Page 22 of Pressure Point (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #2)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

Quinn moved to the window and looked out over the water, where emergency boats still circled the crash site. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the grounds, and operatives conducted what looked like a grid search along the shoreline.

For the first time since Atlas had found her on the road, Quinn allowed herself to really examine her situation. The comfortable guest room, the warm food, the protective atmosphere.

It had all seemed like a sanctuary when she was desperate and afraid.

But now she saw it with different eyes. The reinforced windows. The security system Atlas had shown her, which could just as easily keep someone in as keep threats out. The way her movements were being monitored and her reactions analyzed.

Am I a guest here or a prisoner?

Her pulse quickened as the question repeated in her mind.

The distinction was becoming uncomfortably blurred.

She sank onto the bed, exhaustion washing over her. The memory fragments that had been surfacing painted an increasingly dark picture of who she might be.

The possibility that she’d been fighting for the wrong side, that she’d hurt innocent people, made her stomach clench with nausea.

She thought about the way Atlas had looked at her after the helicopter incident—the gratitude warring with suspicion in his green eyes. He’d saved her life twice now, protected her when he had no reason to trust her.

And what if I’m here to betray him?

But if that was the case, why were those other men trying to kill her?

The thoughts were unbearable, but she couldn’t shake them.

Every recovered memory suggested she was capable of deception, manipulation, violence. What if her amnesia was just convenient timing? What if some part of her subconscious mind was still following orders she couldn’t remember receiving?

Quinn moved to the small desk and pulled out a piece of paper, ostensibly to write down her thoughts but actually to begin planning.

If her presence here was putting Atlas and his team in danger—whether intentionally or not—then she needed to leave.

The question was how. The place was highly guarded.

She sketched the layout of the building from memory, noting security checkpoints and patrol patterns she’d unconsciously observed. Quinn’s guest quarters were on the third floor, with windows facing the sound. There was a thirty-foot drop to the landscaping below.

The distance was manageable if she was willing to risk injury.

The boat dock extended into the water about two hundred yards from the main building. If she could reach it without being detected, she might be able to commandeer one of the small watercraft she’d seen earlier. She’d have to wait until law enforcement left, of course.

But then what? Where would she go?

She didn’t have an answer for that. But anything was better than staying here and potentially endangering people who’d shown her nothing but kindness.

As the rain continued to fall outside, Quinn made her decision. She needed to leave before the storm hit. Before the water became too rough.

She would wait until the facility settled into its nighttime routine, then slip away before anyone else could get hurt.

Before I remember something that makes me hurt them myself.

The thought chilled her to the bone, but she couldn’t deny its possibility. If Quinn was the kind of person those memory fragments suggested, then the kindest thing she could do was disappear.

Even if it meant leaving behind the only person who’d made her feel safe in a world where she didn’t even know her own name.

Especially because of that.

Outside her window, darkness began to gather like a storm.

Quinn prepared to vanish into it before her past could destroy the only future that mattered to her—Atlas’s.

The thought sounded crazy, but she’d rather die or go to prison than ruin him.

Colton was already seated at the conference table when Atlas arrived, with Ty close behind. The soundproof walls that usually made Atlas feel secure now felt more like a cage.

“Close the door,” Colton said without preamble.

Atlas complied, then took his usual seat across from the two men who’d become not just his employers but friends. The weight of what he was about to reveal pressed heavily on his chest.

“Quinn remembered something today,” he said before Colton could start. “At the beach, in the same area she was running from when I found her.”

Ty’s eyebrows shot up. “Her amnesia’s breaking? What did she remember?”

Atlas chose his words carefully. “She’s been having flashbacks—fragments of what appears to be missions.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

“What kind of missions?” Colton’s voice was carefully neutral.

“Eliminating targets. Quinn thinks she was an assassin.” The words felt like lead in his mouth. “She thinks she remembers killing her handler—a man who was trying to stop her from leaving whatever organization she worked for.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of the AC kicking on.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Ty muttered finally.

“She’s also the reason we’re all still alive,” Atlas pointed out. “That helicopter was loaded with enough explosives to level headquarters. If Quinn hadn’t recognized the threat and neutralized it . . .”

“You think that’s a coincidence?” Colton leaned forward, his expression sharp. “A trained assassin just happens to show up right before we’re attacked, just happens to have the skills to save us all?”

Atlas’s jaw tightened. “You think she’s working with whoever sent that helicopter?”

“I think the timing is awfully convenient.” Colton’s tone was measured but firm. “That pilot ejected just in time.”

“That’s true. But if she’s working for them, why are they trying to kill her?”

“Maybe they’re trying to kill you.”

His throat tightened at the theory—which was plausible. However . . . “Quinn has had plenty of opportunities to kill me if that’s what their objective is.”

“True. But think about it, Atlas. What better way to infiltrate our operation than to stage a rescue scenario? Make us grateful, make us trust her, then strike when our guard is down.”

“But why confess to being a killer if the goal is to maintain our trust?” Atlas countered. “Why not stick with the innocent victim story?”

Ty and Colton exchanged a look that made Atlas’s stomach clench.

“Maybe the innocent victim story wasn’t working anymore,” Ty said slowly. “Maybe she decided it was time to shift tactics.”

The words hit Atlas like a physical blow. They made sense—terrible, logical sense that fit with everything he’d been trained to recognize about sophisticated psychological operations.

“If she’s coordinating this with someone, how are they communicating?” Atlas asked. “She has no cell phone or watch or anything else. And there’s no phone in her room.”

“True . . .” Ty muttered.

More silence stretched.

“She stays,” Colton said finally. “But under full surveillance. I want to know what she’s doing every minute of every day. And I want you to keep getting to know her. Continue to gain her trust. See if she’ll open up completely.”

His gut clenched. He didn’t like deceiving people. But he understood where Colton was coming from.

“I can do that. But what if she tries to leave?” Atlas wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Colton’s expression was stone. “Then we stop her. By whatever means necessary.”

His throat tightened. He didn’t like the thought of that. Didn’t like the thought of Quinn being injured.

But he had to stop thinking with his heart. It was a bad idea.

As the meeting broke up, Atlas remained seated, staring at the polished wood grain of the conference table. He’d done the right thing by sharing Quinn’s confession—he knew that.

So why did it feel like the biggest betrayal of his life?