Page 53 of Pursuit of Her

Seven minutes, precisely as promised.

The guard posted outside shifted, attention momentarily drawn toward the disruption. Martinez stepped back, her hand instinctively moving toward her service weapon.

"Stay with the prisoner," she instructed the officer. "I'll check the disturbance."

Martinez moved swiftly down the corridor, disappearing from view. Reagan counted her heartbeats, measuring seconds through the pain. The corridor outside her room emptied as medical personnel responded to the emergency call.

Movement near the window caught Reagan's attention—a shadow separating from darkness. The glass slid open silently, hospital security measures bypassed with professional efficiency. Elena Vasquez slipped into the room, dressed in surgical scrubs.

"Cutting it close this time, Shaw," Elena whispered, producing a small tool kit from her pocket. "Can you move?"

"Barely," Reagan admitted. "Bullet did its work well."

Sophia moved to the door, partially closing it while maintaining watch on the corridor. "Two minutes until they realize the code is fake."

Elena moved to the bedside with silent precision, examining the medical equipment. "Focus on breathing through the pain. This won't be pleasant."

With fluid movements, Elena disconnected the monitoring leads, immediately silencing the machines before alarms could sound. She produced a handcuff key—likely obtained through network connections within the department—and freed Reagan's wrist.

The process of disconnecting medical equipment sent fresh waves of agony through Reagan's body. Each tube removed, each IV line detached represented another smallbattle against her body's limitations. The catheter removal nearly caused her to lose consciousness, darkness encroaching at the edges of her vision.

"Stay with me," Sophia urged, returning to produce a syringe. "Pain management. Not enough to knock you out but enough to keep you functional."

The medication spread through Reagan's system with merciful speed as the women helped her into a sitting position. Reagan bit back a cry, tasting blood where she'd bitten her lip to maintain silence.

"Transport?" Reagan managed.

"Service elevator to the basement. There’s a vehicle waiting. Four minutes to the extraction point." Elena produced a surgical gown to cover Reagan's hospital garments. "Mira is creating a secondary distraction in the ER. The network is fully activated."

Reagan nodded, concentrating on remaining conscious as they helped her to her feet. Her legs threatened to buckle immediately, strength sapped by trauma and blood loss.

"Eve?" Reagan asked, leaning heavily against Elena.

"Penny is handling her extraction separately," Sophia explained. "She'll meet us at the safe house."

Eve hadn't just aligned herself with Reagan's cause; she'd actively coordinated with the network. The former captain had fully committed to their partnership, abandoning her badge and the system she'd served for two decades.

Voices erupted from the corridor—the officer realizing something was wrong, Martinez returning with rapid footsteps.

"Move," Elena urged, guiding Reagan toward the window where a maintenance platform had been positioned outside.

As Sophia created a final distraction in the corridor, Reagan slipped through the window with Elena's support, the platform's descent toward waiting transportation beginning immediately. Each movement sent fresh agony through her damaged body, but Reagan focused beyond the pain.

She had survived. Again. But the mission remained incomplete—Brooks had fallen, but there were others in the network whose crimes remained unexposed.

"Stay with me, Shaw," Elena urged as Reagan's consciousness threatened to fade. "We've got a long night ahead."

Reagan clung to awareness, to purpose, to the hope that had sustained her through a decade of darkness. She would recover. She would finish exposing every member of the network.

And somewhere between justice and vengeance, between past and future, she and Eve would find each other again.

The van lurched through Phoenix Ridge's back streets, each pothole sending fresh waves of agony through Reagan's damaged body. She drifted in and out of consciousness, the pain medication barely taking the edge off as Elena navigated the darkened city while Sophia monitored Reagan's vitals.

"BP dropping," Sophia reported. "We need to get her stabilized soon."

"Three minutes," Elena replied, taking a sharp turn down a narrow alley. "Eliza's prepped and waiting."

Reagan forced her eyes open, fighting to remain conscious. "Eve?"

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