Whispering Hearts (5 page)

The delay might cost her, though. Like when Garrett waited to listen to Finn's voicemail the day after she was abducted.

Finn was Garrett's best friend and a private investigator. He had been working on a case for Garrett—a case involving Elsa and Dante, not Rachel. And Garrett had called Finn off, asked him to stop digging.

He had done it for Elsa. She had been terrified when Garrett told her that he had hired Finn. But instead of barging in and taking charge of things as usual, she asked Garrett to take care of it. She had never trusted him to do something like that before, and he didn't want to let her down.

Now he knew that she'd been afraid that Finn would discover that she had a psychic power. And she was right to be afraid. Finn had ferreted out her secret—and Dante's.

Garrett should have known Finn wouldn't be able to walk away from that case. Still, when Garrett had noticed the voicemail, he'd thought it was nothing—an invitation to a jazz club, Finn calling to give Garrett a hard time about something. He never thought it could be so important.

His stomach cramped at the memory. He had gone over the details hundreds of times, thought of the different ways he could have spared Rachel from even a moment in Michael's garage or kept Elsa and Dante from being hurt. Garrett had done the math, figured out when the call came in and when Rachel was taken, when Elsa and Dante showed up to help her.

Garrett had been consulting with another doctor when Finn called, but could have listened to the voicemail right after. Instead Garrett had gone home to get ready for the new exhibits opening in the gallery. His stomach had been upset all that day and he'd felt weirdly out of it, but he had wanted to see Rachel again—even if she was on another man's arm.

Jazz had happened to drive past him while he'd been walking from his car to her gallery. She'd slammed on her brakes and nearly ran into another SUV, cutting him off on the sidewalk, then she screamed for him to jump in. When she'd told him what was happening, he'd never been so scared in his life. Not since…

He shook aside a memory that was even darker.

He
would not
lose Rachel. He wouldn't let her slip away.

Chapter Four

Steam surrounded her, clinging to her soapy skin. Rachel stood in the tub and let the hot water pound on her back.

She hadn't been able to shower for a week. She couldn't bring herself to be naked in her parents' house. She felt vulnerable enough as it was. Sloughing off all that grime and oil felt as decadent as a full body massage.

Knowing that Garrett was right outside, she felt safe for the first time in months. Safe and awful.

She was taking advantage of him. She knew it. He cared about her. More than cared.

No matter what was going on in her life, he was always there for her. And every time she walked away, she saw how much it hurt him. Every time, it was harder for her to leave.

She couldn't pull him into the chaos and darkness of her life. Helping her out from time to time was easier to handle than living with what she could do, with what she knew.

She had to get on her feet—and out of his house—as quickly as she could. To spare him from getting his hopes up. To spare them both from their connection starting to build, only to be severed again. But where could she go?

Jazz's apartment was in one of the most densely populated parts of the city. It would be thick with ghosts. The same went for Elsa and Dante's loft.

Their house was a different matter. And it was next door.

Rachel could run over, cleanse the place, put up poppets, and hide until she was strong enough to tune out any voices that didn't belong to the living. If she waited long enough, maybe word about her among the spirits would quiet down.

Right. Like that was going to happen. The only reason they had left her alone for this long was because her friend Hiram had been around to convince the other ghosts that Rachel's powers were fading as she grew up. Hiram was gone. He had crossed over decades ago.

Elsa and Dante's house was still her best bet. If she could convince Garrett to give her the key, she could leave him in peace. She might need to borrow a laptop till she could get one of her own. Then she'd be able to order everything she needed without leaving the property.

But she would be isolated. As much as she wanted to avoid the dead, she knew she needed the living. Being alone reminded her of the time she had spent chained up in pitch darkness while Michael had her in his power. The memory made her shiver.

Garrett wouldn't go for it anyway. He was set on her not being alone. Knowing him, he wanted to keep an eye on her, to watch for signs that she was a danger to herself or others. He would want to keep her close, to help her heal. To protect her.

She didn't deserve it. She was lying to him—to everyone. People she loved had risked their lives to save her without really knowing who she was. All they saw was the socialite's daughter, the role her mother had raised her to play.

If they knew what she could do, would they still care about her? If they knew she was a coward?

She had hidden herself away from ghosts for as long as she could. Then she had run. And she hadn't even managed that on her own. Garrett had come to her rescue again.

At least she had finally stood up to her mother.

Lillian.
Saying terrible things about Rachel was one thing, but Garrett… Apparently Rachel reserved causing him grief for herself.

The only thing that made staying with him bearable was that she loved him too. She turned around, eyes stinging as her tears mingled with the hot water.

The numbness that had enveloped her over the last few days fell away, leaving her heart flayed and bleeding. Not from shock or horror over what had happened to her, but from the loss of what could have been between her and Garrett. If she had been born normal.

But Rachel wasn't normal. She never would be. And Garrett deserved better. It was bad enough he was saddled with her as a friend.

She shouldn't keep him waiting. She finished cleaning herself quickly, then turned off the water.

After wiping the excess moisture from her skin, she looked for a towel. Several were stacked on a shelf built into the wall just beyond the sink. Which presented a problem—she hadn't thought to cover the mirror when she entered. She had ducked her head and raced for the shower.

The mirror was fogged with steam. And Garrett's house was far enough from the city that she hoped there were no haunted places nearby. Unless
she
was haunted now, and that was a very distinct possibility.

Michael's other victims had not been happy with Rachel when she killed him. They were very clear on that point, even before they were certain she could hear them. They were afraid of what would happen when Michael's spirit was no longer trapped in his body.

She didn't want Michael to be able to hurt anyone, living or dead. But she hadn't known what else to do. She'd had to stop him, to save Elsa and Dante. In that moment, she had made her choice.

As soon as she had been discharged, she'd started working on helping the spirits of Michael's victims. Luckily, her parents had gathered all the information they could on
the incident
—including what had been done with Michael's body.

No family had come forward to claim it, so it had been cremated. Rachel felt a sigh of relief flow through her every time she thought about that.

With no earthly remains to link him to the physical plane, his spirit would be forced to move on to whatever came next. She had that on excellent authority, and her research corroborated what she'd been told.

Michael couldn't be the reason the ghosts at her mother's house were angry. Not directly, anyway. She didn't understand why they were so upset that she had escaped and they hadn't, why they hadn't moved on when Michael died. What was keeping them here?

They could want Rachel's help, like many spirits did. Tying up loose ends that had been left unraveled when they died.

She wasn't a stranger to ghosts trying to scare or bully her into helping them. That was the norm rather than the exception. It was a big part of why she did her best to ignore them all. Even the ghosts who were comparatively nice were just too numerous. It was overwhelming.

She shuddered as she remembered her mother's harsh lessons about toying with the spirit realm.

“You want to play with ghosts? Fine. Here are some new playmates.”

Yeah, her mother was going to Hell. Except Rachel didn't believe in Hell. Or Heaven. She knew there was something
after
, but didn't think she could conceive of what it was like.

People made their own Heavens and Hells right here on Earth. Both the living and the dead. Whatever the reason, it wasn't right that Michael's victims were still suffering. She had to do something to help them.

She would check her books. She would find a way. But first she had to give herself a safe sanctuary, a place where spirits couldn't enter without her permission. To do that, she had to leave the bathroom.

She looked toward the mirror again, but couldn't bring herself to move. The AC was running and the water left on her skin began to evaporate, chilling her.

If she called to Garrett and asked him to cover the mirror, it would be one more mark against her, one step closer to him giving up on her and taking her to the hospital. She was shocked he hadn't done so already. She sank down in the tub and curled into a ball to stay warm while she thought of a plan.

She could crawl out of the bathroom. No, too weird.

Close her eyes as she passed? Her reflection would still appear in the mirror, making it that much more likely a ghost would find her.

She could just deal with it. Walk out and say, “Hi,” to anyone who might be in the room with her. Not brave enough.

Just the thought of talking openly to a ghost made her tremble. Too many memories poured through her mind.

Whispers in the night, shadows flashing across any reflective surface, wicked smiles as they reached for her, let her know that they were touching her, even if she couldn't feel them—and worse, the ones she
could
feel.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head. She wasn't that terrified child anymore. Was she?

“Rachel?”

She shook her head harder, pressing her hands over her ears.

“Rachel?”

“Stop,” she said. “Stop talking to me.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped sideways, her shoulder slamming into the tile of the shower.

“Rachel! Are you okay?”

Garrett was kneeling next to her, leaning over the tub. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up against his chest.

“I'm getting you all wet,” she said.

“I don't care. Come on.” He helped her stand, then tried to ease her out of the tub.

“Wait.”

He stopped, staring into her eyes. The pain she could see there would be etched on her soul forever. How could she do this to him?

She should tell him. Just explain everything.

But that would buy her a one-way ticket back to the hospital.

His gaze briefly wavered, a deep red blush coming to his cheeks. He looked away, but kept his hands on her arms.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“A towel.”

He nodded and released her. The room was small and he was huge. He only had to take a step to reach the towels. He turned back to her with one in hand and offered it to her, averting his gaze from her body.

“Thanks.” She wrapped it around herself, then pointed at the mirror. “Could you cover that, please?”

“The mirror?”

“Yes. I—” Inspiration hit and she said, “I don't like looking at myself since…it happened.”

Her heart was pounding painfully against her ribs, as if it wanted to punish her for the half-truth. She had
never
liked looking in mirrors and only used a compact so she could control what she saw.

He stared at her for a few moments, the lines on either side of his mouth deepening. It was obvious he wasn't buying her story. But he picked up another towel and draped it over the mirror anyway.

“Thanks.” Tears pricked her eyes again.

He helped her from the tub. His hands didn't linger this time and he pointedly avoided looking at her. Since he had just seen her naked, that kind of made sense. He was also keeping his body as far from hers as he could.

She was used to them gravitating toward each other, especially in close-quarters like these. Her heart squeezed painfully at the absence of that contact. It was the least she deserved for putting him through this.

“Are you going to be okay if I step outside while you get dressed?”

“Yes. I'm fine, really.”

He looked at her then, pinning her with his gaze. “No you're not. And you don't have to be. Not with me. But you will be okay. You're going to get through this.”

He lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her, but stopped himself and let his arm drop back to his side. He stepped out of the room again, pausing in the doorway.

“I'll be right outside.”

A lump formed in her throat and she could only nod. After he pulled the door mostly shut, she stood still for a few moments while she composed herself. If she could pull herself together, maybe she could keep Garrett from being hurt again. More than he was already hurting.

She grabbed another towel to blot her hair. She dried herself, then threw the towels in the hamper.

She'd do the laundry while she was staying with him. And the dishes. And cook. Cooking would give her inconspicuous access to the spice cabinet, which she would need to make a new poppet for the window in her room.

Her bag was already open on the floor. She pulled out a pair of pale jeans, a deep blue button-up shirt, and her brush. Within minutes she was dressed and presentable. She put on her best smile as she opened the door and stepped into the guest room.

“Thanks so much. I feel worlds better after that.”

Garrett was sitting in the reading chair, glowering so intently Rachel could almost imagine storm clouds over his head. His hands gripped the arms of the chair and his lips were pulled into a deep frown. Creases at the edges of his eyes cut grooves where she was used to only seeing laughter.

The quips she was hoping would lighten the mood dropped from her mind. She wanted to tell him not to worry about her, that she didn't need it or deserve it. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him until they both forgot all their troubles.

Instead, she walked to the bed and sat near him. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at the floor.

“You are not okay,” he said. “You are not taking your medicine. And there is more going on here than you're telling me. More than you're telling anyone.”

Even her psychiatrists were convinced that Rachel was on the mend and doing well. Garrett could see right through her. He always knew when she put on her fake smiles and hollow laughter.

He knew because she had been weak and let him in—let him see through the masks she wore for her parents and friends. She'd felt safe with him and let him get too close. He'd been paying for her mistake ever since.

“I am not okay,” she said. “I am not taking my medicine. I'm grinding it up with a mortar and pestle and mixing it with coffee grounds and throwing it away. I didn't want it to get into the water supply.”

He snorted, then leaned his elbow on his chair, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

“Well, at least you considered that.” He let out a deep sigh before looking at her again. “Did you consider how not taking your medicines would affect you?”

His question wasn't patronizing or condescending. He didn't even sound angry or concerned. He asked it as one doctor might ask another during a differential, trying to get to the root of the problem—her.

“I did.”

No one had all of the facts except Rachel. Her doctors gave her drugs to stop her hallucinations, but she knew that what she heard was real. She had never met a doctor she thought might believe ghosts existed, let alone that people could perceive them. Even if she opened up to someone, the more she shared, the crazier she sounded.