Page 35 of Tides of Change (Seacliff Cove #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Ethan

The crack of thunder tore through my restless sleep and jolted me upright.

My pulse pounded in my ears as I blinked into the dark, my breath coming fast and uneven.

Wind howled outside, rattling the window like an intruder, and rain lashed against the glass in furious bursts.

The storm raged with an unrelenting ferocity.

I reached for my phone and my fingers fumbled against the nightstand until I found it.

Too damn early for a Monday. I exhaled, sank back against the pillows, pulled the covers tighter around me, and willed myself to sleep again. The wind could shake the house all it wanted—I had no intention of leaving the warmth of my bed.

Then came another gust that slammed against the window hard enough to shake the pane. A second later, a nearby, earsplitting car alarm shattered the night.

My car alarm.

The relentless wail cut through the storm and demanded attention.

I cursed under my breath, threw off the blankets, and swung my feet to the floor.

A shiver raced up my spine at the shock of cold hardwood under my bare skin, but I ignored it as I padded across the room.

The house felt different—the storm’s wild energy made it come alive.

I reached the front window and spread the slats of the blinds just enough to peek outside.

The street shimmered under the downpour, slick with rain and barely visible between the flashes of lightning.

My car’s headlights strobed along with the blaring alarm, turning the street into a chaotic display of light and sound.

Another crack of thunder rumbled deep in my chest, and my gaze flicked to Garrett’s house across the street.

If he woke up, he’d be at my front door in an instant.

He’d insist on escorting me to the car, weapon in hand, ready to play bodyguard whether I wanted him to or not.

But I couldn’t let him leave Noah alone—not for this.

A deputy would take too long to arrive, and in the meantime, the entire neighborhood would curse me for the ungodly wake-up call.

I inhaled slowly and tried to shake the unease curling in my stomach. The storm must have set it off. A strong gust of wind, some loose debris, a random sensor malfunction. It was not Finch.

Even Finch wouldn’t be out in this weather.

Lightning split the sky and momentarily banished the shadows along my driveway, illuminating empty spaces where someone could lurk.

No one was there.

My pulse settled—a little—as I forced a breath into my lungs. I could turn off the alarm from the porch. A quick step outside, just long enough to press the fob and make this storm a little quieter. Easy.

Still, my heartbeat matched the hammering of thunder as I shoved my feet into my sneakers, grabbed my key fob, and unlocked the door.

The moment I stepped onto the porch, the wind stole my breath.

Cold rain pelted my face and soaked my T-shirt in seconds.

I squinted against the sheets of water, raised the key fob?—

A shadow moved.

I barely had time to register the dark figure lunging from the oleander bushes at the end of the porch. Too fast, too close.

A long object in his hands.

The dark figure swung.

The last thing I saw was Finch’s wild eyes and the arc of his swing before pain detonated in my skull and obliterated the world in an explosion of white-hot agony.

I woke to a pounding headache, a sickening pulse of pain that radiated from the side of my skull.

My thoughts were sluggish, my body heavy, but the cold seeping into my skin jolted me to awareness.

The ground beneath me was wet sand. And the air—thick, briny, damp—told me I was somewhere close to the water.

A wave crashed in the distance, and the low rumble sent a spike of adrenaline through my system.

I tried to move, but my arms wouldn’t cooperate.

My wrists were tightly bound behind my back.

Plastic zip ties cut into my skin. My ankles were the same, locked together, and reduced my movement to helpless squirming.

The sharp bite of duct tape pulled at my mouth and sealed it shut.

Panic surged. I twisted and arched my neck to look around, but my vision blurred, and darkness pressed at the edges.

I could just make out the rocky walls of a cave in the dim light of a flashlight lying on the ground.

Then a shape emerged.

Lightning flashed and silhouetted the figure.

Finch.

The man stopped a few feet away and parked a beach utility cart—the same one he must have used to haul me here. Water dripped off his hair from the storm, but his expression was eerily composed, like he was just tying up loose ends.

I thrashed, muffled sounds escaping behind the gag.

Finch chuckled. “Yeah, I figured you’d be a little freaked out.”

I jerked against the restraints, muscles straining, but the zip ties didn’t budge. The more I struggled, the deeper they cut. I tried shifting my legs, but something rattled and yanked hard at my ankle.

My stomach clenched. A chain.

I twisted, my heart hammering, and searched for the source.

Finch smirked. “You’re chained to a fluke anchor buried deep in the sand.”

The chain was thick and secure. Even if I could get free from the zip ties, it ensured I wouldn’t be going anywhere. I regulated my breathing to keep panic at bay.

Finch squatted in front of me and rested his elbows on his knees.

He regarded me like a scientist studying a bug.

“You don’t recognize this place, do you?

Well, you should.” He gestured toward the mouth of the sea cave, where sheets of rain slanted sideways in the wind.

“Noah pointed it out to you, didn’t he? It was flooded by high tide at the time. ”

A new kind of fear slithered through my chest. The tide.

“Yeah, you get it now,” Finch said smugly. He leaned in and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Five hours, Ethan. Until ten o’clock. That’s all you’ve got before this whole place is underwater. Your deputy’s not gonna find you in time.”

His eyes gleamed with a dark, triumphant satisfaction, the kind that made a shiver crawl up my spine.

“But I found you, didn’t I?” His lips curved into a smirk; his gaze locked on mine like a predator to its prey.

“You thought you could run from me. Clever of you to try.” He leaned closer.

“That Priority Mail Express envelope you got?” His voice swelled with pride.

“That was from me. I tracked it the moment it was forwarded to Seacliff Cove. After that, it was easy—just a matter of watching the bookstore. I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away. I counted on it.”

I growled behind the duct tape and bucked against the restraints, but it was useless. I was trapped.

Finch sat back on his heels. “You’re probably wondering why, huh? Why I’ve been following you? Why I went through all this trouble?”

I shook my head, a desperate, jerky denial. Not just of the question—but of all of it. The cave. The cold. The panic that scraped at the edge of reason.

Finch tilted his head like he was examining a bug.

“You really don’t get it. You read my story in that little writers’ group back in the city—years ago.

You told me you liked it. Said it had potential.

” He let out a soft laugh that echoed like something broken.

“And then your first book came out. And I saw it. The twist, the setting, the character arc—it was mine.”

I shook my head harder. My books were mine. Every plot twist, every character—I had written them through sleepless nights and bloodshot mornings. I hadn’t even remembered Finch until Landon described him. But none of my writing was his.

Finch stood abruptly, pacing a slow circle.

“But you got all the book deals. All the praise. The tours. The fans. I kept waiting for you to come clean. To give credit where it was due. But you didn’t.

” He stopped and turned, eyes dark. “So, I’ll fix it.

Once you’re gone, there’ll be space for my voice.

My books. I won’t be in the shadow of a thief. ”

A scream built behind the gag, helpless and raw. I thrashed, the chain biting into my ankle, wrists twisting against the zip ties. Pain flared, sharp and useless. There was no escape. No leverage. No one coming.

He thought I stole his voice.

And now he wanted to silence mine.

Finch stepped back and lifted the hood of his jacket. Then, without another word, he turned and walked into the storm.

I growled, raw and desperate, but the churning, roaring tide swallowed it. The waves were closer. The rain battered the entrance of the cave, and the ocean crept higher, inch by inch.

I twisted against the zip ties, against the unyielding chain.

I had five hours, and Garrett probably didn’t even know I was missing.

Was this the end of my— our —story?