Page 1 of Pressure Point (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #2)

CHAPTER

ONE

The morning sun filtered through the canopy of live oaks and loblolly pines as Atlas Manning drove down the narrow road leading away from Blackout headquarters.

Spanish moss draped the ancient trees like funeral shrouds, creating a tunnel of green that made the maritime forest feel primeval and alive.

He was heading to the store for a routine supply run—nothing that required his particular expertise. But a hurricane was brewing out at sea, so everyone was pitching in to batten down the hatches, as the saying went.

Though it was only mid-July, the storm season this year was especially active. A Category 2 storm had hit the Bahamas just two weeks ago.

He didn’t mind doing a few errands. The solitude gave him time to think, and with the weight of not knowing Sigma’s next plan, he needed the mental space to process. The terrorist group was planning something, but Atlas and his colleagues didn’t know what.

He and his teammates needed to figure it out before it was too late.

The road curved ahead, following the natural contours of the island’s landscape. Atlas had driven this route dozens of times and knew every bend and straightaway.

Which was why the flash of movement from the tree line made him instantly alert.

A figure burst from the forest, stumbling onto the asphalt directly in front of his black SUV.

A woman.

Atlas slammed on the brakes, and the vehicle slid on the sandy residue coating the coastal road.

The SUV stopped just feet from her, close enough that he could see the woman clearly through the windshield.

She was maybe in her late twenties, with long, dark hair that hung in wet tangles around her face. Her clothes—jean shorts and a light-blue tank top—were soaked and clung to her slim frame.

But it was her eyes that caught his attention. They appeared wild and terrified.

As if she’d been running for her life.

The woman stared at him through the windshield for a heartbeat. Then she looked back from where she’d come. Looked at him again.

Her expression transformed from desperation to caution.

She ran to the passenger side of the SUV and yanked on the handle.

Atlas unlocked the door. “Get in.”

She collapsed into the passenger seat, breathing hard, water dripping from her hair onto the leather upholstery.

“Please,” she gasped. “Someone’s chasing me. I don’t . . . I can’t . . .”

Atlas scanned the trees where the woman had emerged. The Pamlico Sound stretched on the other side, probably a quarter mile away. But there were no homes or buildings nearby.

Just wilderness.

He searched for movement, listened for sounds that didn’t belong.

But the forest appeared still.

Despite that, the hair on the back of his neck rose.

Someone was watching them. He was certain of it.

“Are you hurt?” He kept his voice calm while his gaze continued to sweep the woods.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, rubbing a hand over her forehead. “My head . . . everything’s fuzzy. I can’t remember . . .”

She was going into shock. Her pale skin, trembling hands, and the way she seemed to have trouble focusing made that clear. But his tactical awareness screamed warnings.

The forest felt wrong. Too quiet.

Like predators were holding their breath, waiting as they lurked there.

As much as Atlas wanted to find whoever had scared the woman, her health and safety were more important.

“We need to move.” He shifted the SUV into Drive. “Hold on.”

As he accelerated down the road, Atlas checked his mirrors.

No figure emerged from the forest. No shadowy movements appeared within the trees.

But the feeling of being watched persisted, crawling along his spine like a cold finger.

Whoever had been chasing this woman was still out there. Still hunting.

And Atlas had just made himself part of the quarry.

The inside of the SUV felt like a sanctuary, but she couldn’t stop shaking.

Her wet clothes stuck to her skin, making her feel cold despite the warm morning air circulating through the truck’s cracked windows.

Why am I so cold? Why are my clothes soaked? Why do my lips taste like salt?

She pressed her back against the passenger seat, trying to ground herself in something solid. The man beside her—tall, dark-haired, with the kind of alert posture that suggested military training—kept glancing in his mirrors as he drove.

His tension was palpable, and it did nothing to ease her own fear.

“What do you see?” She followed his gaze to the side mirror. “Is someone following us?”

“Not yet.” His voice sounded calm but watchful. “But someone was back there. I could feel them.”

The words sent a fresh wave of terror through her.

Someone was chasing her. She’d been certain of it.

But who? And why?

She tried to reach back into her memory, searching for any explanation for how she’d ended up running through a forest with wet clothes and a pounding headache.

But there was nothing. Just fragments of sensation.

The feeling of being hunted.

The sound of her own ragged breathing.

The desperate need to reach civilization.

“I can’t remember anything.” She pressed her palms against her temples. Her headache was getting worse, and the sharp pain made it hard to think clearly. “I don’t know why someone was chasing me. I don’t even know how I got into the woods.”

The man—she realized she didn’t even know his name—glanced at her with concern.

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. But the harder she tried to grasp her memories, the more they seemed to slip away like water through her fingers.

“Nothing.”

She opened her eyes to find him watching her with a mixture of sympathy and wariness.

“I can’t remember anything.”

And now she was in a truck at the mercy of a stranger.

A tremble raced through her at the thought.