Page 43 of Pursuit of Her

Her secure phone rang—Mira's tone. "Martinez has expanded the security perimeter. PRPD officers conducting door-to-door checks in the vicinity."

"Me," Reagan confirmed, already collecting essential equipment. "Status on Fairchild?"

"Arrived thirty minutes ago. Suite secured and swept."

"Maintain original timeline."

"Reagan," Mira paused. "What happens after Fairchild and everyone else is exposed and you complete your list?"

The question hung between them. What came after the mission? After justice? She had never allowed herself to contemplate a future beyond her list.

"One operation at a time," she replied automatically.

But as she disconnected, Reagan found herself unable to dismiss the question. For a decade, she'd existed as little more than a ghost. The mission had been everything.

Now, with the end in sight, the void beyond threatened wide and uncertain.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her contemplation—three taps, pause, two taps. The network's signal. Reagan drew her weapon, approaching with silent steps. Through the peephole, she saw Monica Rivington and opened the door..

"She insisted," Monica said, opening the door. "Wouldn't take no for an answer."

Eve stepped into view, her expression unreadable.

Reagan lowered her weapon slowly. "How did you find me?"

"I followed your network," Eve replied, stepping inside. "Not difficult when you know what to look for."

Monica glanced between them. "I'll keep watch downstairs. Ten minutes, Captain Morgan. Then you need to move. Martinez has patrols sweeping this district."

When the door closed, silence stretched between them.

"You shouldn't be here," Reagan said finally.

"Neither should you." Eve moved to the window, positioning herself to see approaching vehicles while keeping her silhouette hidden. "Brooks is setting a trap for tomorrow night's fundraiser. Martinez has orders to apprehend any suspicious individuals with extreme prejudice."

"You're warning me."

"I'm stating facts." Eve turned from the window. "You're planning to execute Fairchild tomorrow night."

Not a question. Reagan didn't bother denying it. "He's dying anyway. Terminal diagnosis, weeks to live. This is the last opportunity for his victims to see justice."

"And after him?" Eve asked.

"Jonathan Brooks."

Eve's jaw tightened. "Brooks's husband. The connection I've been building evidence against through official channels."

"The man who ordered my execution ten years ago," Reagan added quietly. "The one who would order yours if he knew how close you were getting."

Eve stepped closer. "There's another way. We have enough evidence between us to expose the entire network. We could take it to federal authorities, bypass Brooks completely."

"And how many more victims while we wait for bureaucracy?" Reagan challenged.

"You can't keep executing them," Eve countered. "Sooner or later?—"

"I'll be caught," Reagan finished. "Or killed. I've accepted that possibility since the beginning."

Something flashed in Eve's eyes—pain, perhaps, or the echo of grief she'd carried for ten years.

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