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The drive to Amy’s cottage took less than a minute, but the closer he got, the heavier his chest felt. The sea was on a tear, whitecaps pounding the rocks below her bluff, and Amy’s little porch flag snapped in the wind like it wanted to fly away. He parked and took a breath before knocking on the door.
No answer.
He knocked again, louder. “Amy?”
After a pause, the lock clicked. She cracked the door, eyes red and tired.
“Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”
“Yeah, me.” He tried for a half-smile, failed. “Diego said you weren’t feeling well.”
She opened the door wider to let him in. The room smelled faintly of coffee. Papers and her laptop were spread out over the table.
“Headache,” she murmured. “Nothing serious.”
He folded his arms and leaned against the counter. “Funny thing about headaches, you rarely get them. Heard you had meetings with the mayor and Mason.”
That earned him a sharp glance. “Word travels fast.”
“Diego said you seemed upset.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
She pressed her lips together, staring down at the desk as if an answer might be hiding in the numbers.
Sully crossed the room and stopped beside her. “Amy, talk to me.”
For a moment, she didn’t move. Then her shoulders sagged. She dropped into the chair, rubbing her temples.
“The council pulled the funding. The heritage grant’s gone. And Mason—” She stopped, voice cracking. “Mason came right after to ‘make an offer.’”
Sully’s pulse jumped. “What kind of offer?”
“He wants me to finish a scene—for the show’s finale.”
“A scene?”
She nodded miserably. “He has footage of me sleepwalking on the grounds and in the mansion. He wants me to pose like a ghost on the widow’s walk. During the storm. He thinks it’ll be a dramatic ending. Says if I don’t do it, he’ll… use it to ruin my reputation.”
For a few seconds, Sully just stared at her. “He recorded you at night while you were sleepwalking?”
“Outside. On the lawn. Inside the house,” she whispered. “Wherever his cameras were set up. The contract specifically says that anything they film is theirs.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“I know.”
He could feel the heat rise up his neck. “Where is he now?”
“Sully…”
“No, seriously. Where is he? I’ll take care of this—”
“Sully, no.” She stood, grabbing his arm. “He’s got the footage, contracts, releases, and all his legal fine print. If you confront him, he’ll twist it in the press, spin it back on us. I can’t risk that right now. Not with everything falling apart.”
Her voice trembled, but her eyes were steady. Determined.
