TICK TOCK (EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) Book 1)

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I groaned as I sat up, clamping my hand against the side of my back that I’d landed on, surprised when my hand came away wet with blood.

  “I think I landed on a rock or a pinecone or something. Hurts like a mother!”

  Clay helped me up, then looked at the wound.

  “It’s small but looks deep. You’d better get it cleaned up. Better still, get Amira to take a look.”

  “Nah, I won’t bother her.”

  “Don’t be a jerk. That looks nasty, and she’s a nurse.”

  “Blimey, since when did you become my mother?” I grumbled as I walked back to the cabin.

  But I still went to do as he suggested, and knocked on Amira’s door.

  “Yes?” she called, her voice sounding tired.

  “I could use a bit of First Aid,” I sighed.

  I heard her moving around in her room, then the door opened.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  I turned around to show her my back.

  “Ouch! What did you do?”

  I told her about wrestling with Clay as she led me to the bathroom.

  “This is going to sting when I clean it. I can’t risk leaving any dirt in there.”

  She washed her hands, then gently cleaned the wound, her hands sliding over my skin. As she applied peroxide, prodding around until it felt like my back was on fire, I gritted my teeth as she finished cleaning it.

  “That’s better,” she said at last. “But I think it needs a stitch, maybe two. Go lie down on your bed and I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Feeling stupid and sore, I lay face down on my bed and waited for her. It wasn’t long before I heard her soft footfalls and reassuring voice.

  “You’ll feel a sharp prick when I inject some anaesthetic, okay?”

  I already felt like a prick, but I didn’t say that.

  Once the needle went in, a cool, numbing sensation spread across the side of my back. Followed by that weird tugging that meant I was getting a new collection of stitches as she sewed me back together.

  “You have a lot of scars,” she commented as she worked.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been in the Army for 11 years—I have more scars than medals.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “I don’t think that’s a fair swap. You should complain.”

  I grinned at her words.

  “I’ll tell my C.O. that.”

  “You should!” She was silent for a couple of minutes before she spoke again. “How did you get these scars?” and she ran her fingers down toward my hip, making me shiver.

  I didn’t want to talk about that.

  “Seen a lot of wars—too many.”

  “I see,” she said quietly. “Well, you’re all stitched up now, James. I’ll put a dressing over it, but I’ll need to change it every time you shower for the next three or four days, then I’ll see about taking the stitches out. Normally, I’d use dissolving stitches, but these ones I’ll have to take out by hand. Right, you’re good to go. Oh, and James?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Try not to do anything crazy and tear the stitches.”

  I laughed.

  “Yeah, right. I’ll try not to. Thanks, Amira.”

  She left my room and I lay there for a while longer before I sat up reluctantly. It occurred to me that it had been our first real conversation in daylight, even though she’d been sewing me up at the time.

  I liked it, I liked talking to her. And I liked her hands on me.

  I kept telling myself that it was stupid to be attracted to someone that I would never see again once the training was completed, but I couldn’t help it.

  THE FOLLOWING DAY was another long one: EOD tasks in the morning, arms and combat in the afternoon, and a lecture from Smith in the evening about the psychological impact of going undercover—the pressure of maintaining their identities, the strain on family relationships, the isolation, the loneliness.

  I wished she’d change her mind, but she seemed more focussed than ever.

  That evening, I took a quick shower before bed, and Amira dressed my wound again.

  “What did you think about Smith’s lecture?” I asked.

  She took several seconds to answer.

  “I’m trying to prepare myself,” she said, “but it’s hard, it’s such an unknown.”

  “Are you sure you want to…”

  “James, please,” she said softly. “Don’t question me on this. It’s hard enough already.”

  I lowered my voice.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s kind of you to worry, but it’s not your concern.” I felt her press another dressing over my wound. “All done,” she said.

  She stood up to leave the room.

  “Amira?”

  “Yes?”

  “It is my concern—you and Clay.”

  Her eyes slid away from me.

  “Thank you.”

  I wouldn’t say things were easy between us, not with that pulse of attraction that I felt—and I was beginning to wonder if it was as one-sided as I’d been thinking—but it was definitely easier.

  She dressed my wound every day, and I looked forward to those brief chats. On the seventh day, she removed the stitches.

  “That looks healthy,” she said. “It’s healed well.”

  “I have a great doctor.”

  Her hands stilled on my skin. My casual words had meant something to her, but I wasn’t sure why.

  “Just a nurse,” she said at last.

  “You never thought about training to be a doctor?”

  “No. Not me.”

  She cleared her throat and her hands left my body.

  “Did you ever think about doing something other than joining the Army?”

  “Nah, not bright enough to do anything else.”

  She paused, surprised.

  “You have to be pretty smart to do what you do. Why would you say that?”

  I felt an unaccustomed heat in my cheeks.

  “Never much good in school,” I muttered. “Not very clever.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence for several seconds.

  “I think you’re clever.”

  And then she walked away.

  TEN DAYS HAD slipped away like sand through my fingers and we were shipping out in the morning.

  Clay and Amira would be joining the terror cell, Larson would be their handler, and I was going home. I didn’t know about Smith—he didn’t say and I didn’t ask.

  It didn’t seem possible that only two weeks had passed since I’d left the UK—it felt a hell of a lot longer. I’d changed. I’d never had a problem saying goodbye, but now it wasn’t easy indifference I was feeling.

  Two long weeks, but not long enough. What I’d taught them, I hoped it would help, hoped it would protect them, hoped it would keep them safe, but the weight of their probable mistakes was bloody heavy.

  Clay had become as close as a brother to me. We’d shared time, shared meals, swapped stories about deployments, talked while we worked; and I’d learned a lot from him, too, about his philosophy of life, his belief that it was his duty to make a difference. He’d also laughed when he said that, because apparently it was prideful to think he was important. He was also very calm about where they were sending him and what he was about to do. You could even say that he’d made his peace with whatever would happen.

  He admired Amira, I could see that, as well. He promised that he’d look after her, as much as he could, but we both knew that the cell leaders were likely to keep them apart. It could be months before they were trusted. Somehow, they had to prove themselves invaluable and trustworthy in a much shorter timeframe if they were going to get the intel that was needed.

  After eating the last of our MRE packs, eking out the final hours of his freedom, I sat with Clay around the campfire for longer than usual, knowing it was our last night together as a team, as friends maybe. I was disappointed when Amira disappeared to her room as usual, and I followed her with my eyes.

>   She was a mystery that I still hadn’t solved.

  “She’s a hell of a woman,” said Clay, watching her leave.

  “Yep.”

  “You care, brother,” said Clay.

  My gaze snapped to his.

  “I don’t know anything about her.”

  He gave me a knowing smile.

  “And yet, you care.”

  “And you’re saying you don’t?”

  He looked down.

  “I wouldn’t stand in your way. You know, if you and her…”

  “You’re talking bollocks, Clay. There’s nothing between us.”

  He looked thoughtful, but I shrugged because there was nothing I could say. I knew that I’d never see her again, but I had to admit the thought stung. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

  Clay promised to stay in touch after—and neither of us voiced the reasons why that might not happen—saying casually that Smith knew how to find me. It wasn’t safe to swap email addresses or any other details, even our surnames, so Smith was the go-between who knew everything.

  I wondered what he knew about Amira, what secrets he was keeping.

  As the fire died slowly, the flames shrinking to glowing embers, we talked late into the night.

  “Lollipop?” Clay offered, holding out a brightly coloured sugary thing on a stick.

  “Nah, you’re alright, mate. I want to keep a full set of teeth. The amount of sugar you eat is unreal.”

  “Every man’s gotta have a hobby. Besides, I’m stocking up. ‘Cause I tell you, brother, going without my sugar rush is going to be the hardest part of this op.”

  I laughed.

  “Yeah, definitely the hardest part, you nutter!”

  We both knew that he was full of shit, but we laughed and pretended to agree it was true. Tomorrow, he’d focus on the job and try to believe he’d get home again one day.

  When the night was half gone and getting a few hours sleep seemed like a good idea, we shook hands. Then Clay hugged the hell out of me. For a second, I was surprised, but managed an awkward pat on his back.

  “Look after yourself, James.”

  “Yeah. You too, Clay.”

  He grinned at me in the darkness.

  “You’re not bad for a Brit. Shoulder to shoulder, brother.”

  I laughed as we bumped fists.

  Weariness that was part mental, part physical pulled at me as I plodded toward the cabin. Clay was still chuckling to himself while he walked away and I turned to look, but he’d already vanished into the night.

  My bedroom was hot and stuffy as usual, and as we were shipping out at dawn, I decided to shower now.

  I stripped off my uniform and picked up the threadbare towel and my sleep shorts to shuffle to the bathroom. The tepid water of the shower was cooling and I stood with my eyes closed under the weak jets of water.

  Yawning, ready for sleep, I pulled on my shorts over my still damp body and opened the door.

  And stepped back in surprise when I saw Amira standing in front of me.

  She was wearing a thin t-shirt that reached mid-thigh, just like the first morning I’d seen her, and just like that day, my eyes followed the length of her legs and the swell of her tits.

  “I can’t sleep,” she said, her voice trembling, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I’m scared.”

  As soon as she said the words, her shoulders began to shake and tremors ran through her. She held herself rigid as she tried to stop herself from crying, and her hands were knotted into tight fists while her teeth chattered. She seemed so defenceless without her veil, so vulnerable. Her eyes squeezed shut and her panting breaths came more rapidly. I recognized the onset of a panic attack half a second before she collapsed against my chest, her knees buckling. My clothes and towel dropped to the floor as I caught her, my arms automatically surrounding her, supporting her.

  I lowered her down, tucking her against me as the panic held her hostage. Her long hair swept over my skin, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

  I held her, trying to protect her from nameless fears. Every soldier has them—it’s the mental battle we all fight alone. This was all I could do to help her, so I held her, reassuring her with my arms.

  It took a long time before her shaking subsided, but she’d kept her tears tightly under control.

  As her body loosened, I tucked her head under my chin, wishing that I could help her: do more, be more.

  I knew what she had to face and I knew she wasn’t ready.

  “Shh,” I said, rocking her gently. “It’s okay to be scared.”

  Slowly, her hands crept around my neck, brushing over my bare shoulders, her touch warm and soft.

  She took a shuddering breath.

  “I’m s-s-s-sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for. It’s okay.”

  Her lips were so close to my skin and I could feel the soft puffs of breath as she spoke.

  “I don’t want to be alone, James. Can I stay with you? I mean, just stay?”

  I knew what it was like to crave human touch, that connection with another person. The last night before deployment left you open and exposed, a weakness that disappeared at dawn because it had to.

  I kissed her hair lightly.

  “Course you can.”

  Her head hung down as she slowly released me and climbed unsteadily to her feet. Then I took her hand in mine, leading her to my bedroom.

  “Which side do you want?” I joked, as we stared down at the narrow single cot.

  She shrugged and rubbed her eyes.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Okay, well, you take the wall side, then if I roll over, I’ll just fall out instead of flattening you.”

  Her laugh was shaky, but she nodded and clambered wearily under the thin sheet.

  I squeezed in behind her, lying on my side, wondering what to do with my arm. In the end, I draped it over her waist.

  She hesitated for a moment then snuggled against me.

  It felt new and familiar at the same time. I wanted to find the words that would reassure her, but my body had woken up to the fact that a beautiful woman was pushing her backside into my crotch.

  I inched away from her. My brain knew that she needed comfort not sex, but my dick hadn’t got the message. Typical.

  She grumbled softly, then wriggled around until she was facing me, our knees knocking against each other. With my curtains open, I could see the outline of her body as the moonlight washed over us, giving me glimpses of smooth skin, dark hair and darker eyes.

  “Don’t tell Smith,” she said.

  “Tell him what? That you’re nervous? Amira, you wouldn’t be human if you weren’t feeling pretty freaked about now.”

  She chewed on her lip.

  “Then how come Clay isn’t in here, begging you not to leave him alone?”

  “Because he’s too damn big for this bed,” I grouched.

  She snorted and pushed a finger into my chest, then sighed.

  “But it’s true. He’s not freaking out.”

  I stared into liquid brown eyes that I’d been dreaming about since I met her.

  “He’ll be having a few quiet moments of his own—we all do before an op. And you’re forgetting that he was a soldier for years before he signed up for this. Smith told me you’re an ER nurse. That’s a pretty full-on profession, but it doesn’t prepare you for going undercover. I’m not sure anything can.”

  She leaned her head on my arm and I couldn’t see her clearly, but I knew that she was staring up at me.

  “I’m so scared, James. I keep thinking about what’s going to happen, thinking that I’m going to die, and it’s like looking into the future and seeing nothing—not day or night, just nothing; an endless nothing, and it’s terrifying.”

  I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, because I knew, I knew exactly what she meant. And I was afraid she was right.

  But I couldn’t tell her that.

  “Amira, you’re a strong woman an
d…”

  “No, I’m not strong,” she interrupted forcefully. “I’ve tried so hard to be strong, but I’m weak. I should be on my knees praying to God to give me strength, but instead I’m in a stranger’s bed clinging to some stupid hope that if no one can see me in the dark, then I’m invisible and I’m safe.” She took a shuddering breath. “Or maybe I don’t exist, because if I don’t exist then dying won’t hurt, will it?”

  My personal belief was that dying could hurt like hell, but living was more painful. Being dead was simply the end: no more pain, no more disappointments, no more fighting.

  “Do you think about dying?” she whispered. “When you’re working to neutralize a bomb. Do you think what will happen if you get it wrong?”

  I shook my head.

  “There’s too much else to think about. It’s a technical challenge—part chess game, part mechanical. In the early days, I’d be trying to remember what the instructor had said, but also trying not to panic, trying not to let my brain go into freefall. What do I do? Pull the wire? Shoot the batteries? Blow it up? And in a hostile environment where there are insurgents hoping that you’ll fail, there are also a dozen of your own men counting on you. So I have to focus—nothing else matters. And I rely on the men guarding me to take care of any unfriendlies who might be about—I can’t think about them.”

  She shook her head, and silky hair swept across my skin.

  “You’re so brave.”

  “Don’t mistake bravery for training. I do what I’m trained to do.” And I relive it over and over again in my nightmares. “You, Amira, you’re brave.”

  She gave a hollow laugh.

  “Yeah? That’s why I’ve spent the last few hours shaking so badly that I couldn’t pick up a glass of water? I kept going over the worst case scenarios, over and over; and when I couldn’t stop the images, I tried to go through your training, but I couldn’t remember anything. Not a single thing. I started to panic, and it was like nothing I’d felt before, I couldn’t control it. When I heard you come in,” her voice shook, “my legs were trembling so badly I could hardly stand, but I had to see another human being before I went crazy.”

  Her head shifted slightly and I saw the glint of her eyes as she stared up at me.

  I was so tempted to lean down and kiss her, tasting her lips, but I didn’t—because I didn’t want to be one of those men who takes advantage of a woman when she was vulnerable. But she wasn’t making it easy.