Page 13 of Pressure Point (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #2)

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

The morning air carried the sharp bite of an approaching storm, and Atlas noticed Quinn shiver as they stepped outside. The wind whipped her dark hair around her face, and she had to push it back with her hand.

“The weather’s certainly dramatic today.” She raised her head, looking up at the gray clouds scudding across the sky.

“A hurricane is brewing out in the Atlantic. It’s still a few days out, but we’re keeping an eye on it.”

Her eyes widened. “Should I be nervous?”

“We’re well-prepared for storms here. We’ve got hurricane protocols, backup generators, the works.” He gestured toward the main building. “And if it looks like it’s going to be really bad, we evacuate nonessential personnel to the mainland.”

“Good to know.” She glanced up at a flock of birds. “The birds are fleeing. Maybe they know something we don’t.”

“Maybe.”

They walked along a paved path that wound through the grounds. A razor-wire fence surrounded three sides of the property, and armed guards paced the perimeter.

They passed the training course, complete with climbing walls, tire runs, rope traverses, and tactical shooting ranges.

“Looks intense.” She paused to study the course.

“All the employees here come from different backgrounds, but we all need to stay sharp and in shape. We use it for team-building activities also.”

“I see.”

Atlas watched Quinn’s face as she took in the equipment. Her expression was analytical, like she was assessing difficulty levels rather than just observing.

Next, they walked past the helicopter landing pad. Beyond that, a small gazebo sat near the water’s edge, surrounded by sea oats that swayed in the wind.

“Not what I expected from a security company,” Quinn said as they approached the gazebo. “This area is actually quite peaceful.”

“It is . . . usually.”

Atlas couldn’t forget the attack that had taken place here a couple of months ago. Things could have turned out so differently. He thanked God it hadn’t.

Remembering it kept him alert. He couldn’t afford to let down his guard—not only because of Quinn but because of Sigma. The organization was dangerous, and he fully expected to encounter them again.

It was only a matter of when.

They paused near the water, and Atlas studied Quinn’s profile as she gazed over the Pamlico Sound.

The wind caught her hair again, and something flickered across her face—a shadow of memory or recognition.

As quickly as the look appeared, it was gone.

But Atlas had been trained to notice micro-expressions, and the brief tightening around Quinn’s eyes told him something had triggered another fragment.

“What was that?” he asked gently.

Quinn blinked and turned to him. “What was what?”

“You remembered something just now. I could see it in your face.”

For a moment, he thought she might confide in him.

She opened her mouth. Hesitated.

Then her expression shuttered, and she shook her head. “It was nothing. Just . . . the water reminded me of something, but it’s too vague to make sense of.”

Atlas wanted to push, but he saw Quinn’s walls going back up.

Whatever she’d remembered, it had disturbed her enough that she wasn’t ready to share it.

He wouldn’t press her for answers. Not yet.

The memory had hit Quinn like a physical blow, sharp and immediate.

The same cold tundra as earlier. But this time, she was on some kind of base or something. She wasn’t sure.

A man in an oversized coat walked toward a car, unaware he was being watched.

In Quinn’s hand, a cell phone displayed his photo and the words: Terminate with extreme prejudice.

Her finger hovered over the speed dial that would alert her boss the job was done. All she had to do was follow this guy back home and wait for the right moment . . .

But then a little girl ran from another car up to the man, a woman following her. The girl launched herself into his arms. “Daddy!”

The target—because that was what he was, just a target—spun her around, both of them laughing.

And Quinn hesitated.

The memory dissolved as quickly as it had come, leaving Quinn shaken and nauseated. She’d told Atlas it was nothing, but that was a lie.

Each recovered fragment painted a clearer picture of who she might be, and none of it was good.

Am I an assassin?

Her stomach clenched at the thought.

She glanced at Atlas, taking in his strong profile and the way he unconsciously positioned himself between her and any potential threats.

He’d been nothing but kind to her, protective and patient even when she couldn’t give him any answers.

How can I tell him I might be exactly the kind of person he’s trained to take down?

But even as the thought formed, another part of her mind whispered warnings.

Atlas was former CIA, a psychological warfare specialist.

Wasn’t it convenient that he’d been the one to find her? Wasn’t it suspicious that he’d been so quick to trust her, to bring her into his secure facility?

What if this is all an elaborate interrogation technique? You can’t be too trusting. These people could have you right where they want you. Pretending to be friends, all while being more aware of your true identity than they let on.

Quinn didn’t want to believe that, but she had to be smart.

She studied Atlas’s face as the wind tousled his dark hair. The concern in his eyes appeared genuine.

Either he was the most skilled actor she’d ever encountered or his concern for her was real. She wasn’t sure which possibility scared her more.

An unexpected rush of attraction hit her, and her breath caught. Standing there in the morning light with the wind in his hair and a protective stance, Atlas looked like something out of a romantic poem. He was the kind of man a woman could fall for completely.

But am I even free to fall?

The thought brought Quinn up short. Was she married? Did she have a boyfriend somewhere wondering where she was?

Her left hand was bare of rings or even suntan marks where a ring might have once been. Her gut told her she was unattached.

But could she trust her instincts when everything else was so uncertain?

She didn’t know the answer to that question.

All she could do was pray for wisdom.

Quinn turned as she heard someone call Atlas’s name.

Four men approached from the main building.

Atlas’s posture shifted into professional mode when he spotted them. “My colleagues.”

Quinn studied them as they came closer.

The first man was tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair and an intensity that suggested military training.

The second was more compact but moved with the fluid grace of someone comfortable with combat.

The third was thin but sturdy with curly hair.

And the fourth had the strong jawline of a military poster boy.

“Jake,” Atlas said as they approached. “Hudson. Maverick. Kyle. How’s it going?”

“We need to talk.” Jake’s gaze flicked to Quinn with barely concealed suspicion. “Privately.”

Atlas hesitated, clearly torn between his duty to his team and his reluctance to leave her alone.

She placed her hand on his arm, feeling the strange need to reassure him. “It’s fine. I’ll just . . . enjoy the view.”

“Stay where I can see you,” Atlas said.

Though his pitch was gentle, underlying steel hardened his tone.

His words weren’t really a request. They were a command.

The men moved about twenty feet away, close enough that Atlas could keep a close eye on her but far enough that their conversation wouldn’t carry. Quinn noted the tension in their body language, the way they kept glancing in her direction.

They didn’t trust her. That was probably smart of them.

She didn’t even know if she should trust herself.

As she watched Atlas speaking with his teammates, that strange sensation gripped her muscles again. Her body felt as if it were preparing for action, though she wasn’t sure why.

Her eyes began cataloging escape routes—the dock, the training course, the tree line bordering the property to the south.

Why am I planning on how to leave? These people are helping me.

Even as she told herself that, some deeper instinct whispered that Atlas’s colleagues were right to be suspicious. Whispered that when the truth finally came out, she might need those escape routes more than she wanted to admit.

The wind picked up, bringing with it the scent of rain and the promise of rough weather ahead. Her gut clenched at the thought.

Was she afraid of storms? Had she been through one before?

She wasn’t sure.

Somehow, Quinn didn’t think the approaching hurricane would be the most dangerous storm she’d have to weather.

Maybe the most dangerous storm was the one fighting for domain inside her.