Page 50 of Pursuit of Her

The ocean closed around her with violent coldness that stole her breath and shocked her system. Salt water flooded her mouth as she forced her eyes open against the sting, searching for any sign of Reagan in the churning darkness. The elegant evening gown transformed into a leaden prison, dragging her downward into black waters punctuated only by intermittent lightning overhead.

Eve pushed herself deeper, lungs already burning, arms sweeping through the turbulent currents. Rain impacts pockmarked the water's surface above, creating a chaotic ceiling through which distant shouting barely penetrated. Martinez's commands and officer responses, all meaningless against the singular thought consuming Eve's mind: find Reagan.

Lightning fractured the sky, momentarily penetrating the depths, revealing nothing but churning water and suspended silt. The storm's violence had transformed the harbor into an opaque nightmare, visibility reduced to inches where she needed yards.

Her lungs screamed for oxygen, muscles already weakening from cold and exertion, but Eve pushed deeper still, refusing to surface without Reagan. She had lost her once before; she would not lose her again. Not like this. Not when they'd finally found a path forward together.

A flash of movement caught her attention—darker than the surrounding water, sinking rapidly. Eve kicked toward it, fighting currents that seemed determined to separate them. Her fingers brushed fabric, then closed around an arm. Reagan, unresponsive, blood clouding the water around her.

Eve wrapped her arm around Reagan's chest, kicking toward what she hoped was the surface. Disorientation threatened as her oxygen-deprived brain struggled to maintain direction. Which way was up? The weight of Reagan's tactical gear and her own waterlogged gown pulled them both deeper, an inexorable descent that Eve fought with diminishing strength.

Her vision tunneled, darkness encroaching from the edges. Not enough air. Not enough time.

Then something solid struck her—a pier support, barnacle-encrusted and rough against her skin. Eve used it to orient herself, following its vertical line upward, dragging Reagan's limp form alongside her. The surface remained impossibly distant, her muscles failing, lungs burning beyond endurance.

Just as darkness threatened to claim her completely, Eve broke through to air, gasping in ragged, desperate breaths. Reagan's head lolled against her shoulder, unresponsive.

"Help!" Eve's voice emerged weaker than intended, barely audible above the storm's fury. "Officer down! Help!"

Lightning revealed her position—twenty feet from the pier's edge, waves threatening to push them beneath the structure where they would be crushed against supports by the surging tide. Eve fought to keep them both afloat, Reagan's dead weight threatening to pull them under with each wave.

"There!" A voice from above—Martinez, directing flashlight beams toward their position.

"She's been shot!" Eve called upward, struggling to keep Reagan's face above water. "Officer down!"

Whether Martinez recognized Reagan was impossible to tell, but the priority of recovering wounded officers superseded all other concerns. Ropes descended from the pier, officers positioning themselves for water rescue despite dangerous conditions.

Eve secured the rescue line around Reagan's unresponsive form, maintaining her tenuous hold as officers began pulling from above. Blood mingled with rain and seawater, impossible to determine its volume, but the bullet had struck high on Reagan's chest—too close to vital organs, too much blood loss compounded by immersion.

Eve's strength faltered as officers hauled Reagan upward. Her fingers, numbed by cold and slick with blood, lost their grip. A wave separated them completely, pushing Eve beneath the pier while Reagan ascended to the officers above.

The surging current dragged Eve further under the structure, darkness absolute now as her body struck a support beam with bruising force. She fought the water's pull, disoriented and exhausted, each movement diminishing as hypothermia began claiming rational thought.

A beam of light penetrated the darkness. A rope splashed nearby. Voices called her name—not just Martinez now, but others joining the rescue effort.

Eve reached for the rope with clumsy fingers, barely managing to secure it around her wrist before her strength abandoned her completely. She felt herself being pulled upward through darkness, then rough hands lifting her onto the pier's wooden planking.

"Captain Morgan!" Martinez's face appeared above her. "Stay with us!"

Eve fought to form words through chattering teeth and oxygen-starved cognition. "R-Reagan…where?—"

"Emergency medical is here. Both of you need immediate treatment."

Eve forced herself to focus, to push through the encroaching shock attempting to claim her consciousness. She spotted paramedics working frantically several feet away, their voices urgent as they called for pressure bandages, fluid replacement, defibrillation equipment.

"No pulse! Beginning compressions!"

The words penetrated Eve's fog like ice water. She struggled to sit up, officers attempting to restrain her for her own safety.

"Reagan!" Her voice emerged as little more than a rasp, inadequate against the storm and medical urgency surrounding them.

Through sheets of rain, Eve watched the paramedics working with focused intensity. Reagan's tactical gear had been cut away, exposing the entry wound just below her collarbone, the exit wound having torn through her upper back. Blood pooled beneath her on the wooden planking despite pressure bandages, too much loss compounded by immersion.

"Captain, you need to let them work," Martinez said, her professional demeanor momentarily softened by genuine concern. "You're in shock."

Eve couldn't look away from Reagan's face—pale beneath streaks of blood and harbor water, oxygen mask secured over features relaxed in unconsciousness. Or death. The possibility sliced through Eve's chest.

The paramedics' movements carried increasing urgency, their expressions conveying what their professional vocabulary attempted to mask: they were losing her.

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