Whispering Hearts

by Cassandra Chandler

  When she was discharged from the hospital, she had seemed fine. Too fine. People didn’t swing from a psychotic break to everything is roses after a few weeks of therapy—no matter how intensive it was.

  But she had her doctors convinced the medicines were working. Garrett wasn’t sure she was taking them.

  He had noticed her working on the doctors at the hospital. Doctors with heavy caseloads and light experience when it came to one Miss Montgomery. She had pulled out all the stops. Nobody could turn a head like Rachel. With her vibrant personality and warm smile, her natural charm beat his best efforts by a million miles. To make things worse, she was insanely gorgeous, eyes the pale blue of a morning sky and hair as gold as the sun.

  Yeah, he had it for her pretty bad. At least he owned it.

  “Mrs. Montgomery will see you in the tearoom.”

  “I was hoping to talk to Rachel.”

  The woman was already walking back through the house. Garrett followed.

  “Miss Montgomery is resting currently. But her mother would love to speak with you.”

  Garrett felt a trickle of sweat run down his back that had nothing to do with the heat wave making this summer even worse than usual. How did anyone stand living in the city?

  He ducked to avoid smashing his head on the door’s lintel as he took the single step down into the tearoom.

  Mrs. Montgomery was sitting at a small round table covered by a pristine white cloth. She was holding a tiny teacup and matching saucer, which she set on the table with practiced ease.

  Everything about her was fake—from the long, perfect nails on the ends of her fingers to her sculpted and dyed hair. Blonde, of course. Her eyes weren’t altered, though. They were the same pale blue as Rachel’s. Seeing that bit of Rachel in Mrs. Montgomery fortified him for the encounter.

  “Dr. Wolfstrom!” She extended a hand to him, the faintest hint of a Southern accent lacing her voice. “It’s so good of you to call on us.”

  “Ma’am.” He took her hand and bowed over her, kissing the air near her cheek. “I apologize for not letting you know I was coming.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. We’re always happy to see you here.”

  Garrett didn’t doubt it. Rachel’s jokes about her mother wanting a doctor for a son-in-law had been reinforced every time he met Mrs. Montgomery. Too bad Rachel wasn’t interested. Whether it was an act of rebellion or just a personal choice in Garrett’s case was a mystery. A mystery too painful to try to unravel.

  He sat at the table feeling like a full-grown gator in a ten-gallon fish tank. Mrs. Montgomery was built like a porcelain doll, tiny and delicate. It just made him feel worse.

  Rachel was taller than both her parents. And she worked out. She had muscle to her and an athletic frame, though she usually dressed to hide it. Usually.

  When they had been working together fixing up his house, she’d mostly worn shorts and tank tops. He hadn’t been able to ignore the tempting curves and lines of sinew on her body. Or the way her smile hit him all the way down to his toes.

  He cleared his throat and pushed the memories from his mind. Now was not the time.

  “I was hoping I might have a word with Rachel.”

  “I’m sure you can have several, but not until I’m done with you.” She gave him a flirty smile. He hoped the one he forced in response was convincing.

  “It is rather important. None of her friends have heard from her in a while.”

  Mrs. Montgomery’s smile faltered enough to give Garrett a glimpse of the real woman. The cold, reaching woman beneath the surface of civility she projected to the world. He wanted to leave, but couldn’t until he knew Rachel was all right.

  “She’s been resting quite a bit,” Mrs. Montgomery said.

  “That’s good. But she shouldn’t be isolating herself. It isn’t healthy.”

  “I don’t think she’s isolating herself.” Mrs. Montgomery lifted her cup and saucer again, slowly and deliberately. “Rather, she’s moving on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She took a sip of her tea, only glancing at Garrett from the corner of her eyes. He hated the social dance she was playing at, but knew she wouldn’t give him answers if he didn’t match her moves.

  “I hope you’re not planning on leaving Summer Park,” he said. “The Montgomerys are an important part of the city.”

  It was a bald-faced lie, but stroking her ego might help to loosen her tongue and get him to Rachel faster. Mr. Montgomery was a defense attorney. If Mrs. Montgomery had her way, he would eventually be President.

  “Don’t you worry, my dear.” She set down her teacup again. “Our plans keep us in Summer Park for a little while longer. I have to say, I would very much like to see Rachel settled down before we move on.” She gave Garrett a pointed smile.

  He wanted to shrug and say, “I’d be game if she’d stop shutting me down,” but didn’t think that would end well for Rachel.

  Adding to her stress in any way wasn’t a good idea. Pressuring her about marriage right after what had happened with her latest boyfriend would be downright despicable. How could Mrs. Montgomery even allude to such a thing?

  She tilted her head to the side as she raised her shoulder to meet it—a dismissive shrug Rachel had picked up and used too often. “Unfortunately I don’t see that happening if she keeps associating with those friends of hers. Present company excluded of course.”

  Garrett was stunned. “Rachel needs her friends, Mrs. Montgomery. Now more than ever. They can help her get over what happened with—”

  Mrs. Montgomery waved her hand in the air and shook her head. “We mustn’t speak of that unpleasant matter.”

  “Unpleasant?”

  Rachel’s boyfriend had kidnapped her. Tortured her. He had planned to kill her—and she wouldn’t have been his first victim. Not by a long shot. But Rachel had survived. She had survived and gunned the bastard down while he was trying to kill two of their other friends.

  “She needs to talk about what happened,” Garrett said. “Especially with the people who went through it with her.”

  “They did, didn’t they? Doesn’t that seem a bit odd to you? That so many of her little group was involved?”

  Garrett took a deep breath and held it to keep from yelling. When he trusted himself to speak, his voice was tight and clipped.

  “Mrs. Montgomery, I don’t know what you have been told, but Dante and Elsa were present because they were trying to rescue Rachel.”

  Mrs. Montgomery’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rose on her forehead. “And how did they know she needed to be rescued?”

  Explaining that would give away secrets that Garrett had sworn to keep. He doubted she would believe the truth anyway.

  When he didn’t respond, she looked back to her tea and said, “Weren’t they all associated with that gallery owner Rachel fell in with? That Asian woman with the ridiculous name and reputation for creative marketing tactics?”

  Garrett clenched his hands into fists on his lap. It wasn’t only what Mrs. Montgomery was saying but how she was saying it. He had never had the urge to shake someone before.

  “Mrs. Montgomery. Elsa was strangled and Dante was shot trying to help your daughter.”

  “Only one person suffered gunshot wounds.” She shifted in her chair, the first sign of unease since Garrett entered the room. “I read the police report quite thoroughly. Mr. Lucerne’s injuries weren’t sustained from a gunshot.”

  “You read the report?”

  “Of course.” A bit of an edge crept into her voice. “Since our family was involved, we thought it best to be well informed on the matter. My husband is a lawyer, you’ll recall. Which brings me back to Mr. Lucerne.”

  She took another sip of her tea, then set it on the table.

  “I believe he’s just launching his career as a
painter.” She leaned forward slightly and narrowed her eyes. “Doesn’t it seem a bit coincidental to you that he was injured only on the side of his face where he was already disfigured?”

  Garrett could barely speak. Was Mrs. Montgomery talking to Rachel like this?

  “This wasn’t some publicity stunt.”

  “But it was publicity. The worst kind. We can’t afford to be involved in such a scandalous event with Edward’s political campaign starting so soon.”

  She was about to get another scandalous event. Garrett was going to lift up her tiny table and chuck it through the window. He stood so quickly, when the backs of his knees hit his chair it went flying across the room.

  “Garrett?” Rachel’s voice swept through his adrenaline-charged system. His skin felt electrified.

  Glaring at Mrs. Montgomery, he let her see his outrage. He couldn’t speak his mind at the moment, but he wanted her to know that what she was saying was not okay.

  Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She leaned back in her chair, one hand clasped to her chest.

  He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He didn’t want Rachel to see him so angry. He made his voice cheery and plastered on his best smile as he turned around.

  “Rachel, it’s good to see—” He froze, a lump forming in his throat too big for his words to squeeze past.

  Rachel stood in the door to the tearoom, eyes unfocused like she was looking through him. Her hair was dull and clung to her scalp in lifeless strands. Her skin was pale, her lips bloodless and chapped. For some inexplicable reason, she was wearing a tennis outfit—complete with wristbands. The white fabric caught and reflected the light in the room. Her skirt was wrinkled as if she’d slept in it for days, and her feet were bare.

  Mrs. Montgomery made a tsking sound behind him. “Rachel, how can you let a gentleman caller see you in such a state? Go to your room and clean up.”

  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 i
t 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.