Page 11 of Pressure Point (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #2)

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

The guest quarters were more comfortable than anything Quinn could have hoped for. There was a small sitting area with a couch and reading chair, a kitchenette stocked with basics, and a bedroom with windows that overlooked the sound.

But comfort couldn’t ease the restless energy that had been building since the attack at the clinic. Who had that man been?

She hadn’t been able to see his face. But were his movements familiar? His voice?

She didn’t know—and she hated not knowing.

At least she’d been able to take a shower. Just as Atlas had said, a woman named Raven Newton had brought her some clothes.

The woman was pleasant, and Quinn appreciated her efforts. Plus, it felt good to be clean. Her hair was still wet, air drying right now.

She wondered if she was the type to usually style her hair or wear makeup. She wasn’t sure. She felt like she wasn’t.

She paced to the window, pressing her palms against the cool glass.

The day’s clouds had finally parted, revealing a moon that hung like a silver coin above the dark water.

Moonlight painted a shimmering path across the water, and somewhere in the distance, she could see the lights of boats slowly cruising through the night.

Quinn.

The name echoed in her mind like a bell tolling. It felt familiar—but not familiar like coming home. Familiar like remembering a nightmare.

As she stared at the moonlit water, something shifted in her mind. The careful walls that had been holding back her memories trembled, and suddenly?—

Moonlight on water. No, moonlight on ice.

It was cold outside.

She held a gun in her hands as she stared at a nondescript building on the frozen tundra in front of her.

A comm device was pressed to her ear. In her other hand, an encrypted phone displayed photos of a family—a man, woman, and two young children.

“The target is still active.” Her voice sounded cold and professional as she said the words. “I need more time.”

“There’s no time, Quinn. You need to eliminate the threat. Now.”

She looked down at the photos again.

The family looked so happy, so innocent. The father worked for the government. He’d stumbled onto something he shouldn’t have seen. Standard protocol was elimination before he could pass the information along.

But something about the children’s faces . . .

“I’m just following orders,” she whispered to herself.

But the words felt like ash in her mouth.

She’d never been one to just follow orders.

Quinn jerked back from the window, and the memory dissolved like smoke. But the taste of ash remained, along with a sick certainty that made her knees weak.

The target.

Elimination.

Just following orders.

She pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to hold back the bile rising in her throat. In the memory, she hadn’t been the victim—she’d been the predator. She’d been hunting someone, someone with a family, someone with children.

What kind of person am I?

The amnesia had felt like a curse, but now she wondered if it might be a mercy.

What if the memories hiding in the dark corners of her mind were too terrible to bear? What if the real Quinn was someone who deserved to be forgotten?

She thought about Atlas. About the way he’d looked at her with such gentle concern. About the way he’d risked his life to protect her.

If he knew what she might have done, what she might be capable of . . .

He wouldn’t be looking at her that way.

And that realization caused a hollow feeling to circle in her chest.

It made no sense, but she hated the idea of disappointing this man she barely knew.

Another fragment surfaced. A training facility somewhere hot and dusty. An instructor’s voice. “Emotional attachment is a weakness that will get you killed, Quinn. Think of yourself as a weapon. Weapons don’t have feelings.”

You’re a weapon? Her gut twisted at the thought.

But weapons can be broken, she thought with a shiver.

If she was a weapon, then she’d misfired.

Quinn jumped when she heard a soft knock at the door.

“Come in.” She hastily wiped tears she hadn’t realized were falling.

Atlas stepped inside and paused. He studied her as if sensing her distress.

Finally, he said, “I just came to check on you before you turned in for the night. Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Maybe I have. Part of her desperately wanted to share the memory with him—with someone who could possibly help her sort through everything.

But doing so didn’t feel safe.

Something internal told her to keep quiet.

Besides, she was certain it would change the way he looked at her, and she couldn’t bear that right now.

“I’m fine,” she finally said. “Just tired.”

Atlas moved closer, his expression still concerned. “Quinn, what happened? Did you remember something?”

The kindness in his voice almost broke her.

How could she tell him that she might be exactly the kind of person he’d spent his career fighting against? How could she explain that the woman he was protecting might be a killer?

Nausea roiled in her stomach at the thought.

“It was nothing,” she lied. “Just fragments. Confusing images that don’t make sense.”

God, forgive me for the untruth . . . I’ll come clean later. I will.

Atlas studied her face, and she had the uncomfortable feeling he could see right through her deception. But after a moment, he simply nodded.

“Memory recovery can be traumatic,” he said. “If you want to talk about it . . .”

“I don’t.” The words came out sharper than she intended, and she ran a hand through her tangled hair. “I’m sorry, I just . . . I think I need some time alone. And tomorrow . . . I’d like to go back to the woods near where you found me. I want to see if that stirs up any memories.”

“I can arrange that.” Atlas walked to the door and hesitated. “Quinn? Whatever you remembered, whatever you think you might have done—it doesn’t change the fact that someone tried to kill you today.”

His words caused her throat to go dry. She didn’t know what to say. Both gratitude and guilt filled her—and she didn’t know which one to cling to.

“Good night, Quinn.”

“Good night, Atlas.” The words seemed to croak from her throat.

After he left, Quinn sank onto the couch, his words echoing in her mind. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Atlas was wrong.

Looking out at the moonlit water, she wondered if some sins were too dark for even amnesia to wash clean.