Page 13 of Tides of Change (Seacliff Cove #2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ethan

Garrett’s sheriff’s department SUV rumbled as it pulled into my driveway and brought a tangle of emotions to the surface.

I was nervous—terrified, even—but I was also ready.

For too long, I’d let fear dictate my every move.

I was taking the first step in reclaiming my life. I locked my front door behind me.

Garrett climbed out of the SUV; his crisp uniform stretched across his broad shoulders. His presence was commanding, yet calm. He glanced at my Subaru, parked on one side of the driveway. His brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms.

“Why don’t you park in the garage?” His tone was casual, but the sharpness in his eyes suggested he was already forming an opinion.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “It’s full of debris from the renovation. The landlord never took it to the dump.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he propped his hands on his hips. The morning light caught the badge on his chest, making it glint as he shifted his stance. “Have you asked Carl to remove it?”

“Of course I have. Several times.” A touch of exasperation crept into my voice. “He keeps saying he’ll do it, but then never does.”

Garrett’s jaw tightened, and his gaze drifted back to the garage as if he could see through its closed door. “I’ll have to see if that’s some kind of violation,” he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for me to catch.

I shrugged, trying to deflect the tension with nonchalance I didn’t quite feel. “I was just glad to get the rental on such short notice.”

His head snapped back toward me, his expression softening just a fraction. “Still. You shouldn’t have to deal with that kind of crap.” There was a quiet intensity in his words, a protectiveness that I found comforting.

The moment hung in the air, and his concern settled over me like a warm, unexpected blanket. I didn’t know how to respond, so I tucked my keys into my pocket and forced a smile. “I guess it comes with the territory.”

Garrett didn’t reply right away. Instead, he let out a slow exhale. His posture relaxed as he gestured toward his SUV. “I’ll leave it be—for now. Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I slid into the passenger seat, the onboard computer system between us.

The drive to the station was quiet, but comfortable.

Garrett had a way of making me feel like everything was going to be okay, even if I wasn’t entirely sure I believed it yet.

I stared out the window and watched Seacliff Cove’s streets roll by, the quaint charm and orderliness of the town at odds with the storm brewing in my life.

When we arrived at the bland, nearly windowless station, Garrett parked in the visitors’ lot.

I followed him up the concrete ramp to the glass doors, my palms damp.

Inside, the reception area was simple but efficient—a long counter with a male uniformed officer sitting behind it, typing something into a computer.

“Jones,” Garrett greeted him with a short nod.

The officer looked up and his eyes flicked briefly to me before he nodded back. “Whitlock.”

Without missing a beat, Garrett moved past the desk and punched a code into the keypad beside a door. The lock clicked open. He held the door for me, and I stepped through into a hallway that smelled faintly of burned coffee and copier toner.

The bullpen wasn’t far. The space was utilitarian, with pairs of desks arranged in clusters, cluttered with computer monitors, keyboards, cables, and phones.

A half-empty coffee cup and a forgotten granola bar wrapper sat on one desk we passed.

The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead.

Only one other deputy sheriff was present.

He muttered to himself as he two-fingered his keyboard.

Garrett led me to a desk in the corner, where he pulled up a chair and motioned for me to sit. “This is us.”

I sat down, and the hard plastic chair creaked beneath me. Garrett pulled a folder from a filing tray and extracted a sheaf of papers. He laid them on the desk in front of me. I tried to ignore the way my heartbeat quickened, like the printout was a snake ready to strike.

“Your statement.” He tapped the pages. “I need you to read it over. If everything looks right and you don’t have any changes, sign on the last page.”

“Doesn’t a detective normally handle stalking cases?” I asked, curious.

Garrett didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crossed his arms as he leaned back in his seat. “Yes,” he said finally, edged with a hint of frustration. “But we only have one detective. He’s overwhelmed right now. I got permission from my sergeant to take the case.”

I caught the flicker of tension in Garrett’s jaw. The sense of calm he usually carried seemed thinner, like he was balancing on a tightrope.

He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “I didn’t tell him we’re…friends.” His gaze locked with mine, serious and unwavering. “It’s imperative that we keep that between you and me, or Sarge will take me off the case. I could face disciplinary action.”

The words settled like a weight in my chest, and a tangle of emotions tightened my gut.

Relief that Garrett was willing to take this on personally, guilt for being the reason Garrett might face scrutiny or even get into trouble.

And then there was something else—something warmer—that I wasn’t quite ready to unpack.

“Friends,” I repeated softly, the word feeling strange on my tongue, yet strangely right. I hadn’t missed the pause Garrett had given it, the unspoken acknowledgment that our connection might be more complicated than that simple label.

I dropped my gaze to the table, wary of the papers in front of me and the tension in my body. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said quietly. “Request to take the case, I mean. You’re risking your career.”

Garrett’s brow furrowed. “Ethan, I’m doing this because I want to. I’m not allowing you to face this alone. Not when I can do something about it.”

I looked up, and the sincerity in his expression struck me like a physical force. My breath caught, and the uncertainty faded.

“Thank you,” I said, the words barely audible but carrying the depth of my gratitude.

His lips quirked into a faint smile. “You don’t have to thank me. Just promise you’ll keep me in the loop, okay?”

I nodded, swallowed hard, and picked up the papers.

The words blurred for a moment before I blinked and forced myself to focus.

It was all there—the black feather, the coffee shop book, the gardening flyer, the sticky note, the knife, the email from EyeSeeYou, the end of the book.

Seeing it laid out so plainly made it feel more real than ever, but it also gave me a strange sense of validation.

I reached the last page, and the signature line waited. “It’s all correct,” I said, my voice solemn.

Garrett handed me a pen, and my fingers tightened around it as I hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, I signed my name.

I set the pen down, leaned back in the chair, and exhaled slowly. Relief mingled with pride as a weight lifted off my chest. “I should’ve done this sooner.” I met Garrett’s steady gaze. “I’m done hiding. The stalker is going to make a mistake, and we’re going to catch them.”

Garrett’s jaw tightened. “I’m not using you as bait, Ethan.”

I shook my head, and my resolve hardened. “I’m not talking about bait. I’m talking about taking back control of my life. I’m not letting them keep me locked in my house, afraid of my shadow.”

His eyes softened in understanding. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to protect you. Now you have the force behind you. Patrol units will be watching your house at night. And I’ll be watching even closer.”

His confidence settled something inside me. For the first time, I felt like I wasn’t fighting this battle alone.

As we returned to the SUV, the crisp morning air filled my lungs, a sharp contrast to the stifling fear that had consumed me for weeks.

Garrett opened the passenger door like a gentleman, and I slid into the seat.

He shut the door with a solid thunk , rounded the hood, and climbed into the driver’s side.

The engine rumbled as he pulled out of the lot, but instead of heading toward my house, he turned onto Main Street.

“Where are we going?” I asked, sharper than he deserved. The tension of the morning still thrummed under my skin.

“I’m kidnapping you,” Garrett said, deadpan.

I grimaced.

He glanced sideways at me and winced. “Too soon?”

“Way too soon.” Despite myself, I chuckled.

He pulled into a spot in front of The Coffee Cove, the sign over the door swaying gently in the ocean breeze. “We’re taking a break.” He toggled his shoulder radio and called in a code seven.

Inside, the familiar warmth of the coffee shop soothed my frayed nerves, though I still found myself glancing over my shoulder at the people passing by. Everyone seemed to blend seamlessly into the easy rhythm of a small tourist town, and I let out a breath of relief.

The scents of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wrapped around me like a comforting hug. Garrett approached the counter with the same casual confidence he carried everywhere, greeting the barista.

“Hey, Jessica. Medium black coffee and…” He turned to me, his eyebrow raised in mock expectation. “Pumpkin spice latte?”

The corner of my mouth twitched. “You know me too well.”

I instantly caught myself, my cheeks warming. Garrett and I were friends—I’d opened up to him about the stalker—but I didn’t want to assume too much. Friendships, especially ones formed under pressure, needed time to grow naturally.

He winked, his grin softening the tension inside me. “I’ve got your back.”

The words landed differently than they should have. They weren’t just professional—they were personal. I wasn’t just his job. He genuinely cared. Something as small as ordering my favorite drink reminded me of that.

When Cooper handed us the drinks a few minutes later, the familiar scent of cinnamon and nutmeg drifted through the air. Garrett passed me the cup, his fingers brushing mine briefly and sending a buzz through my core.

“Thank you,” I murmured, wrapping my hands around the warm paper.

I stared out the shop’s wide window at the bustle of Main Street.

People strolled past, chatting and laughing, oblivious to the storm brewing in my life.

Somewhere out there, my stalker could be watching.

Yet, for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like prey.

“This feels…normal,” I admitted softly. “Something I’ve been craving. ”

“Good,” Garrett said firmly. “We’re going to take back your life.”

The words settled over me like a shield.

We climbed into the SUV, and Garrett drove us home. When he parked in my driveway, I reached for the door handle, but he was already at my side. He opened my door and gestured for me to lead the way.

“I’ll walk you to the door.”

“I can?—”

“It’s not up for discussion.”

I nodded and led the way. As I approached the door, my steps faltered, and my stomach twisted sharply. My scalp prickled as my gaze locked onto the object sitting on my doormat.

“What’s—” Garrett started and stepped past me. His sharp intake of breath. “Fudge!”

There, resting half-hidden in the fibers of my doormat, was a silver locket—small, delicate, and unmistakably out of place. The chain was broken, the links jagged like they had been yanked free. My blood turned to ice.

“I know this,” I whispered, throat tight. “This is from my sixth book.”

Garrett turned to me. Questions and fury warred in his expression.

Numb, I continued, “Inside was a photo of her husband. He was the next target.”

Garrett straightened his spine, all business now. “Don’t touch it. I’ll grab my gloves and a bag.”

He jogged to the SUV while I stood frozen on the porch, staring down at the twisted chain and trying not to let my imagination spiral. But it was too late for that. Because if this was what I thought it was, someone wasn’t just reading my books—they were using them as a blueprint.

Garrett returned quickly, gloved up, and took photos from several angles with his phone. Then he knelt again and gently picked up the locket, holding it steady as he clicked the clasp open.

My breath caught.

Inside the locket was a photo—small, curled slightly at the edges, but unmistakable.

Me.

My face stared back from within the polished metal. One of my author headshots, the kind you could find online with a quick image search.

A cold wave of dread washed over me, and my heart thudded in my chest.

Garrett looked up, jaw set. “This isn’t just a sick prank.”

“No,” I said quietly. “It’s scary.”

And suddenly, every step I’d taken to disappear didn’t feel like enough.

I pulled up my door cam footage on my phone, hoping for answers. Instead, static filled the screen for the minutes the stalker left the locket. I showed it to Garrett, and my frustration mounted.

“They used a jammer,” he muttered with restrained rage.

“Illegal, but that’s the least of their crimes.

” He blew out a sharp breath. “I’ll check other cameras in the neighborhood, but if they used the jammer along the entire street…

” He shook his head. “Go inside, lock the door, and call me if anything else happens. If you need to go anywhere, I’m coming with you.

” His lips twitched into a small, determined grin.

“Also, plan on getting together this weekend. We’re not allowing this person to run us to ground. ”

I blinked at him, the words taking a second to settle.

We’re not allowing this person to run us to ground.

The “we” lodged in my chest like a flare of warmth and fear colliding. For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to argue, to protect him and Noah by keeping my distance. But another part—the part that was tired of hiding, of flinching at shadows—clung to his conviction.

I nodded slowly. “Okay,” I said, voice rough. “This weekend. Just…don’t let me pull away if I start to panic.”

Garrett’s expression softened. “I won’t.”

And for the first time in days, I almost believed I didn’t have to do this alone.