Page 10 of Pursuit of Her

"Three years ago, Rosalie Gresham accused you of sexual assault," Reagan interrupted. "You used your connections to have the evidence 'lost.' You had her blacklisted from every financial firm in Phoenix Ridge. You destroyed her life so thoroughly that she saw no way forward."

Understanding dawned in Davenport's eyes, followed quickly by fear. "You're the vigilante. The one who killed Harmon and the others."

"I delivered justice where the system failed," Reagan corrected, moving closer, her weapon never wavering.

Davenport's demeanor changed, adopting the smooth persuasiveness that had built his empire. "Listen, whatever you think you know?—"

"I know everything." Reagan placed a digital recorder on his desk and pressed play.

Rosalie's voice filled the room, trembling but determined:"He told me no one would believe me. That he owned judges, police captains, even the mayor's chief of staff. He said they protected each other, that they always would."

Davenport's face hardened into a mask of contempt. "So what now? You kill me and leave more evidence for the police? They're already hunting you. They'll find you eventually."

"Perhaps." Reagan placed the flash drive beside the recorder. "But first, I'm going to make sure everyone knows what you did. What all of you did."

Fear flickered in his eyes again. "The network. You know about the network."

"Five names remain on my list," Reagan confirmed. "You're just one piece of a diseased system."

Davenport's composure cracked further. "They'll come after you with everything they have.The others…they have resources you can't imagine."

"I'm counting on it." Reagan stepped closer, her weapon now inches from his forehead. "Before you die, I want you to transfer five million dollars to this account."

She placed a notecard on his desk. Davenport stared at it, then back at her with confusion.

"Why?"

"It will be distributed to your victims—the women whose lives you destroyed. Consider it restitution."

To her mild surprise, he laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "You think you're some kind of avenging angel? You're just a murderer with a cause."

"Perhaps," Reagan agreed, her voice emotionless. "But unlike you, I serve justice, not myself. Make the transfer."

Davenport hesitated, calculating his options but finding none. With visible reluctance, he turned to his computer and initiated the transfer, his fingers moving across the keyboard under Reagan's watchful eye.

"Confirmation," she demanded when he finished.

He turned the screen toward her, displaying the completed transaction. Reagan nodded once, satisfied.

"I knew your type in the military," he said suddenly, studying her with renewed intensity. "Special operations. You have the look. The control. What happened? Did the system fail you too?"

For a fraction of a second, Reagan's mind flashed to Eve—to the life they'd planned together, to the moment ten years ago when she discovered the truth about Phoenix Ridge's power structure, to the choice she'd made to protect the woman she loved by disappearing.

"The system protects men like you," she replied simply. "Not those you hurt."

Davenport's lips curved into a knowing smile. "But that's not all, is it? This is personal for you."

Reagan's expression remained impassive, but something in her silence confirmed his suspicion.

"The detective," he said. "The one who investigated Rosalie's case; she was getting too close. We had her…removed."

A chill spread through Reagan's veins. "What detective?"

"Shaw. Reagan Shaw." Davenport's smile widened, sensing an advantage. "She was connecting the dots between cases. We couldn't allow that."

The world narrowed to a pinpoint around his words. Reagan's heartbeat slowed, her breathing steadied—the predator's calm before the kill.

"You ordered the hit on me," she said softly.

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