Page 50 of Tides of Change
“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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Garrett
I barely had time to grab my morning coffee at the end of roll call before Sergeant Rodriguez called my name. His voice was clipped, sharp—dangerous.
“Whitlock, my office. Now.”
My stomach dropped. This wasn’t going to be good. Sarge wasn’t the kind of guy who yelled when he was mad—he got quiet, cold, and precise. That was worse. I caught Holt Larson’s glance from across the room. His brows lifted in silent question. I shook my head and headed for the office.
Sarge was standing when I stepped in, arms crossed over his broad chest. He nodded toward the chair across from his desk. “Sit,” he ordered.
I closed the door behind me, lowered myself into the chair, and forced myself to keep my posture relaxed—even though my gut was twisted into knots.
Sarge didn’t sit. He paced behind his desk like a caged animal before turning and leveling a hard look at me. “Tell me why I got an anonymous call this morning about you playing detective with a civilian.”
I fought the instinct to stiffen.Shoot.Was the caller Finch? Had he been watching us?
“Sir, if this is about canvassing the hotels?—”
“Of course it’s about canvassing the hotels!” he snapped. “What the hell were you thinking, Whitlock? You took a victim—a witness—and dragged him through the shitty motels in town? What part of that sounded like a good idea to you?”
I kept my voice steady as I took full responsibility. “I thought maybe he’d recognize someone, a name. And he did. We discovered the name of the suspect.”
