Ethan Justice: Relentless

By Simon Jenner

Today he's crowned a hero. Tomorrow he'll be fighting for the lives of his loved ones. The time for Mr Nice Guy is over!

With the feisty Savannah Jones by his side and new landlord, Richard Windal, offering detective work, Ethan's life seems perfect. But Savannah's first run-in with Windal uncovers his darker side, and it isn't long before the self-proclaimed do-gooder is butting heads with Ethan.

A missing person's case throws the detective pairing deep into the belly of an underage sex ring, where life is cheap and the scum of the earth come to party. Savannah's gut senses Windal's dirty hands at work, and she'll risk anything, including her life, to prove it.

When Ethan and Windal engage in a deadly game of cat and mouse, the true extent of the lunatic's horrific business interests begins to surface. Windal plans to destroy those closest to Ethan's heart to prove his superiority and to bring his nemesis to his knees. Can Ethan save the people he loves and defeat a psychopath dark to the point of hysterical?

When Justice and Jones get under Windal's skin, the result is RELENTLESS.

Ethan Justice: Relentless is a fast-paced, action-packed, character-driven thriller, guaranteed to make you laugh out loud, cringe, cry and cheer.

This is the second book in the 'Ethan Justice' series but it also reads as a stand-alone story.

This book contains a few violent scenes, a dash of sex and the odd bit of bad language, so please don't buy it if you are easily offended.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Jenner
• Release date: Oct 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301934911

Simon Jenner

Simon Jenner is best known for the bestselling ETHAN JUSTICE series, dark-humoured action thrillers with unforgettable main characters. He also wrote the critically acclaimed THE EVOLVED, the first in a young adult sci-fi trilogy, with the second book still in development. His latest book, DON’T CALL ME BETH, is an epic psychological thriller which is receiving much early praise.Simon lives in Beverley, East Riding of Yorkshire, with his wife, Julia.https://www.facebook.com/SimonJennerAuthorhttp://SimonJenner.com/

Book preview

Prologue

I STARE AT the wall-mounted screen as my legal counsel prepares to commit blackmail. The Centre is several miles away, providing me safe distance from the scene of the crime. With lightning-fast Internet and high-definition cameras, the picture is worthy of the BBC.

My view is of the back of Chris Burlington’s bald head and the front of Sergeant Jackson, who sits across the desk from the solicitor. The police officer, thirty-four years old, thickset and slouching in his seat, doesn’t look the least bit intimidated.

A Bluetooth headset allows me to communicate directly with Burlington. I don’t want him messing this up. A police sergeant on the books doesn’t bring in the money, but it provides protection from interference.

Show him the video file, I say.

My solicitor twists the large-screened laptop allowing Jackson a better view. The sergeant sits up and leans across the desk, chewing gum with an over-confident sneer that will be wiped away soon enough.

Play it! I command.

The bald head twitches at the sound of my voice. I can’t see Burlington’s face, but the nervous tic reminds us both who is in charge.

Is this going to take long? asks Jackson. I thought I was here to see a new girl, not you.

All in good time. First watch and be entertained, says Burlington.

I lean forward on my sofa and look into the blue eyes of Jackson as he gazes at the laptop. Despite the clear picture, I can’t see enough detail on the thirty-two inch LCD television. I need a bigger screen. I will treat myself later today. Bushy eyebrows shoot up as the star of the video clip recognises himself. Surprise evaporates and shoulders slump. Mouth drops and eyes close in shame. My body quivers anticipating his next reaction. I’m guessing threats. It’s usually threats.

Jackson launches himself up and bangs his fists down onto the desk. You bastard. I want the file and all copies, or I’ll close you down.

Bingo! Burlington jerks back in his chair at the ferocity of the outburst. He’s such a girl. We’re pulling the strings here.

Stay calm, I say. Don’t screw this up, or I’ll ... I stop myself. Best I don’t add to his worries now.

Did you hear me, Burlington? rages Jackson, striding around the desk, grabbing the solicitor by the knot of his tie and hoisting him out of the chair with impressive ease. The files now before I snap you in two.

Tingles erupt at the back of my neck, and I’m tempted to let Jackson carry out his threat for my amusement, but I have to think of the bigger picture and dampen my playful urges.

Tell him her age, I say into the mike. And get this thing wrapped up.

Burlington is on tiptoes, his words croaking due to pressure on his windpipe. Vanity is fourteen years old, Sergeant Jackson, he says, his face an inch from the snarling officer’s. She’d never been touched before.

Jackson pulls Burlington closer until their noses press together. I could crush you here and now.

A shrill scream emits from the laptop. Both heads turn towards the source of the noise.

You made a real mess of Vanity, Sergeant Jackson, reminds Burlington. A service like that doesn’t come cheap.

The officer releases his grip on Burlington’s tie, and the solicitor drops back into his chair. Jackson’s hands clasp the top of his head. I can almost hear his teeth grind behind the pained grimace. What do you want from me?

Now we’re getting somewhere.

A red-faced Burlington loosens his tie and releases the top button of his shirt, panting as he recovers his breath. We’ll let you know.

Good. I told him to use that line. Burlington is regaining his confidence. He has his uses.

Jackson drops his arms by his sides. I want this sorted now. I don’t want it hanging over me. I have some savings, a few thousand.

Burlington rides the advantage. I don’t think so. Consider it a long-term relationship. You do as you’re told, and we’ll allow you to indulge yourself every once in a while. Let’s call it a marriage of convenience.

Jackson steps forwards and raises his fist above Burlington, who cowers, hands in front of his face, legs lifted and bent into his chest. For a moment I think there’s going to be a brutal assault, and I consider my options. A setback for Burlington but it would cement a much stronger hold over Jackson. The fist lowers, and shoulders droop once again. Victory is mine. Fuck you, Burlington, spits Jackson, stepping back.

So we understand one another? asks Burlington, a mild trembling evident as he repositions himself on the chair. I’m impressed by the speedy recovery.

For now. The policeman narrows his eyes thoughtfully. He’s already thinking of ways out of the mess he has dug himself into. There are none. Are we done here?

We’re done, confirms Burlington.

The police officer grunts, turns and slams the door on his way out.

Bravo, I cheer. Another pawn at our local nick. Do you want an extra copy of the file so you can watch your cowardly performance?

Burlington swivels in his chair and looks up at the camera, sweaty head gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lighting. Yes, very funny. I don’t think we should recruit any new officers for some time. If they find out about each other, they could team up against us.

He’s high on his success and has forgotten his place, not to mention he’s talking drivel.

I’ll be the judge of that, I say. Do you know where I can buy a large-screen TV for my den? I’m talking massive, the money-no-object kind of thing.

Of course not. I’m a solicitor, not a sales assistant.

It must be the adrenaline messing with his head. I know exactly what you are, and you’d best not forget it, I remind him.

I’m sorry, Mr Windal. I didn’t mean ...

Get back to me about the TV within an hour. I hang up the connection, tear off the headset and throw it to one side.

I lie back on the sofa and consider the dead body a few feet behind me.

1: Friday 5th October, 20:00

A CONSTANT DRIZZLE welcomed Ethan Justice and Savannah Jones as they exited the battle-scarred silver BMW. They were two streets away from Adelaine House, the home of Ethan’s parents. The sporty vehicle was a loaner from Earthguard agent Herb Johnson and likely to be recalled at any moment by the anti-terrorist agency, once again leaving Ethan carless.

The well-lit street, lined with leafless oaks, planes and birches, overlooked large detached houses surrounded by enormous gardens. Surprisingly, not another soul could be seen from one end of the street to the other. Where were the dog walkers? Where were the Friday night revellers en route to alcohol overdoses? Where was anybody?

It was all a little too quiet.

Ethan appreciated seeing Richmond Upon Thames, and the rest of the world for that matter, through different eyes since their near-death experience. Who would have believed that between Johnson, Ethan and Savannah, they had averted a nuclear explosion only a few miles away? The near catastrophic event, just a week old, seemed like a lifetime ago.

Remind me again why we need to park so far away from your parents’ house? asked Savannah, putting the hood up on the black Barbour jacket.

Ethan had lent the oversized coat to Savannah shortly after they first met, and it didn’t appear he would get to wear it again without a fight. Tall and slender with long, shiny hair that matched her milk-chocolate eyes, Savannah’s outer garments made little difference to her appeal. Like with just about any type of clothing, she wore the coat well.

Unsure how to answer the question without raising further questions, Ethan elected to keep it simple. A full explanation of his mother would require more time and a lot more alcohol. I told Mum that my new job came with a BMW. If she sees the dents, she’ll assume my driving was at fault.

Why did you say it came with the job?

It just came out. She’s the biggest snob you’ll ever meet. You’ll see.

Just tell her the truth. It was Herb that smashed it up.

Trust me on this. After you’ve met her, you’ll understand.

It’s your party.

Ethan, wearing only jeans and t-shirt beneath a thick navy blue woollen Earthguard coat, again courtesy of Johnson, felt the unwelcoming chill of the cold night air. He pulled Savannah close and kissed lips slightly warmer than his own. Are you sure you want to be here?

You’re my hero, Ethan, she laughed. But I’ll protect you from Mummy and Daddy.

Don’t call me Ethan until I get the chance to explain things, okay?

Two darkly clad youths diverted Savannah’s attention as they approached head on, hands deep in pockets. Savannah stiffened, like she’d seen the Grim Reaper holding up a card with her name on it. Those are Darks, she said. We should go.

Darks? Who the hell are Darks?

People you don’t want to mess with, that’s who.

The street lights must have attracted them, like flying bugs. I’m surprised the idiots aren’t clambering up the posts.

Savannah’s voice lowered in volume but rose in pitch. I’m not kidding, Ethan.

Ethan smiled. Their recent adventures had clearly affected Savannah more than him. Relax. They’re only kids, probably still in school.

Haven’t you been watching the news? These so-called kids are terrorising Richmond and Twickenham. She tugged at his arm. Come on, Ethan, for God’s sake. Let’s get back in the car.

But the figures moved fast, and the time to run had already passed, not that retreat entered Ethan’s thoughts for a second.

The two youths wore black trainers, black tracksuit trousers and black hoodie tops. Scarves, balaclavas or some similar garments covered their noses and mouths. But for two pairs of bright, staring eyes, they were confronted by silhouettes. Shadows with shadows. Both figures strode up to Ethan and didn’t stop until they were in his face. Mist rose from their covered faces. Bad intentions radiated from their glares. Ethan didn’t budge.

The taller one spoke first.

You get one chance. ’And over the keys, or we slice up the bitch and cut off your balls.

Give them what they want, pleaded Savannah, retreating behind Ethan. It’s not our car anyway.

Ethan dipped into his coat pocket and scrabbled around.

Smart, said the youth. Now ’and over the keys.

Didn’t kids know anything these days? It’s a key fob. This car has a keyless entry and ignition system. So no, I can’t hand over the keys.

Something hard jabbed against Ethan’s stomach. He looked down to see the glint of a large blade pressed against his coat. What have we walked into? After all they had been through, they were about to be sliced and diced by two pubescent teens.

’And it over, said the shorter youngster, or we’ll fuck you up.

Where did all the hatred come from? Ethan removed his hand from the coat pocket little by little, to avoid spooking the shadowy figures. Is this what you want?

With the device in clear sight, the armed lout began to repeatedly stab the knife at Ethan’s gut. Ethan didn’t expect the deadly intent in response to his cooperation and was unprepared. Jesus, these kids are out to murder us.

Ethan stepped back and thrust the key fob cum miniature stun gun into the forehead of the knife-wielding attacker. The sizzle of burning flesh pre-empted a backward jump, sending knife and owner onto the tarmac pavement, his eardrum-piercing scream replaced by rapid convulsions.

In a second the shorter attacker’s nerve dissolved, and he fled leaving his muscle-twitching partner behind. Ethan lowered his gaze to his midriff and stroked the coat where the point of the knife had attempted to penetrate. Where blood should have been spreading thick and fast, a few pieces of loose surface wool fell away. Hardly a mark. These coats were amazing. His body tingled with the thrill of survival. He placed the miniature stun gun, which came as standard with the car, back in his pocket.

Savannah reappeared in front of Ethan and thumped him hard in the shoulder. For a pale-skinned creature, she looked decidedly rosy. What is wrong with you? We could have been killed.

Ethan rubbed his shoulder and shrugged it along with the other. I thought they were harmless.

She hit him again, harder. I’m beginning to think you’re addicted to danger. Death welcomes the brave just as much as the stupid, you know.

He knew better than to try to win this argument. Besides, she was right. He’d underestimated the threat. Let’s get going. We’re already late, and compared to Mum, those thugs are a walk in the park.

Ethan linked his arm through Savannah’s, and she pressed herself into him. Bloody idiot, she mumbled.

After a few strides, they reached the still-twitching body on the pavement. Without warning, Savannah swivelled Ethan around, swung her leg back as far is it would go and kicked the dark figure in the side of the chest. The youth would have one hell of a bruise later. Eyeing up the head, she pulled her foot back to swing again when Ethan pulled her away.

No time for fun, he said.

Shouldn’t we at least see what he looks like?

I didn’t know you liked your men so young?

Ha ha. No sex for you tonight.

Did I offer? he asked, pulling Savannah closer, wondering if things could get much better. She was minutes away from meeting his parents, a genuine reason never to see him again. If she survived the ordeal, there might just be hope for them. He had meant it when he’d compared their attackers to his mother. She was going to freak when he attempted to explain his new name and change in career. He daren’t even imagine what she would make of Savannah Jones.

Time to face the music.

*

By the time they reached Adelaine House, Savannah was shaking and Ethan was soaked to the skin. Johnson’s coat might have been bullet and knife proof, but it was no match for the rain. Ethan’s mother, in loose dark green and white striped trousers and matching white sleeveless blouse, answered the door. She had never looked so trendy. Ethan suspected his sister’s hand at work. They took off their sodden coats and handed them over.

Why are you both wearing coats that don’t fit? asked Ethan’s mother, hanging the offending garments over the oak bannister to dry. You look like a couple of homeless types. We didn’t send you to public school so you could dress like a hobo, Jonathan, and you really ought to have a jumper on over that old t-shirt.

No greeting. It wasn’t a good sign but not a surprise and par for the course. Ethan looked around the expansive hallway, noticing that the décor had changed since his last visit. New thick-piled carpet, new elaborate wallpaper, new chandeliers and new ceiling coving adorned the open space.

Savannah turned full circle twice, gazing from floor to ceiling, taking in the splendour of her unfamiliar surroundings. Wow, this is some home you have, Mrs Smith, she said, eyes lost in the sparkling crystals of the large central chandelier.

You’re late, said Mrs Smith, looking at neither of her guests. And where’s your car, and why didn’t you bring it up the drive?

Great to see you too, Mum, answered Ethan, ignoring the probing questions. Where’s Dad?

Rachel and your father are in the drawing room. We’ve all been worried sick about you.

Not Rachel too. His sister’s presence was only going to add to the torture. He held Savannah’s hand and stood in front of his mother. Mum, this is Savannah. He turned to Savannah. Savannah, this is my mum.

His mother’s nose twitched upwards as if they had dragged in a foul smell before she turned on her heels and headed down the wide corridor that led off from the hall. Follow me. I’m sure we all can’t wait to hear what you’ve got to say for yourselves.

Thankfully the house contained the warmth his mother lacked, allowing heat to flood back into Ethan’s body. Ethan squeezed Savannah’s hand. I bet you wish you were back in hospital, don’t you?

She smiled back at him. "You should have met my dad. I’ll be fine."

They followed his mother into the drawing room, a lavishly spacious and tastefully decorated example of what too much money and time could achieve. In the centre of the room stood a dark brown, three-piece leather Chesterfield suite. Another new addition to the décor. The smell of new paint still hung in the air. Dad must have let Mum and Rachel run riot with their spending. The suite sat upon a Persian rug surrounded by polished-oak flooring.

Ethan’s mother took a seat between his father and sister. Space beckoned the guests on either side of the sofa but not enough to seat Ethan and Savannah together. His mother had planned her attack to perfection. Keeping Ethan and Savannah apart was clearly part of her scheme to take the upper hand. Divide and conquer. His father’s and Rachel’s expressions were far from welcoming, although his father grimaced as if to say ‘Nothing to do with me, son’. The temptation to leave, before the downhill slide could continue, rattled around Ethan’s head. He could pull Savannah from the impending train wreck of a first meeting and call his parents on the phone at a later date from a safe distance. Africa or the Far East perhaps? But at the same time, he knew he had put his family through hell during the last couple of weeks, and the responsibility for his mother’s anger lay at his door. He should have come alone though. Savannah had done nothing to warrant an evening of abuse from somebody she didn’t even know.

Why do you always have to be so confrontational, Mum? demanded Ethan, making no move to sit while keeping a tight hold of Savannah’s hand.

You’ve been off the radar for three weeks, and you’re asking me for answers. What a nerve. We thought you were dead. We told you to go and find a good job, and a week later your best friend’s picture was plastered all over the media. The Times said he was an arms dealer, and he’d killed himself. We ring you to find out what’s going on, and you’ve vanished off the face of the earth. She looked left and right for support. Am I wrong?

We were really worried about you, offered his father, shifting on the sofa.

Rachel smirked and shook her head over and over in mock disappointment. Dressed in a black power suit of her own design, she was loving every second of his discomfort.

His father’s words percolated through and pierced his defences, whereas his mother’s anger had missed its target. Ethan’s mind slipped back to a week last Saturday at Mark’s luxury penthouse in Mayfair. His best friend’s hand had been skewered to his head, a finger had been cut off and left to marinade in the spreading pool of blood, and a Chinese dagger had protruded from the centre of his back. Ethan recalled the sour taste in his mouth from the endless dry retching that had followed his discovery. He could taste it now. He hadn’t given Mark enough thought since his death, and now he was guilty of treating his parents just as badly.

Jonathan, said his mother, snapping him out of his grisly reminiscences.

What? I’m sorry, Dad, Ethan managed. It was the truth. But he couldn’t yet bring himself to apologise to his mother. Stop pushing all the time, Mum. But, as expected, she couldn’t. It wasn’t in her makeup.

"Sorry doesn’t begin to make up for what you put us through. You know your father’s heart is weak. You are so selfish."

Savannah pulled her hand free from Ethan’s and raised her arms in the air, like a conductor about to begin a performance. Enough, she said.

The room went silent. Ethan had never seen his mother so taken aback, her mouth opening and closing but words failing to launch themselves.

Your son saved me from a pimp, a psychopath and a rogue secret police agent ...

Just a minute ... interrupted Mrs Smith.

Savannah carried on regardless. ... as well as saving Twickenham and its inhabitants from certain destruction. Jaws hung limply, including Ethan’s, gaping like fish on hooks. The worms were well and truly out of the can, and he figured he might just as well let her get on with it. Your son might have a few issues, intimacy being very high up on the list, but he is the bravest and kindest man I have ever met. You should be proud of him. I know I am.

Ethan felt a warmth in his cheeks. Savannah reached out and took hold of his hand once again.

I only left hospital this morning, and your son has been by my bedside every minute of the day and night, continued his inspired girlfriend.

Ethan gulped and shifted on the spot. Please don’t mention the time I spent in it.

Savannah pulled a business card from her back pocket and stretched over to Mrs Smith. John Smith is now Ethan Justice, and if you ring Herb Johnson on this number, he’ll explain everything. Frozen and baffled faces stared back at Savannah, and Ethan squeezed her hand urging her to go on. To think he’d worried about bringing her. To cut a long story short, we now work for an international agency, and John’s name was changed to protect you from harm. John, rather Ethan, will be receiving an award from the Mayor of the Borough for services to the people tomorrow, outside our new offices in Twickenham, and you are all invited to attend. We’d both love it if you’d be there.

Not the full story by any stretch of the imagination but enough for now. If his family managed to digest the shortened version, perhaps hope remained for further divulgence at a later date. Not surprisingly, his mother spoke first. A furrowed brow and moist eyes indicated genuine concern. Is age smoothing her rough edges at last?

Are you all right, John? she asked.

Ethan tingled with an emotion he couldn’t recognise. The words caught in his throat. I’m ... fine, Mum.

His mother rose from the sofa and came towards Ethan, arms stretched out wide. Unfamiliar territory for the last ten years beckoned him, but a part of him resisted. When she wrapped her arms around him, a monstrous weight lifted from his shoulders, and he felt the strangest urge to cry. She’s a keeper, John, she whispered in his ear before pulling back. I can’t promise to call you Ethan, but I’ll try. I’m going to make us all a nice cup of tea and bring out some of my best homemade biscuits. She turned back to Rachel and Ethan’s father. Why don’t you two shuffle along, and let these two lovebirds sit next to each other?

Dad and Rachel duly obeyed, appearing more shocked by his mother’s behaviour than Savannah’s speech.

Jammy bastard. I only came to see you suffer, said Rachel, wrapping her arms around her brother before sitting back down.

His father gripped his shoulder and squeezed it tight. Way to go, son, he said. I’m proud of you, and your mother is too. Let’s hope this is a step forward for the two of you.

Will you and Mum come to see me get my award tomorrow? asked Ethan.

His father beamed. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.

*

After one too many delicious biscuits of assorted varieties and several hugs from all of Ethan’s family, Savannah slumped at Ethan’s declaration that they were heading back to the car in the heavy and bitter drizzle of the night. It had been over three years since her mother died, and the eventual warmth shown by Ethan’s parents and sister had given Savannah the feeling of being more than just Ethan’s girlfriend. She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like if she ever became an official member of the Smith clan. The thought sent a pleasant shiver through her body.

Why didn’t we stay the night when they offered? asked Savannah under her breath, as they were waved off with extreme exuberance at the end of the long driveway.

It couldn’t have got any better than that, replied Ethan, sliding his arm across her shoulders, pulling her closer. Thanks for taking control by the way.

You’re welcome. Your family is great.

When the real ones return, I’ll let you know. There’s something not quite right about Mum. I think she might be taking drugs on the sly.

They both laughed and pushed against each other playfully, arms linking around one another’s waists, weaving along the pavement like teenagers without time for anything but the fun of the here and now. Approaching their final turn, Savannah sniffed the air. Can you smell burning?

Someone having an early bonfire? Fireworks are already on sale in a few shops.

Savannah took a deep breath through her nose and cringed. I don’t think so. This smells stronger, like burning rubber.

Jogging around the corner, they were greeted by the sight of billowing smoke and tall flames dancing inside and out of the borrowed BMW. Crispy black paint peeled from the outside of the once silver BMW, and the nearer they got, the more the acrid wafts of burning oil caught in their throats.

Will it blow up? asked Savannah, pulling Ethan back from the proximity of the heat.

I don’t think so. There was next to no petrol in it. Earthguard want it back soon, so I didn’t see much point in filling it.

"I’m not sure they’ll want it now. Bloody Darks. You should have let me kick the bastard in the head."

This was set alight in the last half hour. Let’s go and ask at a couple of houses.

Savannah nodded, and they each headed for the closest houses on opposite sides of the street. Savannah sped along the considerable path and up to the door of the large period property. Failing to locate a bell, she knocked three times on the solid wood door. No answer. She stood back a few steps to confirm that several lights were on behind closed curtains. Returning to the door, a man’s face appeared from behind a curtain to her right. Savannah waved, indicating he should come to the door. He shook