If Jason Bourne was a woman he’d be Amelia Jamison. Seriously. This is one kick-ass spy adventure with some romance thrown in. I love stories with characters with amnesia and I love that not having her memories made Amelia vulnerable and as we find out more about her, we get to see a different kind of person. We are taken on a journey as Amelia discovers more about herself and her relationship with Gerard. I really can’t tell you more without giving away the plot. This a fabulous story for fans of spy thrillers. Just strap on your seat belts and enjoy the ride.
Walking the edge
The next step might be the last…
A woman without a past
Left amnesiac after an accident, Amelia Jamison’s instincts slowly rise from the depths of oblivion to question her life as the wife of a cold, manipulating and distant man. Wisps of a dream show her another man she may have known intimately, but is he a memory, or a figment of her imagination?
A man with too much information
After many aliases, today Gerard Besson is simply a police commissaire in Marseille. When a mysterious woman starts to follow him, he is suspicious. But things aren’t what they seem, and as he reluctantly gets closer to her, dredges of his painful, buried past spring to light and make him question her identity.
Each seems to have led two different lives
But neither is prepared for what awaits them when they cross the fine line between knowing your true self and that of your alter ego.
Danger is the name of the game, and as it catches up with them in the French Provence, both know they better be ready for the inevitable fall.
As he turned to scan the other side of the road, something—or someone—lunged at him and knocked him into the solid garage door. Reflex kicking in, he took a deep breath to fortify himself against the stinging pain in his body. Honing his senses, he lashed out on the side from which his opponent had assaulted him.
His fist connected with a jaw and he heard a grunt. Male. So not the woman from the bistro. Could she have sent someone after him? He had no time to ponder—a heavy booted foot collided smack into his stomach and sent him to his knees. The gun dropped from his hand. He could barely see the man kick the Sig away. Now’s the time to hit him.
But he wasn’t fast enough. The thug smashed a hard blow to Gerard’s temple. Black dots danced before his eyes.
It would take more than this to knock him out, though. He looked up and staggered an exhale—he’d be no match against the gun his assailant yanked from inside his jacket. A weapon with a silencer screwed on. Definitely a man out for a kill.
Time stood still while he tried to breathe and remain conscious.
And then something happened so quickly he had trouble grasping it. The guy howled and went down, his free hand clutching his neck as Gerard caught sight of a cherry-red flash.
The thug lifted and aimed his gun. Another red burst haloed the first.
Two shots rang, and the man slumped.
Gerard moved his gaze to where the flashes had appeared. His Sig lay in the hands of the one who’d saved him.
Legs braced, back straight, she held the gun in both hands, the left cupping the right. Wisps of smoke gently drifted from the barrel.
He blinked when he focused on her face.
It can’t be. The same woman who’d met him at the bistro. Yet, at the same time, not her. Her features looked different, harder, and, he realized with dread, completely focused yet expressionless.
Something told him to take another look. She hadn’t dropped the gun, and for an insane moment, he wondered if she’d aim it his way and shoot. There had been no hesitation in her two shots, and, as his eyes took in the way she held the Sig—one hand curled around the grip and the other anchoring it—realization clattered in his brain.
She held it like a professional, and merde if she hadn’t shot like a professional, too.
Finally, she lowered the weapon and stepped up to him.
From his previous deduction, he hadn’t expected her to be trembling or bumbling her way about, but still, the efficiency with which she sidestepped the body and crouched at Gerard’s side sent warning bells off in his head.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked, aware the thought had made it into words.
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Author, editor, smitten wife, in-over-her-head mum to a tween boy, best-buddy stepmum to a teenage lad, bookaholic, lover of all things fluffy & pink, chronic shoeholic, incompetent housewife desperate to channel Nigella Lawson (and who’ll prolly always fail at making domestic goddess status)…
Zee hails from the multicultural, rainbow-nation island of Mauritius, in the southern Indian Ocean, where she grew up on the figurative fence—one side had her ancestors’ Indian and Muslim culture; the other had modernity and the global village. When one day she realised she could dip her toes into both sides without losing her integrity, she found her identity.
This quest for ‘finding your place’ is what she attempts to bring in all her stories, across all the genres she writes. Her heroines represent today’s women trying to reconcile love, life, & relationships in a melting pot of cultures, while her heroes are Alpha men who often get put back into their rightful place by the headstrong women she writes. Love is always a winner in her stories, though; that’s a given.
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