Page 74 of Tides of Change
Think.
Where could Finch have taken Ethan? He couldn’t have gotten far on foot—not while dragging an unconscious body. That meant he had to have had some kind of transport. A car? But there hadn’t been any unusual vehicles caught on the security footage. Finch was too smart for that. Had a car been down the street, toward the beach, and out of sight of the camera?
What other options were there?
I tried to remember roll call, but my mind had been on Ethan, too distracted to focus on details. Had there been any new reports of stolen cars? I forced myself to search my memory. There’d been a traffic accident, a downed tree across the coastal highway, a breaking and entering at Seacliff Beach Rentals…
I froze.
Beach rentals.
My pulse kicked up as I toggled my radio and requested a report on the B&E. “What was stolen?”
The radio crackled before the response came through. “An oar and a beach utility cart.”
A cold weight settled in my gut.An oar. The same kind of weapon Finch used to knock Ethan out. And a beach utility cart—perfect for transporting an unconscious body.
On the beach.
I raked a hand through my damp hair, frustration and adrenaline surging through me.This was it.Finch took exactly what he needed to carry out the abduction. And now I had a direction to follow.
I checked my watch, my jaw tightening as the numbers glared back at me: 8:42 a.m. Ethan had been missing for almost five hours. Five hours of uncertainty. Five hours of Finch having him—God knew where. The weight of that realization pressed against my chest, suffocating.
Where was my backup? The storm slowed response times, but every passing minute felt like a lifetime. The wind whistled around the corner of the house and rattled a loose gutter. Rain hammered against the windowpane in a relentless rhythm. I flexed my hands, trying to stop them from clenching into fists. Every second that ticked by was another second Ethan was vulnerable, injured, or…my mind couldn’t go there.
I forced myself to take a breath, but it was shallow, useless. I was wasting time while I just stood there. And time was the one thing I couldn’t afford to lose. I needed to search the beach.
I left the house, paced in front, fists clenched, and watched the street. Waited.
Finally, the wail of sirens cut through the downpour. Two cruisers skidded to a halt, lights flashing, and sent flickering red and blue streaks over the rain-slick pavement. I rushed forward as deputies Holt Larson and Nate Decker jumped out, their faces grim.
I toggled my radio. “Where’s Detective Ballard?”
A crackle, then dispatch responded, “He was at the sheriff’s headquarters. ETA forty-five minutes.”
Too long. We didn’t have forty-five minutes.
I took charge, not worried about a reprimand. Sarge could suspend me, for all I cared. “Nate, start canvassing. Someone had to have heard or seen something. We need a witness, anything that gives us an edge.”
Nate nodded and took off toward the nearest cluster of my curious neighbors watching from under umbrellas.
“Holt, you’re with me. We’re checking the beach.”
Together, we pushed through the wind toward the beach path, our boots squelching through the rain. The storm had already tried to erase any sign of Finch, but as we reached the path, I spotted faint, washed-out tire tracks in the wet sand.Beach utility cart.My gut clenched.
At the beach-end of the path, Holt said, “Tracks lead north.”
I nodded. “Let’s go.”
Sheets of rain turned the world into a swirling gray blur, but I could still make out the churning, frothy, violent waves. The rising tide had obliterated the tire tracks along the beach.
I turned my gaze north and spotted the sea cave, half-submerged beneath the surging tide. My pulse hammered against my ribs. That had to be it.
“He’s got Ethan in the cave.” I raised my voice above the noise of the storm. I could feel Holt’s stare on me, but I was already moving. Fear tightened my chest, but I shoved it down. Ethan needed me.
I sprinted forward and sand shifted under my boots as I charged toward the jagged rocks. Holt followed, but he was a step behind. My mind screamed that I was too late, that Finch had already won, but I didn’t let myself believe it.
Then—a blur. A dark shape emerged from a fissure between the rocks.
