Page 83 of Pursuit of Her

Reagan's expression softened. "Partners in all senses of the word."

The phrase had become their shorthand over the years—acknowledgment of both their professional collaboration and personal connection. Different approaches united by shared purpose, stronger together than either could be alone.

Eve awakened to the gentle buzz of her watch alarm, the bedroom still cloaked in darkness. Beside her, Reagan slept soundly, her breathing deep and even, a peace that had developed gradually over their years together.

Their home occupied the top floor of the converted warehouse, created from what had once been empty storage space. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered the same spectacular view as their professional space below, but here the aesthetic had softened—comfortable furnishings, photographs on walls, booksscattered on tables. A home rather than just shelter, warmed by evidence of shared life.

Eve slipped from bed without disturbing Reagan, moving through their morning routine. Coffee brewed as she completed her run along the harbor path, returning as the sun was starting to rise.

When Eve returned, Reagan stood at the kitchen island, reading reports on her tablet while sipping coffee from a mug emblazoned with the Phoenix Ridge Police Academy logo—a gag gift from Foster on the fifth anniversary of Eve turning in her badge.

"Patterson extraction is confirmed for tomorrow," Reagan reported without looking up. "The federal team will provide a secondary perimeter."

Eve poured her own coffee, the domesticity of the moment still occasionally striking her with its unexpectedness. How strange that they had found this quiet rhythm after years of separation and conflict.

"Elena's team completed the final reconnaissance yesterday," Eve confirmed, studying Reagan over the rim of her mug. "The husband's security team has predictable patterns we can work around."

Reagan set her tablet aside, fully present in the moment as she'd learned to be over their years together. In the early days of their relationship's revival, work had dominated every conversation. Now they'd developed boundaries that preserved spaces for simply being together.

"The Pride Festival committee called while you were running," Reagan said, pulling out fresh berries from the refrigerator. "They want to know if we're still hosting the security briefing next week."

"Confirmed," Eve replied. "Captain Foster promised additional officers this year."

"Former adversaries make the strongest allies…or so you've taught me," Eve added with a smile.

Reagan returned her smile. "Dr. Hammond reports all medical supplies secured for the festival first aid station. It's coming together well."

They moved through breakfast with comfortable familiarity, discussions shifting between professional obligations and personal plans. The contrast with their former livesremained striking: Eve's sterile penthouse apartment where she'd lived alone with evidence walls and case files; Reagan's spartan mountain hideout designed for survival necessity rather than comfort.

"Remember when you were supposed to arrest me?" Reagan asked suddenly, the playful challenge in her voice a tone few besides Eve ever heard.

"Ididarrest you," Eve countered, clearing plates from the table. "You just escaped custody."

"After you'd already helped me expose half the corruption in Phoenix Ridge," Reagan reminded her, leaning against the counter with arms crossed. "Not exactly by-the-book police work, Captain Morgan."

"Former Captain," Eve corrected, stepping closer. "And thank heaven for that."

"You turned in your badge instead," Reagan acknowledged, voice softening. "You chose to side with a vigilante over the department. Quite the career change."

"Best decision I ever made," Eve replied, closing the distance between them. "Though technically you were a 'fugitive suspect' by then, not just a vigilante."

"Semantics," Reagan dismissed, accepting Eve's kiss with the ease of established intimacy. Five years had transformed tentative reconnection into something solid and certain, a partnership neither had fully imagined possible during their years apart.

As they prepared for the day ahead, Eve observed Reagan's movements: the casual grace that had returned as her injuries healed and the vigilant awareness that remained part of her fundamental nature but no longer dominated her entire being. The woman who had existed solely for vengeance had found purpose beyond the mission.

And Eve, who had once defined herself entirely through her badge and position, had discovered that justice served many masters—some within the system, others necessarily outside it.

By evening, they were standing on the rooftop terrace of their converted warehouse. The garden Reagan had developed over the years provided a sanctuary above the city. Lightsilluminated pathways between seating areas where they often ended their days.

"Captain Foster called about the consulting proposal," Reagan said, settling into a comfortable chair overlooking the harbor. "The department's establishing a specialized division for domestic violence and trafficking cases. They want our expertise in developing training protocols."

Eve joined her, noting the thoughtful expression on Reagan's face. "What are you thinking?"

"Five years ago, I would have dismissed departmental partnership as compromise," Reagan admitted, watching the lighthouse beam begin its nightly sweep across the bay.

"And now?"

"Now I recognize the value in different approaches serving the same purpose," Reagan said. "Our methodologies filling gaps in traditional response, integrated into systemic training."

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