Page 32 of Pressure Point (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #2)

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

The urgency in Hudson’s tone made Atlas’s tactical instincts flare to life.

He jogged across the uneven beach toward where Hudson stood near the rocks at the lighthouse’s foundation.

“What have you got?” Jake called as they approached.

Hudson pointed toward a depression between two large boulders, his expression grim. “I found him wedged down here. Looks like the tide brought him in.”

Atlas reached the jetty first and immediately understood Hudson’s tone.

A man’s body lay among the rocks, freshly dead.

Was this what the commotion was last night? Had someone killed this man and left him here for police to find? Maybe someone was trying to send a message.

The corpse wore the remnants of what had once been khaki pants and a button-down shirt. Late sixties, gray hair, with the soft build of someone who spent more time behind a desk than in the field.

Quinn arrived at Atlas’s shoulder and looked down at the body. Her sharp intake of breath was audible even over the wind.

“No . . .” Her hand went over her mouth.

Atlas studied Quinn’s face, noting the mixture of recognition and grief. “You know him?”

Quinn nodded, tears mixing with the salt spray on her cheeks. “That’s . . . that’s Dr. Hartwell, the one who first detected the weather anomalies, if my memories are right.”

The pieces clicked into place in Atlas’s mind as he looked back at the body.

Dr. Hartwell—the meteorologist Quinn had mentioned from her fragmentary memories.

The man who’d supposedly discovered evidence of weather manipulation and had warned Quinn.

Now they knew what had happened to him. He’d been captured and killed.

Jake turned to his team. “We need to call this in.”

“I’m on it.” Kyle reached for his radio.

As they all stared at the body another moment, Atlas couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d just found the first domino in a chain of murders designed to silence anyone who’d discovered Sigma’s weather modification program.

And Quinn . . . she might not be on the kill list.

But it was only because they wanted her alive for something far worse.

Quinn stared at Dr. Hartwell’s body, tears still choking her.

She’d escaped that night, she’d realized.

But Hartwell had been held captive. Had possibly been used as a bargaining chip.

“I left him,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. “He told me to run, and I left him to die.”

Atlas stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding. “Quinn, you did what he asked you to do. You tried to expose the program.”

“But did I? If I did, why doesn’t anyone know about this storm?”

“Maybe they captured you before you could figure out who to trust.”

“Maybe they killed Hartwell for nothing.” An edge of bitterness filled Quinn’s voice.

Maverick stepped closer, his tablet in hand. “So I’ve been looking into Dr. Hartwell. He was legitimate—thirty years with NOAA, specialist in storm prediction and coastal weather patterns. Highly respected in his field.”

“Anything else?”

“He disappeared two weeks ago.” Maverick offered a compassionate frown. “I’m sorry.”

Quinn pressed her eyes closed.

Was that when this nightmare had started for her? Had she been under those men’s control since then? Maybe she’d helped them work on the kinks in their program in exchange for Hartwell’s life.

Would she have done that?

“Anything about Quinn?” Atlas asked. “Any record of the two of them working together?”

Quinn opened her eyes again.

Maverick’s expression softened with sympathy. “No, not yet. I’m sorry.”

The words sucked the air out of her lungs—along with any hope she’d been holding onto.

Even with her memories returning, even with Dr. Hartwell’s body as proof of what they’d discovered together, she was still officially a nonentity. How was that even possible? Especially if she’d worked with Hartwell. None of this made sense.

But there was no paper trail, no verification of her identity, no evidence she’d ever existed.

Kyle finished his call and approached the group, his expression grim. “Federal agents are en route. But with the storm coming in, they might not make it before we have to evacuate.”

As if summoned by his words, a stronger gust of wind swept across the beach, carrying more rain from Hurricane Delilah’s outer bands.

“The storm is approaching faster than predicted,” Quinn muttered. “And we’re running out of time to properly investigate the scene.”

“I’ve always believed that storms are like grief—they come when they come, rage as long as they need to, and leave destruction that can either break you or teach you to build something stronger.

But weaponizing that power is like trying to bottle lightning—dangerous for everyone, especially the one holding the glass. ”

Quinn couldn’t deny the truth in his beautiful words.

Quinn looked at Dr. Hartwell’s body one more time, making a silent promise.

He’d died trying to expose Sigma’s weather weapon program. The least she could do was make sure his sacrifice wasn’t forgotten.

“We need to document everything.” Her voice came out stronger now with renewed purpose. “Photos, measurements, anything that might help prove what really happened to Dr. Hartwell.”

Dr. Hartwell’s death wasn’t just a tragedy—it was evidence. Proof that Sigma had been killing anyone who discovered their weather modification program.

If she could prove that, she might finally be able to uncover who she really was.