Page 37 of Pressure Point (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #2)

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SEVEN

Atlas gripped the safety rail with white knuckles as the patrol boat pitched and rolled through the increasingly violent waters of the Pamlico Sound.

Every wave felt like it might be the one to swamp them entirely, and the wind had reached the point where spray from the whitecaps stung like needles against exposed skin.

He glanced at Quinn, relieved to see her securely fastened into her life jacket. Her face was pale. But despite her obvious terror, determination hardened her gaze.

He remembered the feel of her lips as they’d brushed his cheek, and his heart raced.

He’d seen something in her gaze back there, something more than gratitude for everything he’d done.

She felt the same thing he did, didn’t she? Despite the fact they hadn’t known each other long, something strong and deep had developed between them.

Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since Noreen.

Yet this felt even stronger.

Would they ever have the chance to talk about it?

That was debatable. First, they had a storm to stop.

Rain began falling in earnest now. It wasn’t the gentle precipitation of a normal storm.

Instead, it was driving sheets of water that reduced visibility to mere yards and made every surface slippery and treacherous.

Atlas had to blink constantly to clear his vision, and he saw his teammates struggling against the same conditions.

“How much longer?” he called out to Hudson, who fought the wheel to keep them on course toward their target.

“Maybe fifteen minutes!” Hudson shouted back, his voice barely audible over the wind and engine noise. “But these conditions are deteriorating by the minute!”

Atlas squinted through the rain and spray, catching sight of the ferry in the distance making its way toward the mainland.

The vessel was packed with cars and people—families fleeing Lantern Beach as Hurricane Delilah approached.

Even from this distance, Atlas could see how the ferry struggled against the rough waters.

Get them to safety, he prayed silently. Don’t let this storm claim any innocent lives.

The irony wasn’t lost on him that they were racing toward the very equipment that was making the evacuation necessary. Somewhere on that island ahead, Sigma operatives were using Quinn’s own research to turn Hurricane Delilah into a weapon of mass destruction.

A particularly large wave lifted their boat nearly vertical. Atlas’s stomach dropped as they momentarily went airborne, then crashed back into the trough with bone-jarring force.

The impact sent spray cascading over the bow, soaking everyone, despite their protective gear. Atlas’s teeth rattled as the hull slammed against the water, the boat groaning under stresses it was built to handle but never designed to enjoy.

“Hold on!” Hudson shouted from the helm, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel. “Another big one coming!”

Atlas looked ahead and saw what Hudson meant. A wall of water rose like a liquid mountain, its crest already foaming white with fury. The approaching wave had to be fifteen feet high, maybe more, and their small craft would have to climb its face like a roller coaster built by a madman.

Quinn gripped the rail beside him, her face pale but determined. Water streamed from her hair, and Atlas could see her fighting seasickness with the same stubborn will she’d shown in everything else.

She kept checking her instruments even as the boat pitched and rolled, her meteorologist’s training apparently stronger than her body’s revolt against the violent motion.

The wave hit them with the force of a moving wall.

The boat’s nose climbed impossibly steep, the deck tilting until he was looking almost straight up at the storm-dark sky.

For a heart-stopping moment, they balanced on the wave’s crest, suspended between sea and air.

Then they plunged down the back side, the hull slamming into the trough with enough force to make Atlas’s vision blur.

Equipment rattled and shifted despite being secured, and he heard Maverick curse creatively as his tablet nearly flew from his hands.

“How much more of this?” Jake called out, his voice tight with strain.

Hudson checked their position on the GPS, squinting through the rain-lashed windscreen. “Ten more minutes or so! But it’s getting worse!”

Atlas looked around at his team—all experienced operators, all veterans of dangerous situations, but none of them looked comfortable with the violent motion of the boat.

Kyle was gripping his safety harness so tightly his knuckles had gone bloodless.

Maverick had wedged himself into a corner, trying to protect his equipment from the constant battering.

Another wave hit them from the side. For a terrifying moment, he thought they might not right themselves. But the patrol craft had been designed for exactly these conditions, and slowly, agonizingly, they rolled back to horizontal.

“There!” Maverick pointed through the storm toward a dark smudge on the horizon. “Island ahead!”

Atlas strained to make out the silhouette of land through the driving rain. The island looked even smaller and more desolate than it had in the satellite photos—a barren piece of land that shouldn’t have been able to support the sophisticated operation they were about to assault.

Which meant everything they needed to stop Hurricane Delilah was concentrated in a very small, very defendable area.

“Quinn!” Atlas called out over the storm. “You still certain about the equipment location?”

Quinn checked her instruments one more time, then nodded grimly. “The atmospheric manipulation arrays will be on the highest ground. The ocean thermal devices will be positioned on the windward shore.”

“Got it.”

“But Atlas—” She grabbed his arm, her grip tight with urgency. “If they’re actively controlling the storm when we shut down their equipment, there could be feedback effects. Sudden pressure changes, wind shears that could?—”

Her words were cut off as another massive wave crashed over the bow, flooding the deck with seawater.

He held onto her, determined not to lose his grip.

Determined not to lose Quinn.

When the water settled, he saw her expression had grown even more determined.

“We have to shut it down,” she continued. “Whatever the risks. Because if we don’t, Hurricane Delilah is going to kill thousands of people.”

Atlas looked at this remarkable woman—brilliant, brave, willing to risk everything to save strangers—and felt his chest tighten with an emotion he wasn’t ready to examine too closely.

He wished Quinn didn’t have to be here. Wished she was safe on the mainland instead of about to assault a fortified position in hurricane conditions.

But they needed her expertise. Without Quinn’s knowledge of the weather modification systems, they’d be trying to shut down equipment they didn’t understand, in conditions that would kill them if they made a mistake.

“Five minutes out!” Hudson called.

Atlas checked his weapon and looked at his teammates—wet and cold but ready to do their jobs. They were about to attempt something that would either save thousands of lives or get them all killed.

Maybe both.

As the island grew larger through the storm, Atlas made a silent promise to Quinn and to himself: Whatever happened in the next hour, he was going to make sure she made it home safely.

Because losing her now would be worse than any cataclysmic storm.