Page 18 of Pressure Point (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #2)

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

The words hung between them like a confession.

Atlas stared at Quinn, calculating whether the woman pressed against this tree was prey or predator.

“Please, believe me,” Quinn whispered, desperation in her voice. “I’m telling you the truth. I have no idea who I am or where I came from. But I know enough to realize that I could be the enemy. And I don’t blame you if you decide to send me away or arrest me.”

He studied her face, searching for any sign of deception. What he saw there was fear—raw, genuine terror that she might be exactly what his colleagues suspected.

They stood close enough that he could feel her rapid breathing. Close enough that he could see the tears she fought not to shed.

The smart thing would be to step back, to treat her like the potential threat she’d just admitted to being.

But something in her voice, in the way she’d offered to leave rather than put him in danger, made him hesitate.

This is how good operatives work, an internal voice warned. They make you want to protect them.

Atlas forced himself to step back, though every instinct screamed at him to either comfort her or restrain her.

Or kiss her.

What? He couldn’t kiss her. He wasn’t sure where the thought came from.

Still, the space between them felt charged with more than just suspicion.

“You can stay.” His voice came out rougher than he intended.

Relief flooded Quinn’s features, quickly followed by wariness. “But?”

“But my colleagues aren’t as trusting as I am.” Atlas ran a hand through his hair, trying to organize his thoughts. “Hudson especially thinks you’re a Sigma operative sent to infiltrate us.”

Quinn’s eyebrows rose. “I noticed some tension between you and your team. Is that why?”

“Partly.” Atlas glanced back toward the path that led to Blackout headquarters. “We were all hired around the same time—five new operatives to expand Blackout’s capabilities. But there have been . . . inconsistencies. Small things that don’t add up.”

“What kind of inconsistencies?”

Atlas hesitated. He shouldn’t share too much. After all, she could be here under deceitful circumstances.

But she’d been honest with him—he owed her the same courtesy. In fact, maybe his own honesty would encourage hers. But he’d be careful about the depths of details he shared.

“Someone’s gone through my personal belongings,” he told her. “And there have been security breaches that required inside knowledge.”

Understanding dawned in Quinn’s eyes. “You think one of your teammates is working for Sigma.”

“It’s possible.” The admission felt like a betrayal, but Atlas couldn’t deny the evidence. “Sigma’s good at turning people, making them believe they’re working for the right side while actually serving the enemy.”

They began walking again, following a path that wound deeper into the forest. The approaching storm made the air feel heavy and electric, as if the atmosphere itself held its breath.

In a couple of days, things could look very different here on Lantern Beach.

“Who do you suspect?” Quinn narrowed her eyes as she studied his face.

Atlas stayed quiet a long moment. “I don’t want to suspect any of them. These are men I’ve trained with, bled with . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t want to think any of them could betray us.”

The path began to slope downward, leading them toward the Pamlico Sound. The smell of brackish water grew stronger with each step.

“Atlas?” Quinn’s voice was soft, almost lost in the whisper of wind through the trees.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for trusting me when you have every reason not to.”

He glanced at her wide-eyed gaze and felt himself soften. “Don’t thank me yet. Trust has to be earned, and you haven’t had the chance to do that yet.”

“Fair enough.”

They walked in comfortable silence through the forest for a few minutes. Atlas felt the tension radiating from Quinn. Whatever memories this place had stirred, they weren’t pleasant.

“We’re almost to the water,” he said as the trees began to thin ahead of them.

Quinn nodded.

But the closer they got, the more her hands began to shake.

She was nervous, wasn’t she? Nervous about what she might remember.

Atlas would feel the same way if he were in her shoes.

The sound of lapping water grew louder as they approached the shoreline. With each step, Quinn felt the walls around her memories growing thinner.

Whatever had happened to her, whatever had led to her running through these woods yesterday, it was connected to this place.

She and Atlas emerged from the trees onto a small, sandy beach where the Pamlico Sound stretched out before them. The water was choppy now, stirred by the approaching storms hitting them ahead of the hurricane. Whitecaps danced across the surface like scattered diamonds.

In the distance, she saw Coast Guard boats investigating the scene of the copter crash.

Quinn stopped at the water’s edge, and the world tilted.

Nighttime. Somewhere industrial and cold under the cover of darkness.

This was it. The moment she’d been trained for.

She had no choice but to do this.

A man waited in the distance, and she strode toward him. However, when she reached him, she couldn’t make out any of his facial features.

“Quinn, you’re here. Good job.” He picked up his radio before saying, “We can begin extraction protocol.”

“Negative.” Quinn’s own voice sounded cold and professional as her fingers flexed in preparation for what she had to do. “Mission parameters have changed. The target knows too much.”

The man squinted in confusion. “Quinn, you’re not authorized to ? —”

The sound of a silenced gunshot cut through the air.

The man crumpled to the ground.

Quinn stood over the body, already reaching for her phone to report a successful termination. “Control, this is Quinn. The leak has been plugged.”

Quinn gasped and staggered backward, the memory hitting her like a physical blow. She wasn’t a victim, wasn’t someone who’d been taken against her will.

She’d killed a man.

Her vision cleared, and she saw Atlas watching her with sharp attention.

“What did you remember?” His voice was controlled, but tension stretched beneath his words.

Quinn looked at him—this man who’d saved her, protected her, trusted her when he had every reason not to. She made a decision that went against every instinct her training had drilled into her.

She was going to tell him about her flashback—even if the information ultimately hurt her.

“I think I might be exactly the kind of person you’ve spent your career hunting.” Her throat burned as the words escaped. “I think I’m one of the bad guys.”

The words hung between them like a death sentence, carried away by the salt-tinged wind toward the storm-dark water.

She knew everything would change after this conversation and any safety she’d felt would be gone.

But even more devastating was the fact that she knew any affection she’d seen in Atlas’s gaze would be erased.