Page 44 of Pursuit of Her

"I won't accept it," Eve said simply.

Eve's phone vibrated. "Martinez is two blocks away."

"You need to go," Reagan urged. "If they find you here…"

"My career is already over," Eve replied with unexpected calm. "I've made my choice."

"What choice?"

"To expose the Phoenix Network, with or without department support. To finish what we started ten years ago, together this time."

Monica's warning came through Reagan's earpiece:PRPD vehicles approaching from east.

"You need to leave now, Eve."

Eve nodded but hesitated at the door. "Tomorrow night. What's your extraction plan after Fairchild?"

"North pier. Boat waiting at midnight."

"I'll be there," Eve promised. "With evidence against Brooks. We finish this together."

"Together?"

"Together," Eve confirmed. She reached out, her fingers briefly touching Reagan's before withdrawing.

As Eve disappeared down the hall, Reagan felt something shift inside her, the first tendrils of possibility beyond vengeance, beyond the mission that had consumed her for ten years.

She pocketed the letter meant for Eve, suddenly determined it would never need delivery. Tomorrow night would unfold according to plan, but with one critical difference: she wouldn't be executing this operation alone anymore.

Reagan moved swiftly, packing only essentials before activating the safe house's purge protocol. She had twelve minutes before Martinez's team arrived.

As she slipped into the night through the building's forgotten maintenance shaft, Reagan recalculated tomorrow's operation with this new variable. Eve would be there, at the north pier—with evidence, with help, with the possibility of something beyond justice.

For the first time in ten years, Reagan Shaw wasn't just looking toward the completion of her mission.

She was looking toward what might come after.

9

EVE

The Phoenix Ridge Grand Hotel ballroom exuded wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across marble floors, their soft glow reflecting in champagne flutes and designer cufflinks as Phoenix Ridge's elite circulated in choreographed displays of influence. Through floor-to-ceiling windows, the ocean stretched beneath a gathering storm, whitecaps visible even from the fourteenth floor.

Eve eased through the crowd, her midnight blue evening gown offering both elegance and tactical advantage—the fabric loose enough to conceal the service weapon strapped to her thigh. Her hair had been sweptup perfectly, diamond studs in her ears.

She wasn't Captain Morgan tonight. Not officially. Administrative leave had stripped her of authority, but not purpose.

Every few minutes, Eve's gaze drifted to Senator Landon Fairchild holding court near the stage, silver-haired and commanding in his tailored tuxedo. Terminal liver cancer had hollowed his cheeks and yellowed his complexion, though careful makeup almost concealed it. His public prognosis remained optimistic—six months, the newspapers claimed—but Eve had seen his medical records. Weeks, not months. Tonight would be one of his final public appearances.

"Captain Morgan." Mayor Amelia McAllister materialized at Eve's elbow, resplendent in emerald silk that emphasized her political ambitions more than her figure. "I was surprised to see your name on the guest list, considering your…administrative situation."

Eve sipped her champagne. "These tickets were purchased before my leave began. Senator Fairchild's charity work is admirable."

McAllister's smile remained fixed, though her eyes hardened. "Commissioner Brooks mentioned your investigation has taken some unusual turns. Accessing restricted archives and pursuing decade-old cases." She lowered her voice. "Jonathan has expressed concern about your focus on his business associates."

The threat lay beneath polite words.

"My investigation follows evidence, Mayor. Wherever it leads."

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