KFF is delighted to share an exclusive excerpt of TICK TOCK, an all-new highly anticipated romantic military suspense by bestselling author Jane Harvey-Berrick, coming 1st November
Forget SEALS, Marines, Fighter Pilots – I have the most dangerous job in the world. And I love it.
James Spears is part of an elite group who lives and breathes danger. Where others run from it, he walks towards it, calm, focussed ice-cold. James is a top EOD operative.
You’d call him a bomb disposal expert. Or crazy. A guy with a death wish. He’s heard it all before and he doesn’t give a shit. He’s the best.
They say he doesn’t have blood in his veins, he has ice. They say he has no nerves.
All that’s about to be tested.
Amira is recruited by the CIA to infiltrate a terrorist cell living in rural Pennsylvania. She’s the perfect plant, no one would ever suspect her. Because her brother was killed when a bomb was dropped on the Syrian hospital where he was working as a doctor. And now hate burns deeply inside her. She’s perfect.
That’s what they tell James when he’s told to train her to be the best damn bomb-maker there is. In a secret camp, deep in the woods, James teaches her everything he knows about building bombs. He’s not a praying man, but now he’s really hoping that he’s doing the right thing.
Codename: Hansel and Gretel
Book 1 in the EOD Series
pre-order YOUR COPY TODAY!
© 2018 JANE HARVEY-BERRICK
All rights reserved.
I’d known that she was standing behind me, watching me. I’d heard the creak of her cot as she climbed off the bed, heard the soft rustle of sheets, and listened carefully as she’d opened the door.
I waited for the soft footfalls that meant she was walking towards me or towards the bathroom, but when I didn’t hear anything, I turned around.
She was a mess.
Her left cheek was creased from sleeping face down on her pillow, and her hair was a knotted tangle, stuck to her head on one side, greasy and uncombed. Her t-shirt was thin and her tits pressed against the worn material so I could see the darker tint of her nipples underneath. Her legs were long and smooth, with skin the colour of caramel. And those eyes—the eyes that had seemed older glaring at me through her niqab were soft and liquid with surprise, then narrowed in anger, and finally drooping with shame.
She stumbled backwards away from me, slamming the door and muttering to herself.
I didn’t know if I was amused, insulted, or just as surprised as her. My dick twitched with appreciation of her curvy figure and a nice pair of legs.
I hadn’t expected the woman to be so young, maybe mid-twenties, maybe late-twenties—my age. I definitely hadn’t expected her to be attractive. I’d imagined some sour, bitter bitch, her sharp tongue cutting chunks off men who got in her way.
But this woman was beautiful. It was probably just as well she covered herself from head to toe. Being attracted to a CIA asset was a terrible idea—and we both had a job to do.
Clay appeared from the other cabin.
“It’s a beautiful morning, brother,” he smiled.
My brain took a second to reboot then I shook my head in amusement. This guy was congenitally happy—it wasn’t normal. My smile faded when I took in how he was dressed: sandals on his feet, and a loose white robe, similar to those I’d seen Iraqi men wear.
“What’s with all that?” I asked, nodding at his robe while I sipped my coffee.
“Have some respect, brother,” he said, pointing a finger at me, and nearly dropping a handful of sweets in the process. “Damn! You almost made me drop my Gummi Worms. Damn, you made me cuss and I’ve only just said morning prayers.” He sighed. “You’re a bad influence, James. And put some damn clothes on.”
“What are those sweets you’re eating?”
Clay looked shocked.
“You’ve never had Gummi Worms?”
“Don’t think so. They look too much like, well, worms. What are they made of? Gelatin?”
He closed his eyes for a second then squinted up at the rising sun.
“Damn,” he said softly. “Gelatin—that’s definitely not halal. You want them?”
I pulled a face and he dropped the colourful sweets in the dirt, shaking his head sadly.
“This shit is hard.”
“But you’re not really a Muslim, are you?”
He grimaced, still staring at the dust-covered sweets by his feet.
“I’m a seeker,” he said finally. “There are a lot of fine words in the Qur’an, but I don’t subscribe to any religion in particular.” Then he looked at me seriously. “But I’d better damn well convince the ISIS cell that I’m a convert.”
“That’s why you’re dressing like one of them?”
He nodded and stroked the straggly beard that he was growing.
“The robe is a Didashah: white for the summer, and darker, heavier fabrics in the winter.” He grinned at me. “It’s surprisingly comfortable in this heat. Free-balling is mighty fine.”
“Mate, I don’t want to think about your meat-and-two-veg—that’s just nasty.”
Writing is my passion and my obsession. I write every day and I love it. My head is full of stories and characters. I’ll never keep up with all my ideas!
I live in a small village by the ocean and walk my little dog, Pip, every day. It’s on those beachside walks that I have all my best ideas.
Writing has become a way of life – and one that I love to share.