Page 27 of Pressure Point (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #2)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

Quinn’s world tilted as the stranger’s words hit her.

I think she worked for NOAA. Or maybe it was the National Weather Service. Anyway, she was supposed to be one of the top people in her field.

How did that potential discovery mesh with her earlier thought that she was an assassin?

It didn’t.

“Quinn?” Atlas was beside her now, his hand steady on her arm. “Are you okay?”

She blinked, realizing she’d been staring at the stranger with the same intensity he’d been watching her. “I . . . yes. It’s just . . .”

She pressed her eyes closed another moment.

Weather expertise did not fit with the violent flashbacks she’d been having.

What if those memories weren’t real?

The thought hit her like lightning. What if the flashbacks she’d been experiencing weren’t recovered memories at all, but some kind of psychological defense mechanism?

What if they were her mind’s way of creating a dangerous persona to explain the violence she’d experienced?

Or what if she was a pawn in someone’s psyops warfare?

Quinn glanced at the man Atlas had spoken with.

He remained where he was, looking at the ocean on the other side of the boardwalk. He pulled up the hood on his parka as the rain started to come down harder.

She hardly noticed the moisture. The way the edge of her pants legs were getting wet or her hair was beginning to curl.

None of that seemed important right now.

If she wanted to ask that man any questions, the time was now. She didn’t want to miss this opportunity.

She stepped toward him. “Excuse me, I know this might sound strange, but could I speak with you a moment?”

The man hesitated before saying, “Of course. I’m just waiting for my cameraman to get here so we can start filming.”

“You said I look like someone who specialized in hurricane prediction?”

The man nodded again and shifted as the wind pushed against them.

“That’s right. Coastal storm patterns, storm surge modeling, hurricane intensification.

The speaker that day was brilliant. She had this theory about how certain atmospheric conditions could create what she called ‘pressure bombs’—storms that intensified much faster than traditional models predicted. ”

“You don’t remember her name or anything else about her?”

He frowned and shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

“How long ago did you say this was?”

“Probably two years. The symposium took place in Orlando, if that helps.”

Another jolt of recognition rushed through her, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. Nothing was making sense.

“Thank you so much,” she murmured to the man.

She turned back to Atlas, taking his arm and strolling away so the man couldn’t hear them. “I think I need to tell your team about this. Because if I’m a meteorologist instead of a trained killer . . .”

“Then everything we thought we knew about your situation just changed,” Atlas finished.

His expression was unreadable, but Quinn caught the way his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“I’ll call them,” he finally said with a nod.

A mixture of relief and terror filled her.

Someone had worked extremely hard to make her believe she was someone else entirely.

The question was why. And how had she learned her defensive tactics?

“There’s a restaurant just up the street.

” Atlas nodded in that direction. “The Crazy Chefette. They make the best grilled cheese sandwiches with peaches. We can go there while I make some calls, and we can talk this out more there. The rain is starting to come down harder, so we should get inside.”

As they walked toward the restaurant, Quinn couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d just encountered the first real clue to her identity.

She only hoped that the truth, when they finally found it, was something she could live with.

Quinn and Atlas found seats inside The Crazy Chefette. After a few minutes, they ordered.

She was going to try the highly recommended grilled cheese with peaches.

The air conditioning pumped through overhead vents, and a chill washed over her. Her damp clothing wasn’t doing her any favors right now.

Or maybe it was her thoughts that made her shiver. She couldn’t be sure.

As Atlas wrapped up his phone calls, she glanced at the window and noted how the sky looked even darker. The wind gusts continued to accelerate. The rain now came down in sheets, only to stop for a brief reprieve before starting again.

Around them, everyone was talking about the hurricane. Many tourists had already decided to go home early, just in case.

Probably smart. The ferries stopped operating once winds got above thirty-five miles per hour.

“What are you thinking about?” Atlas’s voice cut into her thoughts.

She blew out a breath and shrugged, absently playing with the straw in her glass of water. “Everything and nothing.”

He offered a lopsided smile. “Makes sense.”

“Will your colleagues tell the FBI this update?”

“I’m not sure. But probably—especially if the feds are still at Blackout.”

A few seconds ticked by.

“What if I am a scientist?” She watched his face. “What sense would that make?”

He slowly shook his head. “That’s a good question. I don’t really know. Most meteorologists aren’t great at shooting helicopters out of the sky.”

“Exactly.” She raked a hand through her hair.

He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “Let’s do our own online sleuthing and see if we can find out anything about you.”

She moved to the other side of the booth and sat beside him so she could see what he was doing.

He was researching scientists who worked for NOAA.

Quinn’s heart pounded harder as she anticipated what he might find.