Page 29 of Pursuit of Her

"I knew." Eve's grip on the weapon didn't waver,but she hadn't immediately called for backup either. "You aren't the only one who can run counter-surveillance, Reagan."

The sound of her name on Eve's lips after so long sent an unexpected tremor through Reagan's composure. She maintained her outward calm through sheer force of will.

"Your evidence wall is impressive," Reagan said, nodding toward the display. "You've connected most of the pieces."

"Not all of them." Eve's gaze was penetrating, searching for answers beyond the situation before them. "I know one pattern at least. They’re all terminal, dying in a matter of weeks and months instead of years."

"Justice delayed is justice denied," Reagan replied, echoing words from their academy days. "Their victims deserved to know what these men did before they slipped away in private hospital rooms, eulogized as pillars of the community."

Eve's weapon lowered a fraction—not surrendering her tactical advantage, but acknowledging the moment as something beyond a confrontation between cop and vigilante.

"You broke into my apartment to check what Iknow," Eve said, the detective's mind always working.

"I needed to see it for myself," Reagan admitted. "To confirm you were connecting the right pieces without..." She hesitated.

"Without what?" Eve pressed.

"Without guiding you too directly." Reagan's gaze moved back to the evidence wall. "What did you find at the bank?" Reagan asked, her eyes flicking to the envelope barely visible beneath a stack of files on Eve's desk.

Eve didn't lower her weapon completely, but her stance shifted subtly. "Comprehensive financial records. Transactions between Pembroke's shell companies and every victim, including funds moving through Brooks's accounts. Dates aligning perfectly with cases that were dismissed." She tilted her head, studying Reagan with the penetrating focus that had made her Phoenix Ridge's youngest captain. "You've had this evidence for years. Why not release it publicly instead of?—"

"Executing them?" Reagan completed the thought, her voice level. "I tried the public route first. Three years ago, I fed evidence to an investigative journalist at the Phoenix Ridge Chronicle. He was found dead two days later—hiking accident. Very convincing."

Eve's expression tightened. "Marcus Webb."

"You remember."

"I investigated his death. The evidence pointed to an accident, but something felt wrong." Eve's fingers flexed around her weapon.

"Brooks arranged it," Reagan confirmed. "The same way he arranged countless 'accidents' and 'suicides' when people got too close to their operation."

Reagan moved carefully around the evidence wall, maintaining distance from Eve while gesturing to a photograph of Commissioner Brooks's husband. "Jonathan Brooks handles the cleanup when allegations surface. Judge Harmon dismissed cases. Davenport paid settlements and managed financial arrangements. Pembroke provided legitimate business fronts."

Eve's gaze sharpened. "And Sinclaire?"

"Real estate," Reagan answered, bitterness seeping into her tone. "He owned properties across Phoenix Ridge, private locations where they could operate without scrutiny. Places where women disappeared."

Tension crackled between them, a current of unspoken emotion beneath their tactical exchange of information. Eve set her weapon on the side table, a deliberate choice that shifted the dynamic from confrontation to something more complex.

"You could have come to me," she said, her voice dropping to a lower register. "Even after you disappeared. Found a way to share what you'd discovered."

"I told you—they were watching you," Reagan replied, but the practiced response felt hollow, insufficient against the raw hurt in Eve's eyes.

"For ten years?" Eve stepped closer, closing the careful distance Reagan had maintained. "Ten years, Reagan. You let me believe you were dead."

Reagan's carefully constructed walls threatened to crumble under the weight of Eve's proximity, her scent, the familiar intensity of her gaze.

"I had to protect you," Reagan insisted, her voice rougher than intended. "If they knew Iwas alive, that I'd shared information with you?—"

"I'm a cop, Reagan. Protection is my job, not yours." Eve moved closer still, close enough that Reagan could see the droplets of water still clinging to her dark hair. "We were partners. In every sense of the word."

The past tense struck Reagan like a physical blow. She took an involuntary step back, colliding with the evidence wall. Photographs and documents trembled with the impact.

"Eve—"

"No." Eve followed, eliminating Reagan's retreat. "You don't get to disappear for a decade and then break into my apartment with tactical justifications. Not after what we were to each other."

Reagan felt her control slipping, emotions she'd buried beneath years of planning and disciplined isolation threatening to surface. Eve stood too close, the heat of her body radiating through the space between them, her eyes demanding truths Reagan had never allowed herself to voice.

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