“I don’t know how to help you, either.”
His tone was flat. Hopeless. He was trying to help her and it was hurting him. Like always.
She’d need a hand and he would appear and make everything better. In the process, the attraction between them would flare like a star, and she would bolt right before anything happened—before a real connection could be made.
If she had explained why, he would have moved on, seeing her for the freak she was. He could be married by now. With kids. She knew that was what he wanted. She wanted it too, but how could she pull someone she loved into the chaos that surrounded her? How could she ever start a family when her life was full of death?
Her tears kept falling, but she ignored them. She shifted in the seat to see him without looking in the rear-view mirror.
“Dante and Elsa are staying in the city. Maybe I can stay at their place in the country with Winston?”
That would be perfect. The lower the population density, the fewer ghosts would be hanging around. Then she could focus on dealing with the ones that were after her specifically.
“Winston’s with them in the city.”
“Even better. I need to be away from everything. Far from people.”
“I’m not letting you be alone.”
“There are too many people here, Garrett. Too much history. I can’t deal with it.”
He nodded, then accelerated again. “Okay.”
Maybe he thought she was talking about Michael or her ordeal at the hospital. She didn’t care, as long as they kept heading out of town.
She threw herself back against the seat, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths, so grateful he had come for her—was helping her. She would keep herself in check this time. No lingering stares or light touches. No raising his hopes.
Garrett would take care of her. She knew it. She just had to make sure it didn’t cost him too much.
Chapter Three
This was the stupidest thing Garrett had ever done. Instead of the hospital, he was taking Rachel to his home.
It made a sort of sense that she didn’t want to go back to the hospital. She associated that place with her abduction and mental breakdown. The only memories she had of his home should be positive—painting rooms, cooking, looking at the stars with the telescope she’d picked out for him.
At least, he hoped his house would be filled with happy memories. He wasn’t completely sure, with the way she had dropped out of his life.
She had renovated his house—living with him for months—helped him host a few dinner parties after she moved out, and then abruptly stopped visiting. No warning, no explanation.
They had never been more than friends, but he had still been so messed up about it that his friend Jazz had tried to set him up with her best friend Elsa. Jazz said the pairing was destiny, since the two of them even lived right next door to each other. It was a nice sentiment, but not meant to be.
At least Elsa had let Garrett be part of her life after dating didn’t pan out. Rachel and Garrett’s paths only seemed to cross anymore when she needed help. Sometimes she’d call. More often he’d just stumble into things.
He glanced in his rearview mirror, which he had adjusted so it was mainly focused on the back seat rather than the road. Rachel was sitting with her head against the window, her eyes vacant as the lush scenery sped past. She didn’t perk up until Elsa’s driveway came into view.
“You’re taking me to Elsa’s after all?”
“No.” Garrett’s drive was just past Elsa’s. He didn’t dare look to see Rachel’s expression. He would read too much into it, no matter what it was.
“Don’t go into the garage,” Rachel said. Her voice was tight.
Damn. He should have thought of that. It was the first reaction she’d had that made sense.
Michael had kept her chained up in his garage. That was where he had tortured her.
Garrett stopped the car in front of his house. He waited for a moment before killing the engine.
What was he doing?
He heard Rachel open the door and kicked himself into gear. Movement shook his thoughts loose.
He was helping his friend. That was what he was doing. He would sort the rest out later.
By the time he was out of the car, Rachel had already slung her purse and backpack over one shoulder. The spray bottle she had nearly drowned him with was tucked into the strap of her purse. She was just starting to drag her suitcase out of the back seat when he reached her.
“Let me get that.”
“Thanks.”
She turned and stared at his house—modest compared to her family’s or even Elsa’s. Garrett didn’t need much and didn’t want to have to keep up with a big place. It was just him most of the time.
When he’d bought it, he had still been working in the ER with hours so crazy he barely slept at home. Rachel had been delighted to find all the walls blank, the place sparsely furnished, and a budget that let her imagination run wild.
Even with that freedom, she’d kept Garrett’s comfort in mind with every choice she made. She had contractors turn all his square doorframes into arches so he didn’t feel like he was about to whack his head any time he left a room. The only thing on the windows were blinds, which kept them nice and open and made every room seem more spacious.
He would never have thought to do half the things she had done that made his house feel like home. The memory of her living with him during the renovation was a big part of that, though.
“It’s been a while since you’ve been here.” He didn’t mean it as a dig, but she winced. Great job making her feel welcome.
He pulled out his house key as they walked to the front door. Once inside he said, “Come on. I’ll make us some lunch while you get settled.”
“I’d rather cook.” There was an urgency to her tone that didn’t make any sense. She must have picked up on it because she tried to laugh it off. “It’s the least I can do with you taking me in.”
“This isn’t going to work if you aren’t honest with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you. I know when you laugh for real and I know you use the fake ones to throw people off your trail. I want to help you, Rachel. I really do. But I can’t do that if you aren’t honest with me about what you need—what you’re going through.”
She let out a snort of a laugh. Unladylike and real. It didn’t carry any mirth, but it was better than the fake twittering of a trained socialite.
She cleared her throat, then said, “I think I need to work up to that.”
“Fair enough. But in the meantime, we need to call your doctor. He can come here to talk, maybe have sessions over the phone.”
“I don’t need a doctor.”
Garrett let out a sigh that he felt all the way to the soles of his feet. “From what I’ve seen today, you do.”
“Can’t you be my doctor?” Her voice hitched and grew small. She sounded scared.
He wanted to tell her he could make everything better, but he couldn’t. “That isn’t a good idea.”
“You treat Elsa and Winston. And you consulted with Dante’s case. Even Jazz calls you when she’s sick.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“You know why.” He stared at her. Harsher than he should, probably. But he was carrying a lot of pain. Pain he knew she was aware of.
He never had figured out why Rachel played dumb with everyone else, but he had seen the woman behind the pretense. The brilliant, funny, caring woman he’d lived with for three months. He was crazy about her and she knew it.
Her lips parted. Some of the color had returned to them already. They were still cracked and dry. He might not be able to treat her as a doctor, but he could treat her like a friend.
The first thing she ne
eded was to settle in. He wanted to comfort her, give her a place of solace.
“Let’s get your things put away.” He hefted her suitcase again and headed for her room.
Technically, it was a guest room, but he always thought of it as hers. It had been empty when she started redecorating his house. White walls and beige carpet.
Now, it had light brown hardwood floors made of bamboo, walls of warm gold, and a queen bed with matching dresser, table, desk, and a comfortable chair for reading near the window. The lamps were art pieces—ceramic sculptures that caught the light and matched the colorful paintings on the walls.
She had stayed here during the months she was renovating his house. Months when Garrett had found himself questioning his career for the first time in his life.
Back then he couldn’t wait to get home and didn’t want to leave for work. She’d said she wanted to immerse herself in the environment and oversee everything personally. To really get a feel for how he lived.
What she’d done instead was show him what he was missing. He would come home to gorgeous dinners, usually in the fridge since he worked such long hours, but sometimes Rachel would wait up to eat with him.
She helped him with his schedule, building him a workout room when it became obvious he never had time to get to a gym. She talked to him, really listened, and used that knowledge to transform his home.
Every day he was comforted by things she had done for him. Every day he was reminded of how much he missed her.
During the renovation, Garrett had started to come up with more things he wanted to fix to keep her around longer. When she left, he wanted to ask her to stay, but she’d already made it clear that they were just friends.
That was all she wanted. He would be that for her now.
“I really appreciate you letting me stay here.” Rachel set her backpack and purse on the chair, then set her spray bottle on the dresser nearby.
“I’m glad to help.” He set her suitcase on the floor next to her bed. “Feels like this thing is full of rocks. What do you have in here?”
“Books. I’ll put them away later.”
“Whatever you need. I suggest you start with a hot shower and a change of clothes.”
He couldn’t believe her mother had her wearing that ridiculous outfit to cover up what had happened to her. But it shouldn’t surprise him. Her family had covered up the whole thing. He was amazed at how little media coverage there had been. Rachel’s name was never mentioned. Lillian Montgomery probably didn’t want anyone to see that her daughter’s life was anything but perfect.
He felt sick. His eyes burned and he wanted more than anything to put his hand through a wall. Any wall. He turned around quickly to hide his anger. She’d seen enough of that with Michael.
She shouldn’t have to be going through any of this. He didn’t want to make things worse, so he walked to the window and looked outside at the palm trees that lined the small canal behind his house.
“It’s okay.” Her voice was close. She must have come up behind him, quiet as a mouse.
He turned around and shook his head. “No it isn’t. None of this is okay.” He brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear without thinking. She didn’t seem to mind. “At least it’s over.”
Her lips parted on a brief breath and her eyes filled with tears.
If it was over, why did she look so scared?
Maybe she was remembering something. He couldn’t change what had happened to her, but at least he could help her process it. He desperately wanted to help her feel safe.
He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. She wound her arms around him, grabbing the back of his shirt, pressing herself closer. Her body trembled, and he felt the front of his shirt grow damp.
How could this have happened? Rachel was the brightest, most carefree person he had ever met. Always happy, always smiling. She was the last person he would ever think would get caught up in a nightmare like this.
And yet she was at the center of it—the storm blowing around her. He wouldn’t let it pull her away.
He didn’t know how long they stood that way and he didn’t care. Eventually he felt her grip loosen, her hands flatten against his back.
“Tell me what you need. Anything, and I’ll do it. I’ll make it happen. You need to cry or scream. You need somebody to wail on…”
She leaned back and laughed, wiping her nose on her arm. Her mother would be mortified. Garrett smiled.
“I need a shower.”
“That one’s easy. The bathroom’s right where you left it.”
“Could you…”
She clamped her mouth shut and looked away.
“Could I what?”
With a sigh, she said, “Could you stay outside the door for me? I’m…scared.”
“Sure. Sure I can.” Hell, he’d sit inside the room if she needed it. Eyes shut, of course. He was pretty sure he could manage that.
“Thanks.” She smiled at him, then pressed a hand against his cheek. “Thank you. For everything.”
He gripped her hand in his, squeezed it, didn’t trust his voice to speak. He would give her everything. Everything he had, everything he was. He would give anything for this to have not happened to her. But that was outside his power.
Instead, he nodded and let her hand slip away as she headed to the bathroom. She paused by the chair and unzipped her backpack, then pulled out the pretty blue-green glass ball Garrett had taken down from the window in her bedroom.
“I don’t suppose you could hang this up for me while I’m in there?”
“I think I can manage that. There’s a hook in the ceiling and everything.”
“Thanks.” She gave him one last smile before picking up her backpack and heading into the bathroom. She left the door open a crack behind her.
Garrett waited till he heard the water start before hanging up the globe. Strands of molten glass formed crisscrossing patterns inside, connecting the sides of the ball like pathways.
The light caught and reflected from its surface and the little tunnels within. It was pretty and interesting. He’d never seen anything quite like it. The tiny doll in her window was new to him too. He’d ask about it later and why she had flipped out when he touched it.
That reminded him of the other weird thing she’d brought along. The spray bottle.
He walked to the dresser and picked it up, inspecting the cloudy water inside. It probably wasn’t toxic, with how she had liberally sprayed it in his car and all over him.
He sprayed some into his hand and smelled it. Nothing.
Rubbing his fingers together, he detected a bit of grit.
He touched a fingertip to his tongue. Salt overwhelmed his taste buds. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Yeah, they were a bastion of manners, he and Rachel.
Putting back the bottle, he tried to come up with a rational reason that she would spray his car with saltwater. She treated the thing like it was some kind of weapon—like it was vital for her survival.
The list of questions he wanted to ask her grew, as did his concern. He should call her doctors, but knew what they would say. They would want her to come in for another assessment.
She would never go for that. He didn’t want to find out what she would do to avoid it.
He moved her purse to the dresser, then sat in the chair. His head ached and he rubbed his temples to try to ease some of the tension.
At least Rachel was here with him. She was safe and he could take care of her. Scratch that. He could make sure she took care of herself. Help her while she got back on her feet and sorted things through with her actual doctors.
There were too many blurry lines. Too much gray space between them. They were friends, but could have been more. She needed a doctor, but Garrett couldn’t help her in that w
ay—not in good conscience. And she knew it.
But when she was at the hospital, she had still asked for his help—even cried out for him. She had begged him not to leave her side.
And she had come with him today without hesitating. She trusted him. He couldn’t betray that trust by carting her off to the hospital right away. Not until they had talked and he could ease her into the idea.
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.
Whispering Hearts Page 4