Page 36 of Healing the Heart

“Good morning,” she greeted her. “How may I help you?”

“Detective Brent Owens from the LAPD referred me. I’m in need of a security consult, I guess you would call it. My name is Fiona Delacour.”

She pursed perfectly glossed lips as her eyes returned to her computer screen. “Do you have an appointment?”

“He didn’t mention that I’d need one. It’s rather urgent,” Fiona replied, recognizing the rising anxiety in her voice. She curled her nails into her palms and took a deep breath before continuing. “Is it possible someone could see me today?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Finnegan is booked solid this week. I have something available next Tuesday at four o’clock,” the receptionist informed her.

Her shoulders slumped. She could be dead by then, and that was no exaggeration.

“It’s all right, Kelsey. Brent called me. I was expecting Fiona.”

She turned, encountering a man standing in an interior doorway. Tall, handsome, with auburn highlights in his wavy dark-brown hair, he was fit and impeccably dressed. He also looked familiar.

“Come on back,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. He held the door for her to walk through. After it closed, he murmured quietly, “You’re trying to figure out where we’ve met before.”

“Yes. But I must be mistaken. I’d remember that accent.”

He smiled warmly and said with distinct Irish influence in his voice, “I get that a lot. You’re correct though. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken at the club.”

Fiona gasped with a mix of surprise and welling panic and stopped walking. She had tried really hard to keep that side of herself separate from real life.

“Don’t worry. We value discretion and confidentiality here, as much as we do across the street,” he said, reading her correctly. “I’m Keiran Finnegan, the director. I believe you know my wife, Esme.”

“You’re Master Finn.”

“That’s right. But we’re not at the club, so you can call me Finn,” he suggested, smiling kindly. “Also known as Master K. Some of the club submissives almost fetishize nicknames, and a few of us doms ended up with two or three. It can get damn confusing.”

“Not once you speak.” The lilting Irish accent really was quite appealing.

He grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

She blinked, her face heating furiously. “Oh dear. Did I say that out loud? I haven’t slept over five minutes in the past two nights, and I’m afraid my brain isn’t fully functional.”

“Think nothing of it.” His smile faded, replaced by a professional mien. “Let’s see what we can do to help with your trouble and get you some much-needed sleep.” He extended his arm. “We’ll talk in my office at the end of the hall. Can I get you anything? Coffee, a bottle of cold water, a shot of strong Irish whiskey?”

Her gaze shot to his. Was he serious? It wasn’t even 9 a.m.

But his twinkling green eyes assured her he was.

“I’m good for now, thank you.”

Fiona followed him down the hallway, coming to an abrupt halt midway as Doc, aka Master Noah rounded a corner from a side hall and headed directly for them.

His eyes were on his phone, his thumbs swiping and scrolling. “Finn. I’m in between volunteer assignments, and mysurgical schedule is free. Give me something to do.” When he looked up, he stopped, too. “Fiona? Why are you here?”

Without waiting for an answer, he looked at Finn and demanded to know, “What’s she doing here?”

“I was about to find out. Join us,” he replied, without asking her opinion about the invitation, and continued down the hall, disappearing into an open door at the end.

“You’re pale,” Doc observed, “and look like you haven’t slept in a week. Are you sick?”

Great. She’d failed in covering up the dark circles with her makeup.

“I’m not sick, but I’ve felt better, that’s for certain.”

Master Noah frowned, not a fan of her vague response. Like the director had, he extended his arm toward the end of the hall, indicating she should lead the way. Eager to get the retelling of her trauma over with and find out what, if anything, they could do to protect her, she headed down the hall with Noah, no Doc—it was so confusing—on her heels.

---