She didn't want justice; she wanted the position of power that would allow her to control the very corruption she was currently exposing.
She was cleaning house, not to purify the department, but to ensure that when she took the throne, there would be no rivals left to question her authority.
I realized with a jolt of terror that I was the final loose end she needed to tie up before she could vanish with the data and the power.
Rourke looked at me, a desperate, silent plea for a temporary alliance, a man who would sell his soul to the devil if it meant surviving the next five minutes.
I looked at him, then at the woman, and knew that if I didn't act immediately, I would be the corpse they found in this office come morning.
As she shifted her stance to gain a better angle, the heavy steel door to the office began to creak, a slow, agonizing sound of hinges protesting as someone from the outside pushed against the lock.
I didn't know who was on the other side, but I knew that whoever it was, they were about to walk into a slaughterhouse.
She glanced toward the door for a fraction of a second, and in that split second of distraction, I lunged for the file on the table, desperate to grab the key card before she could reclaim it.
My hand closed around the plastic, but a sharp, biting pain erupted in my shoulder as she pulled the trigger, the sound of the suppressed shot muffled but devastatingly effective.
I crumpled to the floor, the world tilting and blurring into a kaleidoscope of grey and white, the taste of copper filling my mouth as I realized the bullet had found its mark.