A Bridge Too Far
Postcards From Another Country
Served Cold
Off Duty
Truth And Lies
KILLER INSTINCT
Charlie Fox book one
by Zoë Sharp
‘Susie Hollins may have been no great shakes as a karaoke singer, but I didn’t think that was enough reason for anyone to want to kill her.’
Charlie Fox makes a living teaching self-defence to women in a quiet northern English city. It makes best use of the deadly skills she picked up after being kicked out of army Special Forces training for reasons she prefers not to go into. So, when Susie Hollins is found dead hours after she foolishly takes on Charlie at the New Adelphi Club, Charlie knows it’s only a matter of time before the police come calling. What they don’t tell her is that Hollins is the latest victim of a homicidal rapist stalking the local area.
Charlie finds herself drawn closer to the crime when the New Adelphi’s enigmatic owner, Marc Quinn, offers her a job working security at the club. Viewed as an outsider by the existing all-male team, her suspicion that there’s a link between the club and a serial killer doesn’t exactly endear her to anyone. Charlie has always taught her students that it’s better to run than to stand and fight, But, when the killer starts taking a very personal interest, it’s clear he isn’t going to give her that option . . .
‘Charlie looks like a made-for-TV model, with her red hair and motorcycle leathers, but Sharp means business. The bloody bar fights are bloody brilliant, and Charlie’s skills are both formidable and for real.’ Marilyn Stasio, New York Times
‘Sharp deserves a genre all her own – if you are just discovering Zoë Sharp then you are in for a real treat.’ Jon Jordan, Crimespree Magazine
‘Charlotte (Charlie) Fox is one of the most vivid and engaging heroines ever to swagger onto the pages of a book. Where Charlie goes, thrills follow.’ Tess Gerritsen
HARD KNOCKS
Charlie Fox book three
by Zoë Sharp
'Perhaps if the army had known what was inside me, what I would eventually turn into, they might not have been so keen to let me go.'
Charlie really didn't care who shot dead her traitorous ex-army comrade Kirk Salter during a bodyguard training course in Germany. But when old flame Sean Meyer asks her to go undercover at Major Gilby's elite school and find out what happened to Kirk she just can't bring herself to refuse.
Keeping her nerve isn't easy when events bring back fears and memories she's worked so hard to forget. It's clear there are secrets at Einsbaden Manor that people are willing to kill to conceal. Some of the students on this particular course seem to have more on their minds than simply learning about close protection. Subjects like revenge, and murder. And what's the connection between the school and the recent spate of vicious kidnappings that have left a trail of bodies halfway across Europe?
To find out what's going on, Charlie must face up to her past and move quickly before she becomes the next casualty. She expected training to be tough, but can she graduate from this school of hard knocks alive?
'If you only know Charlie Fox from First Drop, Second Shot, and Third Strike, you don't know Charlie. What you've got in your hands is a rare and special treat. It’s like finding some lost Jack Reacher novel or a couple of non-alphabet Kinsey Millhones that nobody knew existed. Don't let anyone tear it from your hands without drawing their blood.
'These early Zoë Sharp books haven’t been a secret, but they've been harder-to-get than Charlie Fox in your bed. Think of these as the early years of Charlie Fox – she’s lethal and relentless, but still raw from the military experience that made her the kick-ass, take-no-prisoners bodyguard that she’s become.
'But there’s more going on in these books than breakneck action and adventure. Charlie has heart, maybe too much for a woman in her profession . . . and it’s that caring, that humanity, that makes her much more than a killer babe on a motorbike. These books are your chance to discover Charlie Fox as she discovers herself, her strengths and her weaknesses, and sustains the scars to her body and soul that make her such a unique and compelling character.' US crime author and TV producer, Lee Goldberg
HARD KNOCKS
Charlie Fox book three
excerpt
part of Chapter Two
. . . Outside Stuttgart airport, I snagged one of the line of Mercedes diesel taxis, and gave the driver the address of the bodyguard training school at Einsbaden. As he pulled out into traffic he radioed to his controller, in German, complaining about the distance he was having to travel outside town.
“If it’s too much trouble, mein herr,” I said, a little tartly, “then please tell me.”
I saw his eyes flick sharply to meet mine in the rear-view mirror. It was only then that I realised the old cupboard in my brain had fallen open. The one where I stored those years of school German lessons. I’d forgotten it was there, let alone what might be still inside.
It took just short of an hour to reach the little village of Einsbaden where the school was located. At normal speeds it probably would have taken two, but once we were out onto one of the main twin-lane roads my driver put his foot down. He cruised with the speedo needle quivering at a hundred and sixty-five kph. I did some mental juggling from klicks back into miles per hour and found we were doing a sliver over a hundred. Even at that speed he was constantly being flashed out of the way by other drivers.
Once we’d got away from the uniform industrial drabness of the city itself, the countryside was surprisingly pretty, even if I was holding on too hard most of the time to really appreciate the scenery.
He flashed through Einsbaden village itself hardly lowering his speed. The little I saw of the place was picture postcard stuff. A square with a fountain, a small café, a couple of shops, a bar. Then the houses thinned and we were back into thickly wooded countryside again.
A couple of klicks the other side of Einsbaden the driver finally slowed and swung the Merc between a pair of tall stone gateposts with poised griffins on the top of them. There was no signage, but the driver seemed confident over direction.
The driveway was narrow, pocked with water-filled ruts. It twisted out of sight into the forest that surrounded us. The driver proceeded with caution, and I let go of the centre armrest for probably the first time in the journey, edging forwards in my seat to peer out of the windscreen.
The afternoon was slipping away and the light level had started to drop fast. Under the thick, evergreen canopy it was downright gloomy. The driver switched on his headlights.
Just round the next bend there was a small security checkpoint, like some throwback to the Cold War. The lowered barrier across the road gave us no choice but to stop.
We braked to a halt alongside a hut that looked as though it had started out life as a large garden shed. A figure in camouflage gear emerged, carrying a clipboard. He and the driver spoke together too quickly for me to catch the words, and the driver grunted.