Page 55 of Pursuit of Her

"That's Penny's transport," Elena confirmed. "Captain Morgan is on site."

"Let me finish closing this wound, then we'll get you stable," Eliza said, noting Reagan's increased heart rate on the monitors.

As Eliza completed the procedure, Reagan fought the medication's sedative effects, determined to remain conscious for Eve's arrival.

"Incoming," Elena announced. "Penny reports Captain Morgan is stable but exhausted. Mild hypothermia resolved."

Reagan attempted to sit up, only to be gently restrained by Sophia. "Not yet. You'll tear these sutures again."

"You have about ten minutes before she needs complete rest," Eliza advised, gathering her equipment. "Don't waste it on apologies or regrets. Focus on next steps."

The surgical team withdrew, leaving Reagan propped slightly upright, monitors displaying her vital signs. The door opened, and there she was—Eve Morgan, dressed in borrowed clothes too large for her frame, hair still damp, exhaustion etched into every line of her face.

Behind her stood Penny Vandermark, a former army medic who'd filed harassment charges against Harrington during her brief employment at Phoenix Ridge General.

Eve's gaze found Reagan immediately, tension visibly draining from her shoulders at the confirmation that Reagan had survived. Neither woman spoke as Penny discretely withdrew, closing the door.

For the first time since their confrontation in the abandoned factory, they were truly alone—fugitives from the system one had abandoned and the other had never trusted, partners in a justice both had chosen despite the cost.

For a moment, neither spoke. The only sounds were the steady rhythm of the heart monitor and the soft hiss of oxygen flowing through tubes. The antiseptic scent hung in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the earthy dampness of the underground facility.

Eve moved first, crossing the space between them with measured steps. She looked both strange and familiar in borrowed clothes, her captain's authority replaced by a vulnerability Reagan had rarely witnessed. Without her uniform, without her badge, Eve seemed both smaller and somehow more formidable—stripped to her essential elements.

"They said you flatlined," Eve's voice emerged rough with emotion, her fingers hesitating before lightly touching Reagan's hand where it rested on the surgical table. "Twice."

Reagan managed a weak smile. "Takes more than a bullet and the harbor to finish me."

"You stepped in front of that bullet," Eve said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It was meant for me."

Reagan winced as she shifted position, the fresh sutures pulling against damaged tissue. "Split-second calculated decision."

"Bullshit." Eve's fingers tightened around Reagan's, careful to avoid disturbing the IV line. "You didn't have time to calculate anything. You just...moved."

The truth hung between them, unspoken but undeniable. After a decade of isolation and single-minded focus on her mission, Reagan had made a choice that prioritized Eve's life over her own. Not strategy. Not tactics. Something far more fundamental.

"How bad?" Eve asked, her gaze moving to the fresh bandages covering Reagan's chest and shoulder.

"Bullet shattered my scapula and tore through subclavian muscle. Missed the artery, though." Reagan's breathing remained shallow, each word requiring conscious effort. "Dr. Hammond repaired the damage. I'll recover."

"And then?"

The question carried weight beyond Reagan's medical prognosis. What came next for both of them? The evidence exposure at the gala had succeeded: Jonathan Brooks was arrested, Landon Fairchild was facing federal charges, and the Phoenix Network was now crumbling under public scrutiny. But the mission remained incomplete.

"Jonathan Brooks wasn't the only one," Reagan said. "There are others higher up. Federal connections. People who protected the network and benefited from its operations."

Eve nodded, unsurprised. "I found financial transfers linking Jonathan Brooks to Senator Barrow and Judge Stroud. The corruption extends beyond Phoenix Ridge."

"The notebook you recovered from Judge Harmon's safe," Reagan confirmed. "His insurance policy, documenting every connection."

A moment of realization passed between them—even separated, they'd been following the same threads and assembling complementary pieces of the same puzzle.

"Martinez is hunting both of us now," Eve said, shifting to sit carefully on the edge of the surgical bed. "The department has my face on every alert system in the city alongside yours. Armed and dangerous."

"Quite the career change, Captain Morgan," Reagan observed, studying the lines of exhaustion on Eve's face. "How does it feel to be on the other side?"

Eve's gaze remained steady. "Like I should have gotten here sooner."

The confession hung in the air between them. Not regret for abandoning her badge, but for the years lost to separate paths.

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