Page 72 of Tides of Change
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. “ButIfound 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 MailExpress 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 zipties. 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?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Garrett
Monday morning, I loaded Noah into the car, my mind already running through a hundred different tasks for the day ahead. Rain drummed steadily against the roof of the SUV, the storm still raging, and wind gusted through the trees lining the street. As I buckled Noah in, my gaze flicked to Ethan’s house across the road. Something about it sent a sharp prickle of unease down my spine.
Then I saw it.
Someone had damaged Ethan’s car. The rear bumper bore a deep dent, the passenger-side taillight was smashed, and glass littered the driveway. My pulse kicked up. That hadn’t been there yesterday.
Finch.It had to be him. He’d escalated his game.
