Page 61 of Tides of Change
“So maybe he thinks you took something?” I asked. “A plotline, a character?”
“I didn’t.” He shook his head. “Maybe we were inspired by similar events and people, but I never plagiarized him.”
I studied him for a moment. “He thinks you did. And now he’s talking about taking your voice. That could mean a few things, Ethan—and none of them are good.”
Ethan swallowed. “Like silencing me?”
“Yeah. Either professionally or…” I trailed off, jaw tightening.
Physically.
I didn’t say it, but we both felt the weight of it. The threat wasn’t veiled anymore. It was staring us dead in the face, written in black text on a glowing screen.
“Well,” I said, my voice low and grim, “one thing’s clear. He’s not gone into hiding. He’s getting desperate.” My stomach churned with the realization. “You’re in more danger now than ever. Forward that email to Ballard.” I rattled off his email address.
After a few strokes, Ethan snapped his laptop shut and abruptly pushed back from the table. He began pacing the living room, his steps quick and agitated. “There’s got to be something we can do. We’ve got to be proactive.”
The urgency in his voice set off alarm bells in my head. “Whatever you’re thinking, forget about it.”
He stopped pacing and turned to face me, his hands on his hips. “I can’t just sit around and wait for him to make a move. I can’t do nothing.”
“What you’re going to do is keep yourself safe while the sheriff’s department does its job,” I ordered, leaving no room for argument.
“But—”
“No.”
His mouth pressed into a tight line, frustration clear in the way his jaw worked and his hands flexed at his sides.
I sighed, the tension easing slightly as I softened my tone. “I don’t want to fight you on this, Ethan. I just want you safe.”
He dropped onto the couch beside me, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. His rigid weight pressed against my side.
I placed my hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. “I’ll keep you safe,” I promised. “No matter what it takes.”
Ethan didn’t reply, but his hand covered mine in a silent acknowledgment of the trust he placed in me.
I stifled a yawn. “It’s been a long, hard day. Let’s go to bed.” I pushed myself to my feet, my joints protesting.
Ethan remained seated; his shoulders slumped as if the strain of the evening had finally drained every ounce of fight from him. His face looked pale and drawn in the soft light, the spark in his eyes dulled by exhaustion and lingering anxiety.
“Do you have an extra blanket and pillow?” he asked tentatively.
“Why?” I tilted my head, my brows drawing together.
“So I can make up the couch,” he said, a faint crease forming on his forehead, confusion in his expression.
I studied him for a moment, his question striking me as almost absurd. “You’re sleeping with me,” I said, the words firm but calm. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
His mouth fell open, his surprise flickering into something softer, more vulnerable. “Are you…? Are you sure you’re ready for that?” His tone was cautious, like he was treading on fragile ground, unsure of where we stood.
I stepped closer, my gaze steady on his, trying to reassure him. “I’m sure I’m ready to sleep,” I said with a faint smile, letting a bit of humor creep into my voice to ease the tension. “Anything else, well…” I allowed the sentence to hang for a beat before finishing with a wink. “We’ll see.”
Ethan blinked, and his lips twitched into a hint of a smile.
“C’mon.” I led Ethan to my bedroom. He followed, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“You can use the bathroom first,” I offered and nodded toward the cramped ensuite.
