shiver of pleasure swept through her body.

His eyes were dark blue. Deep and rich, like the ocean. But warmer than the waters she had known.

He was ridiculously gorgeous. His face had the perfect symmetry of a model, his jaw and bone structure as strong as a superhero's. And he was
built
. Broad shouldered and barrel chested, but not too bulky.

When he hugged her, he enveloped her. It made her feel safe.

The ideas that sprang into her mind when he touched her were the hardest to handle. Her imagination tortured her with a future she had no right to think about. At least when it came to him.

“How are you here?” she asked.

Garrett was always there when she needed someone. Even when she didn't ask. He always knew.

“Well, it took some poking around, since none of the staff was of a mind to help me. But if I stayed in that room with your mom another minute…” He let out a sigh through his nose, his lips tight. “Let's just say I might have turned ungentlemanly.”

She couldn't imagine Garrett being anything but gentle. Case in point, he cupped her elbows and helped her to her feet. Her hands wound up resting on his chest. She couldn't stop staring into his eyes.

He grinned, the lopsided smirk making her heart feel like dandelion seeds. The two of them could float away on a trail of gossamer white to a place where they could put down roots, enjoy the warm sun, press themselves closer together…

“You keep looking at a guy like that, you might give him the wrong idea.” His smile vanished as pain and worry shoved it aside. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I forgot for a minute…”

“Forgot?”

Oh right. Her ex-boyfriend, Michael. The ex-person, thanks to her.

Her hands curled into fists and she dropped her gaze to Garrett's feet. She started to pull away, but he gently tightened his grip on her elbows. Just enough to get her attention and make her pause.

“Have you been taking your medicine?”

“It's right there.”

She pointed at the bedside table, to the army of bottles containing the exact amount of pills she should have left based on the instructions her doctors had given her. She disposed of several every day in case someone counted.

“That doesn't answer my question.”

She managed to look at him, then. “The longer we stay the more likely something will happen to keep me here. Please, Garrett. Can we just go? I want to go.”

He nodded and let his hands drop from her arms. “Yeah. But I'm going to want to talk later.”

“That's fine.”

She ran to the table and threw the bottles in her backpack to reassure him. They took up precious space, but getting away quickly was most important. If they took too long, the yard would be crowded with spirits by the time they made it outside. Everyone wanting something from her. She wasn't sure she could handle that.

In a moment, she'd have nowhere left to run to.

“Can you get the glass ball that's hanging in the window?”

He did as she asked, detaching her witch's ball from the swag hook in the ceiling. He stared for a moment at the chords of blue-green glass that had been created inside the sphere. The strands were meant to catch and confuse spirits trying to enter the room.

Taking down her witch's ball would weaken her boundaries. She wasn't sure how much. But she would need it wherever she ended up.

Her heart pounded as they removed the strongest part of her defense. Leaving the others in place would buy her enough time to leave in peace—she hoped.

“It's pretty handy, being tall. You want this thing too?” He reached for the poppet.

“No!”

She took a few steps toward him, but stopped when he jerked his hand back from the doll. His puzzled look turned to concern. She would deal with that later too.

“Rachel?” Her mother's voice carried down the hallway.

“Rachel…”
The echo came from her closet.

Rachel's heart leapt to her throat. That was fast. Too fast.

She grabbed the glass ball from Garrett and stuffed it in her backpack with her clothes, cushioning it as best she could. Her hands were shaking as she zipped everything shut. She grabbed her purse and a spray bottle full of saltwater from her desk.

“Can you get the suitcase?” She slung her backpack over her shoulder.

“Sure.” Garrett lifted her suitcase by the handle rather than wheeling it around. He nodded toward the spray bottle and said, “What's that for?”

“I'll explain later. We have to go. Now.”

The door to the bathroom slammed shut and they both started at the sound. It reminded her of the popping noise Michael's gun had made.

“Is there a window open in there?” Garrett asked.

“No.” There were no windows in the bathroom at all.

Too fast and too powerful.

Rachel grabbed Garrett's hand and pulled him toward the hallway. They needed to leave immediately. For that level of manifestation to take place so quickly…

They must have been waiting for her. Waiting for her to let down her guard even a little. Like they had warned her they would.

Her mother was already in the hallway, her small frame somehow taking up the entire space.

“It is highly improper to have a gentleman in your bedroom.”

Rachel froze. Her mother was a master manipulator. All she had to do to destroy Rachel was tell Garrett that the voices Rachel had heard in the hospital—the ones that made everyone think she was crazy—hadn't gone away. Rachel doubted it would help if Garrett knew they had always been there.

Voices of the dead.

Garrett was a doctor. He would think in terms of pathologies and cures. He would take her back to the hospital, where the rooms and halls were filled with wandering spirits. She wasn't sure her sanity would survive another stay.

“Don't let it trouble you.” Garrett squeezed Rachel's hand, pulling her along. “We're leaving.”

He shouldn't be the one facing off against her mother, but Rachel didn't know if she was strong enough to do it herself. She knew what her mother was capable of and was terrified of the woman.

In that moment though, she hated herself. Hated her weakness.

The past few weeks were a gray blur of pain and despair. Her mother's words only seemed like an anchor pulling Rachel deeper into the abyss. An abyss that was calling out to her.

“Rachel…”
she heard again.

“And where are you taking her?” Rachel's mother asked.

“You don't deserve to know,” Garrett said. Rachel had never heard him sound so angry. His hand was trembling, his grip tight. “I can't believe you're more concerned about bad publicity than your own daughter.”

“Don't leave us.”
The voice was louder, closer. Then another spoke.
“You're supposed to be with us.”
And another.
“You were never supposed to leave.”

The voices were right next to her. Her skin erupted in gooseflesh as she felt a breath of icy cold air on the back of her neck. She quickened her pace, but her mother followed along as Garrett led Rachel down the stairs into the foyer.

“My daughter has already been abducted once,” her mother said. “I think that's quite enough.”

“Mother!” Rachel didn't recognize the shriek that came from her mouth as she wheeled around. Her entire body was shaking. “Don't you dare compare this with what happened to me,” she said. “Garrett is trying to help, which is more than you've done since I came home.”

Wherever Garrett was taking her had to be better than this—as long as it wasn't back to the hospital. She was fine with whatever he had in mind. She trusted him.

She didn't trust anyone else in the house with the knowledge of where she would be. Why did her mother even care?

Wait—she
didn't
care. She was a merciless, vengeful woman. Rachel's cheeks tingled as she understood her mother's plan.

Either get Garrett to say where he was taking Rachel, letting the spirits in the house overhear and seek her out to torment, or even better, watch Rachel slip up and mention the voices in front of him.

It didn't matter that her mother knew they were real from first-hand experience. Rachel had inherited her ability from her mother—not that the woman would ever let anyone know she was psychic. Without the moonstone earrings she always wore that somehow blocked the voices, her mother would hear the ghosts too.

No, she didn't want to know where Rachel would be. Her mother wanted to punish Rachel for leaving—like she'd punished Rachel for befriending spirits as a child.

Rachel's rage became a living thing inside her demanding release. Thoughts and feelings she had stifled for days, weeks, her entire life pressed against her lips. For one brief moment she wanted to know what it felt like to be free.

She stepped in front of Garrett, walking right up to her mother. She had never noticed how small the woman was.

“That's the first time you even admitted that I was abducted,” Rachel said.

She dropped her purse and the bottle of saltwater so she could pull the sweatbands off of her wrists.

“I'm done. I'm done being a marketing prop. You want a picture?” She threw down the wristbands and held up her arms, revealing the shining red and white scars Michael had left behind. “Take one now!”

Her mother's mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. Rachel would remember that sight for the rest of her life. She felt a thrill of victory. Lillian Montgomery, speechless.

“That's why…” Garrett's voice was almost a whisper, so soft Rachel thought at first it might be one of
them
.

“That's why she had you wearing the tennis outfit,” he said. “To match the wristbands. So no one would see and ask questions—no one would know what happened to you.”

“It doesn't matter.” Rachel bent down to pick up her things. “We're leaving.”

“It does matter!” Garrett stepped toward Rachel's mom, glaring balefully. “What the hell is wrong with you?”