Page 25 of Tides of Change (Seacliff Cove #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ethan

Monday at noon, I paused my writing. Hunger drew me to the kitchen, but my thoughts were focused on anything but lunch. As I mindlessly slapped sliced turkey onto whole wheat bread, memories of Saturday night stole my attention.

I could still feel Garrett’s warm breath against my skin, his strong hands gripping me.

How did he feel about what had happened between us?

Did he regret it? Or was he like me—reliving every electrifying moment?

The mere thought sent a charge through my body, tightened my chest, and quickened my pulse.

He could’ve chosen anyone. Someone with less baggage. Someone safer. But he chose me.

The realization settled in my chest like warmth melting an ice cube. He’d handed me that moment, that trust, not just with his body but with a part of himself he’d never offered anyone before.

And that…meant something.

It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t curiosity or impulse. It was Garrett stepping into something new—with me.

And I’d be damned if I wouldn’t treat that like the rare, complicated, beautiful thing it was.

The sudden ringing of my phone on the counter jolted me.

I glanced at the screen. Garrett. A mix of relief and nervous anticipation bloomed in my gut, fluttering like a flock of hummingbirds taking flight.

I wiped my hands on a paper towel, grabbed the phone, and swiped to answer before it could click over to voicemail.

“Hello?” My voice carried a smile I couldn’t suppress.

Garrett’s tone, however, was all business. “I’ve been thinking. This creep has to be close by to follow your movements, so it stands to reason he’s staying in town, at least part of the time. Sarge gave me the go-ahead to canvass motels this afternoon. Just wanted to keep you in the loop.”

My stomach plummeted. The idea of my stalker staying in Seacliff Cove sent a shiver racing down my spine. “Take me with you.”

Garrett hesitated. “Ethan…I can’t. That’s not protocol. I could be?—”

“I could help,” I argued, and gripped the phone tighter. “What if…what if I recognized someone? Or a name?”

A long sigh came through the line. “Pick you up in ten,” he murmured, his voice low and quiet, almost resigned, before he ended the call.

My appetite evaporated. I wrapped my unfinished sandwich and stuffed it into the fridge with trembling hands. The thought of confronting the man who had been haunting me was terrifying, but this could be the break we needed.

I barely had time to throw on a jacket and grab my phone before the sheriff’s department SUV pulled up outside my house.

The rumble of the engine sent a ripple of tension through me.

I stepped onto the porch as Garrett climbed out of his Ford Police Interceptor, his uniform crisp and his presence reassuring.

He confidently walked toward me as his eyes scanned the area. “Ready?” A protective edge laced his deep voice.

“As I’ll ever be.” I tried to match his calm demeanor, but my heart thundered in my chest.

Inside the vehicle, the faint traces of gun oil and the fresh smell of Garrett’s body wash enveloped me, oddly comforting despite the nerves dancing in my stomach.

As we pulled onto the main road out of the neighborhood, I glanced at him.

His jaw was set, his hands firm on the wheel at ten and two.

There was something about the way he carried himself—a mix of determination and control—that made me feel safer, even as my mind raced with worst-case scenarios.

“Any idea where to start?” I broke the tense silence.

He nodded. “Cheap, cash-friendly places. If this guy’s staying local and under the radar, they’re the most logical spots.”

Logical. But beneath that calm exterior, I knew Garrett was just as concerned as I was.

The weight of what we were about to do settled over me. I stared out the window as the streets of Seacliff Cove passed by. This town was supposed to be my sanctuary, my fresh start. Now it felt tainted, with every corner holding the possibility of danger.

But as Garrett reached over the console and gave my knee a brief, reassuring squeeze, I knew I wasn’t facing this alone. And somehow, that made all the difference.

The first motel looked like the definition of seedy.

The single-story structure sat awkwardly along the highway outside the cozy town of Seacliff Cove.

The neon vacancy sign flickered faintly, one of the tubes completely burned out.

The whole place screamed bad decisions .

My stomach tightened as I followed Garrett through the cracked glass front doors into the reception area.

The linoleum floor peeled in places and revealed a sticky underlayer that clung to my sneakers as I stepped inside.

The smell of old cigarette smoke mingled with something sour, and I fought the urge to gag.

Behind the counter, a pot-bellied man in a stained T-shirt barely glanced up until he caught sight of Garrett’s uniform.

His small, watery eyes widened, and he stiffened and flicked the butt of his cigarette into an overflowing ashtray.

“Don’t want no trouble,” the man muttered, his voice a gravelly smoker’s rasp. He shifted nervously. A cockroach skittered across the counter. He slammed his hand down on it and wiped the dead bug on his pants. My stomach churned.

Garrett didn’t miss a beat, his tone calm but firm. “Then you’ll cooperate. We’re looking for someone who might’ve been here for a few weeks. Single man, average build, about five feet ten, maybe coming and going a lot. Ring any bells?”

The man’s lips pressed into a thin line. He leaned back, scratching at his greasy hair. “Need a warrant for that kinda thing.” He smirked, though his darting eyes betrayed his nerves.

I clenched my fists at my sides, disappointment bubbling to the surface. This was a waste of time.

Garrett, however, didn’t flinch. His voice dropped, low and commanding. “You’d rather I call the health department? Pretty sure they’d be interested in this place.”

The man grimaced but didn’t respond.

Garrett’s eyes narrowed at him, but he said to me, “Let’s go.”

Outside, the bright sunlight assaulted my eyes after the dim, grimy interior.

“Is this pointless?” I already felt defeated.

“Maybe not.” Garrett strode toward his SUV.

“These vehicles might tell us something.” Inside, he ran the plates through the onboard computer while I held my breath.

Southern California…Nevada…Seacliff Cove…

rental car. My pulse quickened at that one.

But when Garrett ran the plate and contacted the rental company, I didn’t recognize the driver, Edward Johnson, age seventy-four.

The only red flag was an unpaid parking ticket. Not exactly a lead.

The second motel was even worse, wedged between a smoke shop and a dingy pizza place in another sketchy area outside of town.

The faint stench of burned coffee lingered in the air as we walked in.

The man behind the counter was younger, with a scruffy beard and a cynical smile that made my skin crawl.

Garrett repeated his questions and asked about suspicious guests.

The guy chuckled. “Everyone here’s suspicious. That’s why they come here. What they do ain’t my business.”

“What about Halloween night?” Garrett pressed.

The man shrugged. “Privacy’s what they pay for. I don’t snoop.”

I tensed, and Garrett gave me a brief glance, his expression unreadable.

Once again, we ended up in the parking lot, Garrett running plates while I scrubbed my face. “How do you have the patience for such uncooperative people?” I asked, anxious for answers.

He shrugged. “It’s part of the process.”

I admired Garrett’s calm focus. His investigative style was deliberate, steady, like he could untangle any knot if given the time. If anyone could make sense of this, it was him.

He’d run the plates of every car in the parking lot, cross-checking the registered owners against the licenses. None of the faces meant anything to me.

“We don’t even know where he’s from,” I murmured, anxiety creeping into my voice. “He could be from New York. Maybe he followed me here.” I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Hell, he could be from anywhere in the country—found me in New York, tracked me here. Who knows how long he’s been watching?”

Garrett glanced over, his voice even but laced with concern.

“He could be,” he said. “But if he knows your routines—where you live, when you’re home—chances are, he was close to you in New York.

That kind of access doesn’t come from casual observation.

It’s personal. Do you know of anyone with a grudge against you? ”

The weight of that truth settled in my chest like a stone. “I’ve been trying to figure that out since the feather, but I can’t think of anyone.”

Garrett started the engine and backed out of the parking slot. “One more cash-friendly motel to check out. I doubt he is staying at any place nicer and paying with a credit card.” He added under his breath, “Unless he’s stupider than I think he is.”

The final motel, perched near the coastal freeway, had a weathered exterior that inspired little confidence. Inside, the air reeked of mildew, and the woman behind the counter barely looked up from her magazine as Garrett asked his questions. She waved him off with a dismissive grunt.

The vehicles in the lot here were a mix of locals and out-of-staters, and none of the names associated with the plates seemed familiar.

By this point, the frustration was a dull ache in my chest. Every time we approached someone, I hoped for something—a lead, a clue, a reaction.

Instead, we encountered indifference or hostility.

I leaned my head against the passenger-side window, the cool glass soothing my overheated skin.

“What now?” I asked, my voice flat. “We’ve got nothing.”

Garrett started the engine with a low rumble and shifted into gear.

“We’re not done,” he said, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

I turned to him, brows lifting. “You have another lead?”

“Not a lead,” he said. “A gut feeling.”

He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push. I trusted his instincts more than I trusted my own heartbeat right now.

We headed back into town, navigating through the historic district until we pulled up in front of the Sea Glass Suites.

The boutique hotel sat prim and elegant on Main Street, all soft blue paint and white trim, like it belonged on the cover of a travel magazine.

A small sign in the window welcomed guests with hand-lettered charm.

Inside, the lobby was warm and coastal in a tasteful way—bleached oak floors, soft lighting, and subtle sea glass accents in shades of green and blue.

Behind the desk stood a man I didn’t recognize, but who exuded charm like it came with the job.

Dark hair styled to perfection, silver bracelets on one wrist, and a smile that could probably convince even the grumpiest traveler to extend their stay.

Garrett approached the desk with quiet authority. “How are you, Landon?”

“Wonderful, Garrett.” The man raised an eyebrow and eyed me like I was a snack. “And this is Ethan,” he purred. “Nice to finally meet the man who likes pumpkin spice lattes.”

My eyes widened. “You…how…?”

“Oh, darling, I know everything that goes on in Seacliff Cove.” He turned to Garrett. “Which is why you’re here.”

Garrett glanced back at me and nodded slightly. “Has anyone tried to check in recently using cash?”

Landon’s brows lifted, thoughtful. “Not many people do that anymore. But…yes. About a month ago. A man tried to pay in cash. Said he didn’t like using credit cards. I told him I don’t accept cash for rooms—policy. He wasn’t happy, but he left without causing a scene.”

“Can you describe him?” Garrett asked.

Landon paused, his fingers tapping lightly on the counter. “Unusual guy. Under six feet. Scruffy. But what I remember most—his eyes. One was blue, the other brown. Hard to forget.”

A chill slithered down my spine, cold and sharp. I hadn’t thought about him in years.

Two different colored eyes. One blue. One brown.

The image snapped into focus. “I knew someone like that,” I said quietly. “Years ago, before I was published. We met at a writers’ group in Brooklyn. He was writing a thriller and gave me the creeps even then.”

Garrett turned to me, alert. “Do you remember his name?”

I searched my memory, the tension in my chest tightening like a vice. “Ted. No, wait…Theo? Yes, Theo. Flynn?” I shook my head, frustrated. “No. It was the name of a bird.” I snapped my fingers. “Finch! Theo Finch. That’s it.”

Garrett moved fast. Back in the SUV, he pulled up the department’s database on the onboard computer and ran the name. A few moments later, his screen lit up with a match. “Theodore Finch. New York address. No known criminal record, but he fits the description.”

He turned the screen so I could see the DMV photo. My breath hitched.

“That’s him,” I said. “Oh my God. That’s him.” A shudder ran through me.

Landon had followed us outside, arms crossed over his chest. He glanced at the screen and nodded. “Yeah. That’s the guy who tried to pay in cash. I watched him leave. Pretty sure he was driving an older, banged-up white car. Maybe a Civic?”

Garrett reached for his radio. “Thanks, Landon. That’s exactly what we needed.” Garrett notified patrol to be on the alert for Finch.

As he spoke in clipped, efficient tones, I stared out the window at the historic street in downtown Seacliff Cove, heart pounding with the realization: we had a name now.

Finch was real. And he was here.

Garrett started the engine, his jaw tight. “Keep an eye out for Finch’s white Civic. If you see it near your house, call me immediately.”

“And if we don’t find him?” The words escaped before I could stop them, the weight of my fear spilling over.

Garrett glanced at me, his expression softening. “We will. Trust me.”

I turned my head away, staring out at the quaint shops as we drove down Main Street. Garrett’s confidence was unshakable, but mine felt like it was crumbling by the second.