Page 31
He found Amy outside by the side porch, wiping a smudge of paint off her forearm with the tail of her shirt. A glimpse of her firm midriff distracted him momentarily, and he swallowed deeply.
She looked flushed and triumphant, a far cry from the woman he’d hauled out of her office in tears weeks ago.
“You got a minute?” he asked, voice gruffer than he intended.
Amy startled, then nodded and brushed her palms together. “Of course. What’s wrong?”
Sully crossed his arms, scanning the gables and scaffolding one more time before fixing her with a look. “I want to go over the safety setup with you before your TV folks arrive. I watched a couple episodes of their circus last night.”
Her lips pursed, defensive already. “Circus?”
“They run around in the dark with cameras, spooking each other over squeaky doors. That might be good television, but it’s a liability nightmare in a place this size under construction. Stepping into unfinished rooms, climbing on scaffolding to get a better shot. One wrong turn and someone’s through a rotted step or taking a header off the widow’s walk.”
Amy frowned at him, then crossed her own arms to mirror him. “I’m not an idiot, Sully. Of course I care about safety.”
He held her gaze, unyielding. “Then make sure your ghost hunters stay within bounds. I’ve taped off places they need to stay out of. And there are three rooms upstairs we’re not done with; the flooring is half replaced and the subfloor exposed. A wrong step will mean a twisted or broken ankle or worse. Ladders are all locked, electrical tagged. But our safety measures won’t matter if somebody sues you. They’ll drag my business down with you. Have you considered that?”
Her chin rose sharply at his tone. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted tightly. Then, after a beat: “But maybe if you’re that worried, you should stay and supervise. Help me keep them in line.”
Sully almost laughed at the gall of it. He was already putting in dawn-to-dusk days here, eating more meals in the cab of his truck than in his own place. He’d about lost track of the last time he’d been home longer than just for sleeping. The last thing he needed was to play babysitter to a pack of television ghost chasers.
And yet, he thought of Amy alone in these halls with that crew. She had no idea how fast accidents happened, how sharp nails could slice through shoes, how one careless step could mean a broken neck. It wouldn’t just be strangers getting hurt, but her.
She’d put herself right in the center of things, and the fools would likely prod her into dark corners first. He understood she needed this to be a win. He knew her sort—the wide-eyed dreamer, chasing stars and full moons, never considering the mess it created for others. Just like his ex.
But Amy wasn’t his ex. And much as her idealism grated on him, the thought of her trusting strangers alone in the house tonight scraped worse.
He blew out a breath. “Fine. I’ll stick around. Someone’s got to make sure nobody does anything stupid.”
Amy’s mouth curved into a knowing little smile, though she kept her eyes lowered. “Good. Then we’ll both breathe easier.”
He didn’t answer, just turned back toward the house, telling himself he agreed to stay purely for professional caution. Deep down, Sully knew it was more than that. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he had a protective streak where Amy York was concerned—and that worried him more than any ghost hunt.
Chapter 12
Twilight sank over the mansion as the ghost hunting team began its invasion into the house’s closely kept secrets.
Amy stood in the foyer, arms crossed, while the Dead Reckoning crew set up their equipment. Outside in the driveway, their van doors swung open to release spools of cables, cases of cameras, ring lights, and handheld meters whose names she’d already forgotten. Techs in black shirts bustled in and out with headlamps bobbing, Mason at the center like a conductor coaxing an orchestra into tune.
He clapped shoulders, flashed blindingly white smiles, and shouted orders as they set up a mobile table full of equipment. The parlor was quickly becoming what looked like mission control, with glowing monitors and hastily taped cables that snaked through every entryway. Cameras were being placed strategically in every room to capture light, sound, or motion along with sensors for temperature and those that blinked on and off when an energy came close.
Sully hated it all. Amy could see it in the set of his shoulders as he leaned against the temporary banister. His hands were jammed into his pockets, but his head swiveled like a watchdog every time someone nudged a ladder or stepped too close to the roped-off areas.
“You’re twitching,” Amy murmured when she passed him.
“I’m watching,” he corrected. “This is a worksite, not a playground. No one told me they’d be stringing miles of electrical cord across the newly finished floorboards.”
“I thought you said you watched a few episodes? They have to monitor for activity.” Amy rolled her eyes. “They’re professionals, Sully. They do this all the time.”
“From what I’ve seen,” he said, still not looking at her, “half their footage is of people screaming because somebody else brushed past them in the dark.”
She crossed her arms in front of her. He wasn’t wrong. Yet, his pessimism grated like sandpaper. Couldn’t he for once let things be easy?
Before she could retort, Mason swept toward them, headset tilted rakishly at his temple. “Amy! There you are. We’ll open the episode right here under the chandelier. Perfect drama, perfect symmetry.” He gestured to the spiraling, half-completed staircase behind her, then lowered his voice just for her. “And you, my dear, will be luminous as our guide through these walls. Without you, this house has no heartbeat.”
He took her hand and kissed it with a flourish and a disarming smile. Amy flushed. Mason was infuriatingly polished, as comfortable with his charm as he was with the cameras now syncing with the command center.
A warning skittered across her skin. But she ignored it. The flirting was harmless, and it was nice to be flattered for once.
