by Zoe Sharp
Inside, it was bright, clean, and surprisingly businesslike. A fan heater was going full blast, provoking heat and condensation in roughly equal measures. It was sitting precariously propped up on the narrow bench which was fixed along one wall.
There were two other people already in the shed, a man and a woman. My arrival made it cramped. The woman had taken the single folding canvas chair and she didn’t look set to relinquish her prize without a struggle.
I didn’t have to hear her speak to know she was German. Even sitting down she was tall and solid, with dark hair cut in a ruthless bob, and wearing glasses with thin rectangular frames. The man was lounging against the bench, youngish, much more casual, with wavy mid-brown hair brushing his collar. By the looks of her stiff discomfort, and the obvious amusement dancing behind his eyes, the man had been trying to hit on her.
“Ah,” he said as I came in, “another willing victim to the slaughter.” He was Irish too, but in contrast to the gatekeeper his voice had the soft flows and rhythms of Dublin running through it. “Will you not come in, darlin’, and make yourself at home?”
I shut the door, and set my canvas bag down next to the other cases. If this was all their luggage, everyone was travelling light.
“I’m Declan, by the way, Declan Lloyd,” the Irishman said, holding out his hand for me to shake.
“Elsa Schmitt.” The woman’s grip was firmer than his. Behind lenses which had a faint pink tint to them, her eyes had that watchful quality. It set up a warning jangle somewhere in my subconscious.
“I’m Charlie Fox,” I said, perching on the edge of the bench and hoping it was up to the weight of two of us. “How long have you been waiting?”
Declan shrugged. “Not so long. They don’t seem to know quite what to do with us.”
I was about to ask more, but the door opened and the scarred man with the clipboard stuck his head inside.
“OK,” he said. “They want the three of you to head on up to the house now.”
We picked up our bags and stepped back out into the rapidly encroaching darkness. After the stuffily overheated shed, the cold was dazzling.
Declan shivered, looking round. “So where’s the transport?”
“There isn’t any,” the man said, with a certain amount of relish. He waved a hand along the barely discernible track towards some hidden point in the distance. “It’s only a kilometre or so. You walk.”
The three of us looked in the direction he’d pointed. The sky had darkened through indigo towards an inky darkness, but above the jagged black outline of the treetops, a waxing moon had risen.
“Oh you have to be feckin’ kidding me,” Declan muttered.
Elsa squared her jaw. “If you want to stay, stay,” she told him, dismissive, “but I am going. Charlie?”
I hoisted my bag higher onto my shoulder. “I’m with you,” I said with a smile.
Declan groaned. “Ah well, I suppose I can’t let you two ladies venture out alone on a night like this.”
Elsa threw him a withering glance and set off at a determined pace. I fell into step alongside her. Within a couple of strides, Declan had caught us up.
He immediately started up the conversation, as though he was using the sound of voices to keep at bay whatever might be lurking in the trees. He asked where we were from, and I learned that Elsa was born in Bochum, and had lived most of her life there. Declan’s family owned land outside Wicklow.
“Before you arrived we were swapping our life stories,” he said to me then, grinning suddenly in the silvery light. “So, Charlie, what do you do in the outside world that bores you so much you want to be a bullet catcher?”
I returned his grin. It was difficult not to. “I work in a gym,” I said. Supervising weight training programmes was something I’d only begun in the last year. It kept me occupied and fit, although lately I’d found the monotony suffocating. Sean had warned me against telling anyone about my army background, or the women’s self-defence teaching I’d done after that.
“Keep it simple, but keep it light,” Sean had said. “Invent as little as possible, just leave a lot out. They’ll be watching the best and the worst more closely than the middle ground. You’re just going to have to hold back a little, and keep to the centre of the pack.”
“What if they check up on me?” I’d fretted.
“Don’t worry,” he’d said. “Madeleine will make sure they only find out what we want them to.”
“So what’s your story, Declan?” I asked now.
“Oh, my old man is in this business – works out in the States wet-nursing rock stars. He wanted me to join up first. You know, see the world, meet lots of interesting people, and kill them.” He laughed. “I thought I’d miss out the rough-arsed bit where you have to spend four years cleaning out lavatories with your toothbrush, and go straight to baby-sitting the Hollywood babes.”
“What about you, Elsa?”
She inclined her head slightly. “I was a policeman here in Germany,” she said, and although I caught the dim flash of Declan’s smile, we neither of us corrected her. “I left to get married, hoping to have many babies but, my marriage did not work out.” She shrugged. “And so, here am I.”
The simple words belied a good deal of pain, I considered. Even the Irishman didn’t come back with a smart remark to that one, and for a few minutes we trudged on in silence. Until Declan put his foot into a particularly deep pothole, and picked up a bootful of cold dirty water for his pains.
“Oh Jesus, will you look at that?” he complained. “What the feck do they think they’re doing leaving us to wade through this shit? And to think I’ve paid out good money for this.”
“Don’t whine, Declan,” Elsa said calmly, “it will probably be the same for everyone.”
“So, Charlie,” he went on, ignoring her, “what’s your story? I’m escaping from dead boredom, Elsa here is escaping from a dead marriage – what’s your little dark secret?”
I didn’t get the chance to think up a believable lie.
“Ssh!” Beside me, I almost felt Elsa tense and come to an abrupt halt. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Declan said, although I, too, could have sworn I caught the quiet crackling of dried branches, somewhere off to our left in the trees. “Oh don’t start getting paranoid on us now, Elsa,” he said, but there was a nervous tickle to his voice, “you’ll be giving the lot of us the jitters.”
He went on a few strides, moving close to the edge of the track. “Hello, hello,” he called, out into the forest. The trees took his voice and sucked the power out of it, handing it back to him somehow small and lonely. “Are there any ogres, wolves or bogeymen out there?” He turned back towards us. “You see, fair ladies, noth—”
Out of the blackness a dark shape flowed up. In less than a second it seemed to utterly engulf the Irishman, taking him down like an animal kill. He fell as a dead weight. The only sound made was the breath exploding from his body as he hit the ground.
Memories and images I’d thought were buried deep reared up, vivid as a nightmare. Shock and fear clutched at me, and it was the fear that held on hardest. It gripped my heart, my throat, my gut, with steel-tipped talons. Just for a second it stopped my breath, and froze my limbs.
Then, almost in unison, Elsa and I dropped our bags and started to turn. Instinct made me keep low as I spun round and I felt the slither of something sweep across my back. An arm. It gave me a bearing and I lashed out, chopping the side of my fist into a leg at the knee. I was rewarded by a grunt of pain.
I dived sideways, hearing the German woman’s wrenched-off cry as she was overwhelmed by the shadows. They seemed to swallow her up whole.
And then there was just me.
I rolled to my feet, tensed into a crouch, eyes raking the darkness. My blood was thundering through my veins, scrambling oxygen to my muscles. Every nerve and instinct told me to flee while I still had the chance.
Then, in the back of my head a tiny tho
ught flared. “They like to play mind games with you,” Sean had told me. “Like seeing how you react . . .”
Another heartbeat. The shapes surrounding me converged another step. The edge of the tree-line was less than two metres to my right. I could still make it . . .
I straightened up, stood still, and let them come and get me . . .
FIRST DROP
Charlie Fox book four
by Zoë Sharp
'The guy in the passenger seat was closest. He got out first, so I shot him first. Two rounds high in the chest.'
It should have been an easy introduction to Charlie Fox's new career as a bodyguard. In fact, it should have been almost a working holiday. She just has to look after the gawky fifteen-year-old son of a rich computer programmer in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Trey Pelzner is theme park mad and in theory all Charlie has to do is baby-sit him on the rollercoasters.
The last thing anyone expected was a determined attempt to snatch the boy, or that Trey's father and their entire close protection team – including Charlie's boss, Sean Meyer – would disappear off the face of the earth at the same time.
Now somebody out there wants the boy badly and they're prepared to kill anyone who gets in their way. Evading them, in a strange country, takes all the skill and courage Charlie possesses.
As she soon discovers, once you've hit the first drop there's no going back, and you'd better hang on tight because you're in for a wild ride.
Nominated for the Barry Award for Best British Crime Novel.
‘Sharp's aim is dead on in her stunning US debut, the fourth book to star ultra-cool biker chick Charlie Fox. The no-nonsense, 26-year-old Charlie, a former British Army soldier (and survivor of a gruesome gang rape) has joined the protection agency of her ex-lover, Sean Meyer. On her first assignment, Charlie finds herself on a too thrilling roller-coaster ride in Florida, guarding geeky 15-year-old Trey Pelzner, son of Keith, a computer whiz working for a small software company specializing in accounting and data manipulation. After an attempt is made on Trey's life, Charlie calls for backup that turns out to be anything but and soon discovers that Keith – the developer of a faulty stock indicator program – has vanished, as has Sean. Action-packed, tightly plotted and with an irresistible first-person narration, this crisp, original thriller should win Sharp (Hard Knocks, etc.) plenty of American fans.’ Publishers Weekly starred review
ROAD KILL
Charlie Fox book five
by Zoë Sharp
“If you stay involved with Sean Meyer you will end up killing again,” my father said. “And next time, Charlotte, you might not get away with it.”
Still bearing the emotional scars from her traumatic first bodyguarding job in the States, Charlie Fox returns to her former home to try and work out both her personal and professional future.
Instead of the peace for which she's been hoping, Charlie is immediately caught up in the aftermath of a fatal bike crash involving one of her closest friends. The more she probes, the more she suspects that the accident was far from accidental – and the more she finds herself relying on the support of her troubled boss, Sean Meyer, despite her misgivings over the wisdom of resuming their relationship.
And Charlie's got enough on her plate trying to work out who suddenly wants her dead. The only way to find out is to infiltrate a group of illegal road racers who appear hell-bent on living fast and dying young.
Taking risks is something that ex-Special Forces soldier Charlie knows all about, but doing it just for kicks seems like asking for trouble. By the time she finds out what's really at stake, she might be too late to stop them all becoming road kill . . .
‘After the traumatic events that took place in First Drop, Charlie Fox is back in England to recuperate. But then an old friend is seriously injured after a motorbike accident (that kills the driver) and Charlie's lethal instincts kick in to find out what the real story is, and who the true target was. It's really quite impossible to put this book down, but what really makes this (and the whole series) shine is how Charlie's kickass skills are rooted in her own femininity and character. So why might this not be published in the US? "Too British." More like too bad if it proves to be the case.’ Sarah Weinman, Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind
SECOND SHOT
Charlie Fox book six
by Zoë Sharp
'Take it from me, getting yourself shot hurts like hell.'
When the latest assignment of ex-Special Forces soldier turned bodyguard, Charlie Fox, ends in a bloody shoot-out in a frozen forest in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, she's left fighting for her life, with her client dead.
Simone had just become a lottery millionairess but she never lived long enough to enjoy her newfound riches. Charlie was supposed to be keeping Simone's troublesome ex-boyfriend at bay and accompanying her on a trip to New England to track down the father Simone had never really known. A relatively low-risk job.
But Simone's former SAS father has secrets in his past that are about to come back and haunt him, and the arrival of his long-lost daughter may be the catalyst that blows his whole world apart. Was the prospect of getting hold of Simone's money tempting enough to make him engineer her death? And what happens now to Simone's baby daughter, Ella?
With Simone gone, Ella's safety becomes Charlie's main concern. She's determined, despite her injuries, not to let anything happen to the child. But the closer Charlie gets to the truth, the bigger threat she becomes. Only, this time she's in no fit state to protect anyone, least of all herself . . .
‘James Bond, watch your back. There’s a tough new breed of British muscle on the block, and her name is Fox, Charlie Fox. A former British Army soldier (and survivor of a brutal gang rape), Charlie now earns her living guarding others, a duty that has a nasty habit of putting her in harm’s way. Her latest assignment is no exception. She’s protecting beautiful British engineer (and recent lottery winner) Simone and her four-year-old daughter from an obsessed ex-boyfriend. She’s also helping Simone search for her long-lost father. The trio travels to New England to follow leads on Simone’s dad. (Charlie also figures they’ll be safer there, a good distance from the ex-boyfriend.) Trouble ensues soon after arrival, when charismatic Greg Lucas claims he’s Simone’s father. (Is Lucas really her flesh and blood, or does he just want her money to bail himself out of a precarious financial situation?) Two bullets add wounds to Charlie’s scar repertoire, but even in a weakened condition, the gutsy twenty something is undeterred. British novelist Sharp’s second thriller to appear in the US (after First Drop, in 2005) crackles with suspense, showcasing crisp prose, plenty of plot twists, and a heroine who adds new meaning to the term femme fatale.’ Booklist starred review
THIRD STRIKE
Charlie Fox book seven
by Zoë Sharp
'I was running when I saw my father kill himself. Not that he jumped off a tall building or stepped in front of a truck but – professionally, personally – what I watched him do was suicide.'
The last person that ex-Special Forces soldier turned bodyguard, Charlie Fox, ever expected to self-destruct was her own father, an eminent consultant surgeon. But when Charlie unexpectedly sees him admitting to gross professional misconduct on a New York news program, she can't just stand by and watch his downfall.
That's not easy when Richard Foxcroft, always cold towards his daughter, rejects her help at every turn. The good doctor has never made any secret of his disapproval of Charlie's choice of career – or her relationship with her boss, Sean Meyer. And now, just as Charlie and Sean are settling in to their new life in the States, Foxcroft seems determined to go down in a blazing lack of glory, taking his daughter and everyone she cares about down with him.
But those behind Foxcroft's fall from grace have not bargained on Charlie's own ruthless streak. A deadly professional who's always struggled to keep her killer instinct under control, this time she has very personal reasons for wanting to neutralise the threat to her reluctant principal.
And when the threads of the conspiracy reach deep into a global corporation with almost unlimited resources, the battle is going to be bitter and bloody . . .
‘Get set for a rollercoaster ride with Sharp's third [US-set] Charlie Fox thriller (following First Drop and Second Shot). The British bodyguard, now living in New York City, has recovered from the life-threatening injuries she sustained in Second Shot and finds herself watching her father on television admitting that he was negligent in the death of another physician and that he has a drinking problem. Charlie, estranged from her parents, wants to know what is happening to her much-acclaimed surgeon father. She and boss (and lover) Sean Meyer must save her family from a mysterious threat that remains undisclosed until the horrifying denouement. Sharp, a Barry award finalist for her previous two Fox books, captures readers on the first page and doesn't let go. Highly recommended for all collections.' Library Journal starred review
‘Razor sharp and surprisingly vulnerable, professional bodyguard Charlie is an intriguing character in Sharp's breathtakingly fast-paced thriller. Each word is honed to have the impact of one of Charlie's karate chops, and they catch the reader in the solar plexus. Charlotte 'Charlie' Fox never expected to have to protect her own disapproving parents from a deadly threat, but when she watches her father, eminent UK surgeon Richard Foxcroft, commit professional suicide in front of the New York press, she knows something is terribly wrong back home. And where, she wonders, is her steadfast mother? Though he never approved of her choice of profession, or of her relationship with her boss, Sean Meyer, Charlie races in to rescue her father from a deadly and powerful enemy – whether he likes it or not. Compelling – a page-turner.’ Pat Cooper, Romantic Times four-star review