Page 34 of Pursuit of Her

"Captain Morgan," Eve answered, her voice betraying nothing of the storm raging beneath her professional exterior.

"Captain." Brooks's voice carried the sharp edge of barely-suppressed fury. "I understand Detective Martinez visited your apartment last night regarding a security concern."

"A misunderstanding," Eve replied smoothly. "Neighbor reported unusual activity. Nothing substantive."

A pause, weighted with unspoken accusations. "The department is concerned about your recent activities, Captain. Your investigation methods have become…unorthodox."

"I'm pursuing all available leads in the vigilante case, Commissioner. As instructed."

"Yes, well." Brooks's voice cooled further. "That's precisely what we need to discuss at this morning's meeting. Your dedication is admirable, but there are protocols to be followed."

Protocols designed to protect Brooks's husband and his network. Eve's free hand clenched at her side. "Of course, Commissioner. I'll be there."

"See that you are." The line went dead.

Eve slipped the phone into her pocket, shoulders squared against the weight of what was coming. Brooks would try to remove her from the investigation today—reassignment, forced leave, whatever bureaucratic tool would distance Eve from the truth she was uncovering.

She couldn't let that happen. Not when Reaganwas hours away from executing Arthur Pembroke. Not when the final evidence waited in safety deposit box 227.

Eve cast one last glance at the evidence wall, at Reagan's face amid the photographs of victims and perpetrators alike. Then she secured her apartment and stepped into the hallway, her mask firmly in place.

The war for Phoenix Ridge's soul had entered its final phase. And Eve Morgan stood at the crossroads of law and justice, with no clear path forward except the certainty that by day's end, nothing would remain the same.

The Phoenix Ridge Police Department's conference room had been designed to showcase transparency—glass walls, natural light, the department's progressive values on physical display. But as Eve entered precisely three minutes before the 8:30 a.m. meeting, she found the glass walls frosted, electronic privacy screens activated, and the blinds drawn against the morning sun.

A cold, calculated display of power: Brooks was shutting out prying eyes.

Commissioner Hannah Brooks sat at the head of the oak table, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. To her right, Deputy Commissioner Talia Warner, known to be Brooks's closest ally in department politics. To her left, Captain Lawrence Richardson from Internal Affairs, his presence a red flag Eve couldn't ignore.

No other detectives. No team members. Not even Martinez.

"Captain Morgan." Brooks didn't rise as Eve entered. "Thank you for your punctuality."

Eve took the only available seat directly across from Brooks, the positioning no accident. Three against one, with Eve isolated in the spotlight.

"Commissioner." Eve nodded professionally, careful to keep her expression neutral despite the alarm bells shrieking in her mind. Internal Affairs didn't attend routine meetings about active investigations.

"We'll skip the pleasantries," Brooks began, folding her hands on the table. "Your handling of the vigilante investigation has raisedserious concerns at the command level. Over the past week, you've accessed restricted archives, conducted unauthorized surveillance, and pursued leads without proper documentation or chain of command notification."

Eve maintained perfect stillness, neither confirming nor denying. "I'm pursuing all available avenues to apprehend a suspect who has executed four individuals in as many weeks, Commissioner."

"Your dedication is commendable," Brooks responded, her tone suggesting anything but. "However, we're concerned about your methodology and, frankly, your objectivity."

Captain Richardson slid a folder across the table, the Internal Affairs logo embossed on its cover. "Captain Morgan, do you recognize this?"

Eve opened the folder to find records of her archive access, time-stamped photographs of her visiting Phoenix Ridge National Bank the previous day, and building security logs showing her apartment's balcony door opening at 2:17 a.m.—when she'd been inside with Reagan.

"Standard investigative activities," Eve replied, closing the folder with measured calm, though her heart hammered against her ribs.

"What concerns us," Brooks continued, "is the pattern these activities suggest. You appear to be pursuing a parallel investigation outside department protocols, potentially compromising our ability to apprehend the vigilante."

Eve met Brooks's gaze directly. "With respect, Commissioner, my record speaks for itself. Twenty years of exemplary service. Highest case closure rate in department history. I've earned some latitude in my investigative approach."

"Hadearned," Richardson corrected, his voice carrying the precise edge of someone who enjoyed wielding bureaucratic power. "Past tense."

The implication hung in the air between them. Eve's spine straightened imperceptibly.

"What exactly are you suggesting, Captain Richardson?"

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