Page 26 of Pursuit of Her

Time was running out for both of them.

The rain had finally stopped by the time Eve returned to her apartment, though the sky remained leaden with the promise of more to come. Twilight descended over Phoenix Ridge, transforming the city into a landscape of artificial light. Eve stood at her balcony window, watching droplets trace meandering paths down the glass while her reflection stared back.

The evidence she'd gathered throughout the day covered her dining table like pieces of a fractured mosaic: Dr. Ingrid Westfield's toxicology report proving Reagan had been drugged before being shot; the archives' fragmented records revealing the systematic dismantling of Reagan's investigation; the photograph connecting Reagan to the confidential informant at Harbor Point; and most critically, Reagan's interrupted letter proving she'd tried to warn Eve a decade ago.

After leaving the archives, Eve had driven to 1542 Harbor Point Road and found a modest cabin overlooking the harbor, weathered by years of coastal storms but still standing. Using the skills Reagan had taught her long ago, she'd picked the lock and slipped inside. The cabin had been clean, sparse, and showing signs of occasional use but not permanent habitation. Eve had located the loose floorboard exactly where Reagan had described, finding beneath it not just the safety deposit box key but additional files documenting Reagan's decade-long investigation.

Now those files joined the others, completing a picture that left no room for doubt or denial.

Eve sank into her chair, fingers tracing the edges of a photograph she'd found in Reagan's hidden cache: the two of them at Academy graduation, arms around each other's waists, faces alight with possibility and fierce love. She turned it over, finding words in Reagan's handwriting that nearly shattered her composure: "The day I knew I wanted forever with you."

"Ten years," Eve whispered to the empty apartment, the words carrying the weight of all she'd lost, all she'd misunderstood. Ten years believing Reagan had abandoned their plans, their promises, their future. Ten years of armor built against emotional vulnerability, of professional dedication replacing personal connection. Ten years of a void that nothing had filled.

And all because Reagan had chosen to protect her rather than endanger her.

The truth burned through Eve's carefully constructed defenses like acid through metal. Reagan hadn't left her; Reagan had saved her. She had stepped into darkness aloneto shield Eve from the corruption she'd discovered and sacrificed their life together to ensure Eve's future.

Lightning flickered in the distance, the approaching secondary storm front crackling across Phoenix Ridge's skyline. From her penthouse vantage point, Eve could see the Lighthouse Tower where Arthur Pembroke maintained his offices, the Phoenix Ridge Grand Hotel where Sebastian Harrington held court, the Governor's Mansion where Landon Fairchild guided political policy.

Three more names on Reagan's list. Three more powerful men connected to the network that had nearly killed her. Three more targets whose terminal diagnoses meant Reagan's timeline was accelerating.

Eve's phone vibrated against the table for the dozenth time that evening—Commissioner Brooks, demanding updates, explanations, and her presence. Eve let it ring unanswered, her attention focused on the evidence before her and the choice it demanded.

The safety deposit box key sat beside her service weapon and badge, the juxtaposition symbolic of the decision point she'd reached. Tomorrow morning, she would access box 227 at Phoenix Ridge National Bank and retrieve whatever final evidence Reagan had secured there a decade ago. But tonight, she had to decide what that evidence would mean—whether she would use it to arrest Reagan or to help her expose the truth.

Law or justice. System or truth. Badge or heart.

Eve's fingers brushed across the photograph again, lingering on Reagan's face—younger, unmarked by the decade of turmoil that had followed, but with the same determined eyes she'd seen in the abandoned factory during their confrontation.

"I never stopped watching over you."

The words from Reagan's note to her crystallized something Eve had been fighting since their rooftop encounter. Despite everything—the killings, the vigilante justice, the opposing sides they now occupied—Eve had never stopped loving Reagan either. She had never truly moved beyond the emptiness Reagan’s disappearance had created. She had built her life around the badge because it was the only purpose that came close to filling the void Reagan had left behind.

A purpose now revealed to be compromised by the very corruption Reagan was eliminating.

Eve rose and moved to her bedroom, kneeling beside the bed to withdraw the fireproof case containing her private investigation files. Inside, beneath the evidence she'd reviewed earlier, lay one item she hadn't examined in years: a small velvet box containing the engagement ring she'd purchased two days before Reagan disappeared. The ring she'd never had the chance to offer. The promise that had died with Reagan's presumed death.

She opened it now, the modest diamond catching the subtle lighting of her bedroom. Not ostentatious or flashy—Reagan would have hated that. Simple, elegant, and practical enough to wear beneath tactical gloves on duty. A symbol of the future they'd planned together.

The future that had been stolen from them both.

Eve closed the box with a decisive snap and returned to her evidence wall, her mind racing through the connections with renewed focus. If the network Reagan was targeting reached as high as Commissioner Brooks's husband—and the evidence certainly suggested it did—then official channels weren't just useless; they were actively dangerous. Any move Eve made using department resources would be monitored, countered, perhaps even weaponized against her.

She needed to operate outside the system. Needed to find Reagan before the next execution. Needed to determine whether there was still a path forward that delivered justice without more bloodshed.

Her gaze fell on the photograph from Reagan's hidden cache, the notation about "S" at Harbor Point. Sophia G., the confidential informant Reagan had tried to protect. The woman who had likely helped Reagan survive after her "disappearance." The key to finding Reagan now.

Eve methodically rebuilt the evidence wall, reorienting it around connections that had previously been obscured. Sophia G. was connected to Harbor Point, which meant she might still be local. If Reagan had trusted her a decade ago, she might be part of the network supporting Reagan's current vigilante mission.

Cross-referencing the partial records from Reagan's investigation, Eve identified three potential candidates: Sophia Garcia, Sophia Gresham, and Sophia Goldstein. Of these, Sophia Gresham stood out. Her sister Rosalie had filed assault charges against Richard Davenport three years ago, charges that had mysteriously disappeared before his trial.

The connection solidified when Eve discovered Sophia Gresham's current employment: maintenance worker at Phoenix Ridge Capital—the same building where Davenport had been killed. She had been on shift the night of his murder, questioned and cleared by patrol officers who deemed her presence routine.

Eve marked the connection with a red line on her evidence wall. If anyone knew how to find Reagan, it would be Sophia Gresham. And if the pattern held, Reagan would be planning her next execution within days.

She needed to intercept Reagan before another killing occurred. Not to stop her mission—Eve had seen too much evidence now tobelieve the "Phoenix Network" deserved any more protection than it already had—but to find a solution that didn't end with Reagan in prison or dead.

Justice without vengeance. Exposure without execution. The truth without more bloodshed.

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