Page 152 of Manacled Hearts

My eyes widen and mouth falls open when the car slows down in front of a huge set of shiny black gates that are probably over fifteen-feet tall, surrounded by towering brick walls. That’s not what makes my stomach jump with nerves, but the elegant, gold lettered sign screwed to the wall—Queen Anne Sanctuary. The cryptic name won’t mean anything to most people, but to me, it does. I’ve looked into it. It’s probably the most prestigious and expensive assisted living institute on the South coast, if not beyond, for both the elderly and those who require extra care. Above all, they specialize in a variety of conditions from Alzheimer to MS.

And it’s beyond any scope of imagination in terms of monthly fees. More money that I could ever dream of seeing, not just having.

“Finnigan, what are we doing here?” I ask, unable to keep my eyes off the gate as it opens to what pretty much looks like a well-kept park, filled with tall trees, and flowerbeds flanking the weaving paths that cross through.

I turn to him when no response comes, and he looks at me for a brief moment, then focuses back on the slow drive up the narrow street.

“Wow!” Maya exclaims behind me. “Look at that mansion!”

My head whips back ahead and a beautiful, massive house springs to life through the trees. The façade seems to be built in the same highly decorative period style of Lulu’s building, with tall windows, and beautiful iron work. I’ve seen the place in photos, but it’s something else in real life. Finnigan parks right at the front, completely ignoring the visitors car park sign that points to the right.

He exits first, signaling me to wait as he walks around the car and opens the doors for us.

I have to ask again. “Seriously, Finnigan, don’t mess with me. What are we doing here?”

“Visiting.” The cryptic answer spills nonchalantly off of his lips, and I would smack him if my sister wasn’t here.

Instead, I follow him through the black double doors looming over the few steps up to them, and we’re immediately greeted by a stylish, black-haired woman, wearing a beige skirt suit.

“Mr. Hennessey, lovely to see you again.” The woman shakes his hand with a wide smile, way too enthusiastic for my liking, then turns to me. “Miss Shaw, it’s a pleasure to welcome you at Queen Anne’s.” She reaches over, delicately shaking my hand.

She knows my name? What in the hell is going on here?

“Evelyn, this is Ms. Campbell, the director of the institute.”

Director? The woman runs the entire place. I nod, forcing myself to remain polite, but a lump quickly makes its way into my throat, urging me to scream my questions.

“Please, follow me.” She turns, swiping a card over the access pad of one of the French doors that lead away from this foyer.

I briefly see the reception desk and a few people caught in conversation, but she ushers us through the door she holds open, and I don’t have time to process. Dragging Maya along with me, we follow through the corridor lit only by the picture lights above replicas of famous oil paintings, and then through another locked door.

Only, this space is bustling with activity. A large common room with a mixture of normal tables and chairs, comfy sofas and armchairs around coffee tables, with lots of people caught in chatter and laughter as nurses watch over them or help them around. Everyone looks calm and happy. Content.

I can’t help the slight smile pulling at the corner of my lips.

“This way.”

Ms. Campbell directs us through an open door, down a corridor covered on one side with floor to ceiling windows, and I almost run straight into Finnigan’s back when she halts.

“The meeting room is right here and, of course, privacy is ensured.”

What in heaven’s name is happening? What is this meeting about?

God, I have so many questions.

She points delicately toward an open door, signaling me to walk in. I wait for Finn to take the lead, but he just turns and looks at me.

Laughter echoes past that open door, deep and rich, pure and so damn familiar my heart stops as my mouth falls open, prickles tingling the back of my eyes.

“Daddy!” Maya shouts, pulling free from my hold.

“What did you do?” I whisper to Finnigan, heat filling my chest, spreading through my nerves like wildfire, and I have to clench my fists, digging my nails in my palm to keep from letting it out.

I don’t wait for his answer, even as his gaze softens, brows pulling together with a silent apology I can’t bear to hear right now. Whipping around, I find my father holding his youngest daughter to his chest with small tears in his eyes as he kisses the top of her head.

Oh god, Daddy.

I’m running to him before I finish the thought, and wrap both of them in my arms, burying my head in the crook of his neck. His scent is so utterly him, even after all this time and through devastating memory loss, he still uses the same aftershave—musk and lemon.

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