Page 24 of Tides of Change
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 amale 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 myselfto 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.”
