Page 20 of Pursuit of Her
"That doesn't give you the right?—"
"Rights hadnothingto do with it," Reagan interrupted, her voice finally betraying emotion, a flash of the passion that had once defined her. "When I discovered how deep the corruption went, when I followed the money and connections to the highest levels of Phoenix Ridge's power structure, rights became irrelevant. It was about survival. Mine. Yours. The women they victimized."
Eve's weapon lowered another fraction. "Explain."
One word. An opening. Reagan seized it.
"Commissioner Brooks' husband is part of it," she said. "Jonathan Brooks. He's on my list. He coordinates their 'cleanup' operations—evidence that disappears, witnesses who recant, investigators who get reassigned. Ten years ago, he helped arrange my execution when I got too close to exposing them."
Eve's composure slipped further, her professional mask cracking at this confirmation of herown suspicions. "I've been investigating the commissioner and tracking financial connections between her husband and the victims."
"Then you're already in danger," Reagan said, urgency coloring her words. "If Jonathan Brooks or his wife discovers what you've found, you'll be targeted next."
Their eyes held across the rain-washed space, the first tenuous thread of understanding stretching between them.
"I need to see your evidence," Eve said finally. "All of it. Not just what you've left at crime scenes."
It wasn't acceptance. It wasn't forgiveness. But it was an acknowledgment that the truth mattered more than immediate justice—the detective in Eve refusing to make a judgment without examining all available facts.
Reagan felt a flicker of the connection they'd once shared: two investigators pursuing truth, regardless of obstacles. She reached slowly into her tactical jacket, noting the slight tension in Eve's grip on her weapon. From an inner pocket, she withdrew a small waterproof case that contained a fragment of the evidence she'd gathered over ten years.
"This is just the beginning," Reagan said, opening the case to reveal a flash drive and several folded documents. "Financial records proving Jonathan Brooks coordinated what they called 'cleanup operations.' Evidence that disappeared from police files. Witness testimonies that were buried."
She held it out between them, the rain beading on the waterproof surface. "Including the order for my execution ten years ago."
Eve studied the case without taking it, suspicion warring with the detective's instinct to pursue every lead. "Why give me this now?"
"Because you're already hunting them," Reagan answered simply. "And because they'll come for you next if you get too close. You need to know what you’re up against to protect yourself."
The storm raged around them, lightning illuminating the broken machines of the abandoned factory, thunder shaking the fragile structure. Through it all, Reagan watched Eve's face, reading the micro-expressions she still remembered from their years together: the slight furrow between her brows when processing complex information and the almost imperceptible tightening at the corner of her mouth when confronting an uncomfortable truth.
Eve stepped forward, closing the distance between them. When she reached for the case, her fingers brushed Reagan's, the brief contact sending an electric current through Reagan's body that had nothing to do with the storm. For ten years, she had maintained her distance, watched from shadows, protected through absence. Now Eve stood before her, solid and real and dangerously close.
"This doesn't change what you've done," Eve said, her voice losing its professional edge as she took the evidence.
"I never expected it to," Reagan replied, unable to step back despite tactical training that demanded distance and escape routes.
Eve's dark eyes searched Reagan's face, cataloging the changes a decade had carved into her features. Reagan forced herself to remain still under the scrutiny, though every instinct screamed for her to retreat from this dangerous proximity.
"Ten years," Eve whispered, her anger softening into something more complex. "Ten years I thought you were dead."
The accusation struck deeper than any bullet Reagan had ever faced. "I was," she admitted, truth breaking through her carefully maintained control. "The woman you knew died that night in the harbor. What returned was something else."
"And us?" Eve asked, the question barely audible above the storm. "Did that die too?"
Reagan's breath caught, the unexpected vulnerability in Eve's voice cracking something in her armor. Her gaze dropped to Eve's lips then back to her beautiful green eyes, a moment of weakness she couldn't afford but couldn't prevent.
"Nothing about us has ever died," Reagan whispered. "That's why I stayed away."
The confession hung between them, heavy with a decade of absence and unspoken truths. Eve's free hand rose, hovering near Reagan's face without quite touching, close enough that Reagan could feel the heat of her skin through the rain-chilled air.
Something magnetic pulled them toward each other, an inexorable gravity neither had anticipated when the night began. Reagan leaned forward slightly, rational thought drowning beneath the tide of what they had once been to each other. Eve's face tilted upward, her lips parting slightly, the evidence clutched forgotten between them.
Their breath mingled in the cold air, the distance collapsing?—
Reagan's earpiece crackled to life, slicing through the moment with brutal efficiency. "All units, Captain Morgan's GPS signal located near the abandoned textile factory. Establish a perimeter and begin the search pattern."
Reality crashed back. Reagan stepped away, situational awareness reasserting itself with cold precision. "Your team," she said, all vulnerability vanishing beneath necessity. "They must have noticed your absence and tracked your phone."
