Page 25 of Pressure Point (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #2)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

Quinn was still toweling her hair dry from her morning shower when a soft knock came at her door.

She left the towel on the sink and went to open the door.

Her heart pounded harder when she saw Atlas on the other side.

He looked entirely more rested than she felt despite their late-night encounter in the rain.

He held two paper cups of coffee, offering her one with a small smile. “Thought you might need this after last night.”

Quinn accepted the coffee, placing the cup under her nose and inhaling the rich aroma. “Thank you.”

He stepped farther inside, and she shut the door behind him. They paced toward the dinette area.

“What’s the plan for today?” she asked before taking a sip of her coffee. “More interrogation?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to take a drive through Lantern Beach with me.” Atlas settled into a chair at her dinette. “See the island, maybe visit town.”

Quinn raised her eyebrows in curiosity and remained standing. “Why? I thought I was supposed to stay put under protective custody.”

“I’ll be protecting you. I just thought we could see if any locations trigger more memories. Sometimes familiar places—or faces—can unlock things that direct questioning can’t.”

It made sense, though Quinn couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to his suggestion. However, this could be one of his recovery techniques.

She glanced at her window, where gray skies still stretched. The wind had increased, and she’d noticed several smatterings of rain hitting the glass since she’d awoken. The outer bands of the storm were getting closer and closer.

“Why not?” she said before raising her cup of coffee to take another sip. “I could use some fresh air.”

Atlas’s expression shifted slightly, becoming more professional. “Great. First, however, I also need to tell you that there’s an agent here from the FBI who’d like to speak with you about yesterday’s helicopter incident. She’s taking charge of the investigation.”

Quinn’s stomach dropped. “The FBI?”

“I’m sure she just wants to ask you some routine questions.” Atlas sounded reassuring.

But she caught the way his hand tightened slightly around his coffee cup. He was also concerned.

Quinn stared down at the dark liquid in her cup, watching it tremble with the slight shake in her fingers.

The FBI.

What if this FBI agent recognized her? What if her face was in some database of wanted criminals or foreign operatives?

What if they didn’t believe her amnesia was real?

But she knew she had no other choice.

She had to talk to the agent and take responsibility for her actions.

She drew in a long breath before nodding, and she hoped her voice sounded steadier than she felt as she said, “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

As they walked downstairs together, Atlas noticed the charge in the air.

Some people were already leaving. Crews outside were putting out sandbags and securing the buildings.

The hurricane was quickly approaching and appeared to be headed directly toward them now.

He glanced at Quinn as they walked. Glanced at the khaki cargo pants she wore with a white T-shirt and standard-issue black boots that were provided to Blackout agents. Her long hair had dried naturally with some wave to it. She wore no makeup.

She looked naturally gorgeous. She didn’t need stylish clothes or blown-out hair or thick makeup to show her beauty.

At once, another flashback of Noreen hit him.

He remembered standing in the debriefing room at Langley, watching Noreen’s rescue footage for the third time. She looked so fragile on the grainy surveillance video, so broken after three weeks in enemy custody.

Atlas’s chest had tightened with protective fury at what her captors had done to her.

“She’s been through a living nightmare,” his supervisor had said as he reviewed the medical reports. “Psychological evaluation shows significant trauma. She’ll need time to recover.”

Atlas had nodded, already planning how he’d help her heal. How he’d be patient with her nightmares, supportive during her recovery. He’d even requested extended leave to be there for her.

But looking back now, Atlas could see details he’d missed in his relief at having her back.

The way Noreen’s eyes had been too alert during her medical exam, scanning the room with an awareness that didn’t match someone who’d supposedly been broken by captivity.

The questions she’d asked about her rescue—not grateful inquiries, but precise inquires designed to gather intelligence about operational methods and personnel.

“How did you find me so quickly?” she’d asked during one of their quiet dinners. “I thought I was lost forever.”

Atlas had been so eager to share his heroic efforts that he’d detailed the entire operation—surveillance techniques, local assets, communication protocols. Everything that had made her rescue possible.

“You risked your career for me,” Noreen had said, tears in her eyes that now seemed perfectly calculated. “Going against orders like that . . . Atlas, you could have been court-martialed.”

He’d held her close, feeling noble and protective. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I couldn’t lose you.”

What Atlas hadn’t realized was that Noreen’s “trauma” had been performance, her gratitude a manipulation, her love a weapon aimed directly at his heart.

She’d known him better than anyone and knew exactly how his protective instincts could be weaponized against his own people.

Atlas shook off the memory, feeling the familiar taste of betrayal in his mouth. The signs had all been there—he’d just been too blinded by love and guilt to see them.

“Atlas?”

Quinn’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He blinked as he turned toward her, trying to mesh the present day with the past. “Yes?”

“Are you okay? You have a troubled look on your face.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

But even as he said the words, he reminded himself to keep his distance.

Atlas didn’t like FBI Agent Vivian Hughes from the moment he laid eyes on her in the conference room. Her suit was too crisp, her smile too practiced, and her eyes held the calculating coldness of someone who’d already decided Quinn was guilty of something.

The woman was probably in her early forties with ashy brown hair that came to her shoulders.

Colton also sat in on the meeting. Since it wasn’t an official interrogation, Hughes didn’t seem to mind the extra people present.

Agent Hughes looked up as they walked in, her gaze zeroing in on Quinn.

“Thanks for meeting with me, Ms. . . . ?” She paused expectantly, pen poised over her notepad.

“We’re calling her Quinn until we can figure out her real name,” Atlas interjected before Quinn could respond.

Agent Hughes’s gaze flicked to Atlas with barely concealed annoyance. “And you are?”

“Atlas Manning, former CIA with top-level security clearance and currently a Blackout operative. I’d like to be present during this interview.”

Hughes made a face. “That’s not?—”

“Actually, I’d prefer to have Atlas here,” Quinn said.

Agent Hughes studied them both a moment then shrugged. “Very well. Let’s start with yesterday’s incident with the helicopter. Walk me through what happened.”

For the next hour, Atlas watched Agent Hughes try to poke holes in Quinn’s story. Her questions grew increasingly aggressive, clearly designed to trip Quinn up or trick her into admitting something incriminating.

“You claim you don’t remember any training, yet you executed a perfect tactical response under fire.” Agent Hughes shook her head, her motions stiff and disbelieving. “That seems . . . convenient.”

Quinn’s fingers stilled on the table’s surface. When she spoke, her voice was steady, almost clinical. “I don’t find anything about my situation convenient.”

Atlas noticed the way she held herself—spine straight, chin up. She looked like someone facing a firing squad while keeping their dignity intact.

The sight was impressive.

“Agent Hughes,” Atlas interrupted. “Quinn is cooperating fully. There’s no need for the hostile tone.”

Hughes scowled at him. “I’m simply trying to understand how someone with supposed amnesia demonstrates expert marksmanship and military tactics. Those skills don’t just appear out of nowhere.”

Atlas’s jaw clenched. “She’s explained she’s having fragmented memories?—”

“It’s okay, Atlas.” Quinn’s palm pressed against his forearm, her thumb resting just above his wrist where his pulse hammered.

The contact steadied him and unsettled him in equal measure—a contradiction he didn’t have time to analyze.

“Agent Hughes is just doing her job,” Quinn finished.

But Atlas saw the tension in Quinn’s shoulders. Saw the way her breathing had become more controlled.

“Do you remember anything about your past?” Hughes continued.

She shook her head. “Not really. I keep feeling like memories want to emerge, but they don’t. At least, nothing that makes sense.”

“Like what?”

She swallowed hard, unsure how much to say. She didn’t want to look guilty.

“She can’t be held accountable for her dreams because they’re just that—they’re unreliable,” Atlas said.

Hughes quirked an eyebrow. “So the memories—or dreams—you’re having are suspicious.”

Quinn hesitated before nodding. “I suppose. They don’t make any sense.”

“Tell me about them.”

Quinn licked her lips and then shared an overview. Hughes’s gaze grew tighter and more accusing with each new detail.

“Ms. Quinn,” Agent Hughes finally said. “I need to be clear about something. You are not to leave this island without federal permission. Given the circumstances and your . . . your unique skill set, let’s say, you’re considered a person of interest in an ongoing investigation.”

Quinn nodded, though Atlas caught the slight tightening around her eyes. “I understand. But what if the hurricane comes?”

Hughes scowled. “Then we’ll make that call then.”

“Understood.”

Agent Hughes closed her notepad with a snap. “We’ll be in touch if we have additional questions.”

After the agent left, Atlas turned to Quinn, noting the way she’d gone still in her chair. “You okay?”

Quinn managed a tight smile. “Just peachy. Nothing like being told you’re essentially under federal surveillance to brighten your morning.”

Atlas reached across the table and covered her hand with his. A zing of electricity rushed through him, but he ignored it. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

The trust in her eyes when she looked at him made his chest tight with an emotion he wasn’t ready to name.

He knew he was getting himself in too deep. But despite the warning bells in his mind, he didn’t want to back off.

He prayed he wouldn’t regret that.