Page 48 of Pursuit of Her

And there—a shadow detaching from darkness, moving with the fluidity Eve recognized instantly. Reagan, heading toward the waterfront, the evidence broadcast continuing inside the hotel behind them, justice unfolding in their wake.

Eve made her decision. She activated her earpiece: "Foster, execute contingency protocol. Ensure complete evidence distribution."

"Already done, Captain," Foster replied. "All material has been transmitted to federal contacts and major news outlets. It can't be buried now."

The mission was complete, and he evidence was exposed. The Phoenix Network was now collapsing under the weight of its own documented crimes.

Now Eve needed to ensure Reagan escaped.

She moved through the rain toward the waterfront, following the path Reagan had taken, as lightning fractured the sky above Phoenix Ridge and thunder shook the ground beneath her feet.

The storm transformed Phoenix Ridge waterfront into a tempestuous nightmare. Rain slashed sideways, each droplet stinging like tiny projectiles against Eve's exposed skin. Her evening gown clung to her body, sodden and heavy, the delicate fabric never designed for pursuit. Lightning carved jagged paths across the black sky, momentarily rendering the world in stark monochrome—wooden pier, churning waves, and the silhouette of Reagan Shaw moving toward the northern dock.

Eve followed, abandoning stealth for speed. The pier groaned beneath her bare feet,weathered planks slick with rain and sea spray. Wind howled across the harbor, carrying fragments of emergency sirens from the hotel behind them. Paradise view for tourists by day; treacherous labyrinth now.

"Reagan!" Eve's voice competed with thunder that seemed to emanate from the ocean itself.

Reagan turned, recognition immediate even through sheets of rain. She'd abandoned her disguise, tactical gear visible beneath an unbuttoned maintenance uniform. Her blonde hair whipped around her face, eyes narrowed against the storm's fury.

"You shouldn't be here," Reagan called back, her voice carrying despite the tempest surrounding them. "Martinez will have officers converging on this position within minutes."

Eve closed the distance between them, bare feet careful on the slippery wood. "It's done. The evidence can't be buried now. Foster made sure of it."

Lightning branched overhead, thunder following instantaneously. The ocean surged around the pier's supports, black water reaching hungrily toward them.

Reagan studied Eve, rain streaming down her face. For an instant, the vigilante's mask slipped, revealing the woman beneath—exhausted, relieved, uncertain of what came next after a decade of a singular purpose.

"Fairchild?" Reagan asked, rain masking any emotion in her voice.

"His reputation is destroyed. The trafficking evidence, the financial connections—it's playing on every screen in the hotel, every phone, every computer." Eve stepped closer. "You chose evidence over execution."

Something shifted in Reagan's expression. "Because you were right. Death would have been merciful compared to what they'll face now."

Eve reached out, her fingers finding Reagan's wrist, feeling the racing pulse beneath her cold skin. "We need to get off this pier. Martinez is tracking my comms."

"I have a boat at the northern point. Three minutes from this position."

Lightning transformed the harbor again, and in that silver-white flash, Eve saw figures moving onto the pier behind them. Martinez, accompanied by uniformed officers, weapons drawn and advancing cautiously through the storm.

"We've been tracked," Eve warned, drawing her service weapon as they retreated toward the northern edge of the pier.

Reagan immediately shifted her position, awareness never faltering despite the chaos surrounding them. "How many?"

"Martinez and at least three officers." Eve scanned for cover, finding only exposed planking and the occasional storage shed. "They must have tracked my communication with Foster."

"There's no coverage on this pier," Reagan assessed, her voice calm despite the deteriorating situation. "We need to reach the extraction point."

They moved in coordinated tandem, muscle memory from their years as partners resurfacing instantly. Eve covered their retreat while Reagan led the way toward the northern dock, both women navigating the storm-slicked pier.

"They weren't supposed to be here," Eve said as they ducked behind a small equipment shed. "The evidence exposure should have occupied all security resources."

"Martinez isn't following standard protocols." Reagan checked her weapon, movements precise despite rain-soaked hands. "She's acting on Brooks's direct orders."

Lightning split the sky again, thunder following so closely it vibrated through the wooden planks beneath them. The storm had centered directly over Phoenix Ridge Harbor.

“Captain Morgan!” Martinez's voice carried through the downpour, professional but edged with something approaching desperation. "Stand down! You're interfering with the apprehension of a murder suspect!"

Eve met Reagan's gaze, silent communication passing between them. They had rehearsed countless tactical scenarios during their partnership years—building entries, hostage situations, armed standoffs—but never this: former partners on opposite sides of justice, one hunting, one protecting.

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