Whispering Hearts (12 page)

At the time, she'd thought of the paintings in his gallery room. His opening show consisted of a dozen portraits of women in painterly style. The portraits evoked despair, with the women having distorted bodies and either hiding their faces or keeping themselves turned away from the viewer.

As grim as they appeared, the dark red and gray paint he used hid a more disturbing secret—he had mixed the paint with the blood of his victims, the subjects of each painting.

He had started Rachel's portrait before she was rescued.

She'd ignored her own misgivings when he asked her to sit for him, like she ignored the voices of the dead around her. She was too practiced at ignoring things. She had agreed and gone with him to his house.

“It might have accelerated things,” she said. “After I told him.”

Garrett looked like he was going to snap his beer bottle in half. She reached over and took it from him, then set it on the table.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm having trouble with my poker face. I don't want to make this harder. I want you to be able to talk to me.”

“You don't have to put on a face for me. I guess that's what makes our friendship so special. We can both let our guards down.”

“I suppose. I still appreciate you sharing this with me.”

“I want you to know that I'm doing better than you think.”

“Yeah. I kind of noticed when you lit into your mom.” He smiled, one side of his mouth curving up and a deep dimple appearing in his cheek.

Oh she had missed that dimple. She wondered if she could bring out the other one. But that would be a bad idea. His smile was devastating. It made her want to crawl into his lap and kiss him.

“That kind of surprised me too,” she said.

“It was a long time coming.”

“Jazz says she's going to give you a big discount on the next piece you buy for getting me out of my mother's house.”

“That was all you. I only gave you a lift.”

“And a place to stay and the motivation to finally do something.” She couldn't believe how much her life had changed just since that morning.

“Yeah, but you're still the one who did the work. It took courage to walk out of that house—way more than I understood at the time.”

“I feel like I had help. Watching Jazz over the years and how she doesn't take crap from anybody has been very educational. It was like I was channeling her or something.”

“Not literally, right?”

She knew he was joking by the way his smile deepened.
Dimples…
Keeping her focus on the conversation was difficult, but she managed.

“No. That would require training to be a medium. I'm just psychic.” A thrill went down her spine and she shivered. “It's strange to say it out loud. But it feels good.”

“I'm glad.” He leaned closer and asked, “What's it like? If it's uncomfortable to talk about, you don't have to answer.”

“I don't think you could ever make me feel uncomfortable.” Her voice had a bit of breathiness to it she hadn't intended. Consciously, anyway. She laughed and looked away.

“Give him a kiss.”

Rachel was so caught up in the moment, the quiet voice caught her off-guard.

“It's obvious you want to. Him too, from the looks of it.”

Rachel leapt to her feet.

“What is it? What's wrong?” Garrett rose right after her.

“Someone is here.”

“Who?”

“I didn't mean to ruin your moment.”
The voice was male. He sounded older, genial.

She didn't care if he sounded like a super-friendly grandpa. Rachel shook her head, then ran to the house. She kept her eyes shut tight as she approached the glass doors. Whoever it was, she didn't want to see him in the reflection from the candlelight.

Seeing always made it worse.

Scrabbling for the handle, she managed to slide the door open and jump inside. She still couldn't bring herself to open her eyes and bounced off something—probably Garrett's recliner. As upset as she was, she couldn't remember the room's layout.

She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her middle, waiting for Garrett to come to her rescue—again.

Chapter Eleven

Garrett ran after Rachel and shut the door behind them. When he turned back around, she was huddled in a ball on the floor.

“It isn't Michael, is it?” he asked.

She had said Michael was gone, but with the way she reacted, Garrett had to wonder. His hands kept flexing into fists. If it was…

If it was, he couldn't do a damned thing about it. His insides boiled at the thought.

“The water bottle,” she said. “Spray down the door.”

He grabbed it and did as she asked, then knelt at her side. “It's done.”

She was trembling, shaking her head. She started to rock back and forth, like she had at the hospital. He did not want to go down that road again.

“I'm going to touch your back,” he said. He gently placed his hand on her back and let out a little breath when she didn't scream or jerk away. “Do you still hear the voice?”

“No. I don't.” She shook her head again and her rocking slowed.

Garrett rubbed her back, trying to soothe her.

“All right, then. Rachel-1, ghost-0.”

She stopped rocking, but the trembling increased. At first he worried he had made things worse, but then he realized she was laughing. She leaned toward him. As soon as her shoulder touched his chest, she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. Her eyes were still pinched shut.

He sat and pulled her into his lap.

“What can I do?”

“I'm just trying to build up my nerve to open my eyes again.”

Garrett glanced around the room. “I don't see any reflections.”

She pressed herself closer to his chest and opened first one eye, then the other, looking around carefully. She let out a huge breath and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

But it was a problem. Rachel curled up in his lap with her arms around him, her face nestled close enough that her warm breath fanned his neck… Biology took over. He had never held her so close, felt her press herself against him this way.

He shifted beneath her, trying to get more comfortable and keep her from noticing his predicament. The citrus scent of her shampoo was driving him crazy. He could tilt his head a few inches and kiss her if he wanted to. And he did want to.

Trouble was—he wanted a whole lot more than kisses from Rachel.

Desperate to distract himself, he asked, “Do you know who it was?”

“No. I didn't recognize the voice.”

That was a relief.

She shook her head. “I don't understand how he found me so fast.”

“I still don't know how it works. Do ghosts have to…walk to where you are? How do they even get around?”

“They sort of will themselves to go places—if they aren't tied to a person or place. If the ghost is haunting a location, they're usually stuck in one spot. But if they're haunting a person, they can follow them around. If the person dies or somehow severs their connection, the ghost is free to roam.”

The thought of people being haunted… And the voice was male. Garrett's stomach tightened. Maybe the ghost wasn't tied to Rachel at all. Maybe it was him.

“Were there any other distinguishing characteristics?”

She shook her head. “He sounded older. With a bit of an accent.”

Garrett felt some of the tension ease from between his shoulders. If the ghost sounded older, it wasn't Dylan. The thought of his brother's spirit lingering for so many years was more than Garrett could deal with on a good day. It had been a long time since Garrett had experienced a good day.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing scary.” Her face reddened and she looked away. “He didn't even ask me for anything, which is kind of strange. Ghosts usually are pretty fixated on getting what they want. He actually reminded me of Hiram.”

“Hiram?”

“He was the only ghost I ever became friends with. He watched over me. In life, he had been an astronomer. He's the one who taught me the constellations.” She smiled, her eyes getting a faraway look. “We would sit out back and look at the stars and talk for hours sometimes.”

No wonder she loved the scope so much. Garrett doubted her mom had been more loving when Rachel was younger. At least Hiram had been there.

How messed up was it that the most supportive adult in her childhood had been a ghost?

“Could it be him?” Garrett asked.

She shook her head. “No. Hiram crossed over decades ago.”

“You sure about that?”

Her eyes filled with tears that immediately spilled over.

Dammit.
He wished he would stop stumbling into topics that obviously caused her so much grief.

“I was there,” she said. “He did it to protect me. He was always protecting me. He's the one who told me to act like I couldn't hear spirits anymore and helped to convince the others to leave me alone.”

“Why do I have a feeling there's a lot more to that story and I'm not going to like it?”

She laughed and leaned against his chest again. “Because you know me better than anyone.”

Sometimes he felt that way. Sometimes he felt he didn't know her at all.

“Could Hiram have come back?”

“I don't think so.”

Garrett let out a sigh. “I have a lot to learn.”

“You can borrow some of my books if you want. I've managed to collect a few good resources over the years.”

“Thanks.”

“I'll go get you some. Could you bring in the telescope? I can help put it away after we spray the door again.”

“Don't worry about any of that,” Garrett said. “I'll take care of it.”

“You're really good at taking care of people.” She lifted her hand to his face, resting it along his jaw.

He tried to stop himself from sucking in a fast breath—and failed. Her smile faltered and she shifted away.

She braced herself on his shoulders as she rose. It was all he could do not to reach for her and pull her back. She didn't say anything else as she walked away.

Garrett sat on the floor for a few minutes, trying to find a sense of equilibrium. A frantic night at the ER was nothing compared to the emotional toll of being this close to Rachel.

He needed to get up and move around. Shake it off.

Bringing in the scope would help. And maybe he'd have a word with whoever was out there. Bolstered at the thought, he jumped up and headed for the patio.

Outside, insects were droning loud. Garrett glanced up at Lyra, remembering Rachel's story of the star-crossed lovers.

He blew out a breath and shook his head. Best not to go there.

He carried in the scope and packed everything up, then went back for the tripod and fans. When he was done inside, he grabbed the spray bottle and stepped back into the muggy summer night. The candles were still flickering, putting off a sharp scent. It was eerie—knowing there was a ghost hanging around—a stranger he couldn't see.

Garrett wondered why Rachel didn't use mirrors more often. If he could, he'd be checking his surroundings constantly to be sure he was alone.

Then again, maybe it was better not to know.

Rachel said Florida was filled with spirits. He imagined what it must be like walking past a mirror in a busy store and not knowing if the people he saw were dead or alive. He wondered if the ghosts showed signs of how they had died…

Garrett was more grateful than ever that he lived out in the country. Only one ghost to deal with—at least, for the time being. But how the hell did you start a conversation with a dead person?

He glanced at the spray bottle in his hand. It felt like a weapon. That wasn't him. He set it on the table, then ran his fingers through his hair.

Best to focus on the
person
part. Garrett decided to talk to him as such.

“I don't know who you are or what you need, but Rachel's been through a lot. Give her some time. Please.”

He blew out the candles and grabbed the spray bottle before heading back inside. He closed the door, then sprayed it down twice.

“You're starting to be paranoid, like me.”

Garrett jumped at Rachel's voice. The creepy atmosphere outside must have hit him harder than he thought.

“Sorry,” she said. She was holding a small stack of books, hugging them to her chest.

Garrett shook his head. “No need to apologize. Guess I'm just feeling a little high-strung after today.”

“I feel like I should apologize for that too. You wouldn't have had such a stressful day if you hadn't come to my rescue.”

He couldn't have slept another night without knowing she was okay. Not that he'd been sleeping much lately anyway.

“Friends help each other out.”

“Yeah.”

Her voice was small, like the fake smile pasted on her face. It couldn't break through the tension around her eyes. All he saw there was sorrow.

She walked to the kitchen counter and set the books down. “Here are the books you wanted to borrow.”

“Thanks.”

“Could I have the spray bottle?”

He nodded and handed it over. “Rachel—”

“It's late. We should try to get some sleep.”

“Yeah. I guess we should.”

“Well…good night.”

“Night.”

She turned and walked away without another word. Something was obviously upsetting her. Beyond what she'd been through and knowing that there was a ghost close by. For once, she didn't seem to want to talk.

Garrett didn't know how to help her. Yet.

He picked up the books and headed to his room. Once there, he closed his blinds before stripping and pulling on his pajama pants. The thought of someone lurking outside—watching them, listening… It was freaking him out. And Rachel lived with that every single day.

He couldn't imagine how awful that must be. Surely there was a way to keep the ghosts away. He was even interested in the solution for himself. It was creepy as hell to think about walking around not knowing how many ghosts he might be brushing elbows with.

He made sure the bedside lamp was on before turning off the overhead lights. At this rate, he would probably sleep that way. He slid into bed with Rachel's books, but didn't open them immediately. His thoughts were spinning too much to concentrate.

She'd dropped several information bombs on him. Of all the ones to fixate on, he kept thinking about her saying that she hadn't been with a man in years. She had dated at least a dozen guys in that time span. Garrett hated every single one of them.

They disrespected her, talked over her, didn't seem to pay attention or listen when she spoke.

He wanted to think that he would have been happy for her if she settled down with a decent person, but couldn't be sure. It didn't matter, because she had seemed to seek out the worst example of a human being to date. If Rachel brought any of them home, her mother must have been mortified. But then, that might have been part of the allure.

Garrett wondered again if her mother had something to do with why Rachel kept shutting him out. It was obvious she felt the chemistry between them. She seemed to enjoy his company. But damned if her mother wasn't practically trying to arrange a marriage between the two.

His own mom had repeatedly mentioned that she was surprised to receive so many invitations to events hosted by the Montgomerys. Rachel's mother had even openly talked to his mom about what an attractive pair they would make.

His mom would never push the matter. She just wanted Garrett to be happy and could tell there was something not quite right with the dynamic. When he said Rachel wasn't interested, his mom dropped it.

Then Jazz had decided to try to match him up with Elsa. It hadn't worked out, but at least he and Elsa had managed to build a strong friendship. She came to him when she needed help, big or small, and he appreciated that probably more than she knew. He was well aware of how much he needed to feel…needed.

Now that he thought about it, Rachel hadn't actually asked him for help at all. Sure, she took him up on his offer of a place to stay, but she had other options. She could stay at Elsa's house.

If she did, he knew he'd lie awake wondering if she was okay the whole night. Sharing a roof helped him as much as her. He needed to know she was safe, even if he had no clue how to protect her himself.

He had the books to read—a way to learn more about how he
could
help her. He needed to get to it. If things did blow up eventually, he wanted be useful.

He cracked the first book open. It landed on an etching of a man holding his hands over his head as a seriously creepy ghost flew at him.

Garrett heard a soft rapping sound. The hair on his arms stood on end. The sound came again—from his bedroom door. His heart was hammering in his chest. It had to be Rachel… Didn't it?

“Come in,” he said.

She opened the door slowly and stepped inside. Garrett's pulse jumped for a different reason, scenarios playing through his head about why she might be coming to see him in the middle of the night.

Because we're both awake, jackass.

“I forgot to bring—”

Her eyes grew wider as she looked at him, her gaze slowly trailing down his chest and over the sheet that covered his hips and legs.

He forced a smile, trying to get her to laugh off some of the tension between them. “Don't worry. I'm not naked under here.”

She gave a quick laugh—a bit too high to be real. He'd take it.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“I…forgot to bring pajamas. None of my clothes are comfortable for sleeping, and being naked in the dark is not high on my list of things I'd like to do right now.”

Her mouth dropped open for a second, but then she clacked it shut, cheeks glowing scarlet—betraying her thoughts. He was thinking the same thing.

Being naked in the dark with Rachel was about at the top of Garrett's list of things he'd like to do any time, any day. Increasing the awkwardness between them by letting her see just how much that idea appealed to him was close to the bottom.