Ethan Justice: Origins (Ethan Justice #1) by Simon Jenner Read Free Book Online Page B

in the chest for the ungrateful bastard and surely that had to be worth five minutes off the record. Now he’d allowed Bradshaw’s murderer to flee, remotely releasing his keyless handcuffs into the bargain.
    “Why did you let him go?”
    “Because we know where he lives, and that’s where we’ll catch up with him.”
    “We do?”
    “Yeah, he needs to believe he shook us off or he won’t lead us anywhere.”
    The tall agent was starting to piss Wilson off. “Are you going to let me in on your little secret?”
    Johnson pulled out the Bluetooth device from his ear. “I sent his picture to HQ, and they have confirmed his identity as John Smith. He’s a friend of Bradshaw’s, but they cleared him nine years ago when Bradshaw first started working for us.”
    “An alias?”
    “Not according to HQ. Until we prove otherwise, we have to assume that he’s the killer or in league with the killer.” Johnson ran his hand through his short hair. “But we’ve got a bigger problem.”
    “What?”
    “The latest prototype of Bradshaw’s invention is missing from the lab.”
    Wilson’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt his world begin to crumble. They should have been there, and all of this could have been cleaned up quickly and easily. Now things were a mess, and it was his fault. Johnson had been right. He shouldn’t have come back so soon. Or maybe it was Johnson’s punishment for not listening. “Well Smith didn’t have it. It’s too big to conceal. Maybe it’s still in Bradshaw’s apartment?”
    Johnson said nothing, his eyes locked on Wilson’s face. Wilson began to fidget, stretching out his fingers and cracking his knuckles. The silence was unbearable. “You think it’s my fault. Come out and say it.”
    Johnson’s stare never wavered. “The clean-up team have reported back to HQ. The item was not found.” He grabbed Wilson by the shoulders. “If we don’t sort this, then we’re both out of a job. If I lose this job, I’ll end your life. You need to get your act together and help me clean up this mess. Are we clear?”
    There was no malice in the words, but the threat was genuine. Who did he think he was? The man, whose life Wilson had saved, was threatening him. Johnson had agreed to talk off mission. Sure, Wilson had insisted, but it was Johnson’s call. He was the senior officer, and he’d signed off on his return to duty. Blame could not be delegated. Why didn’t he get his bloody hands off?
    “Are we clear?” repeated Johnson, raising his eyebrows and squeezing his partner’s shoulders tightly.
    “Clear,” answered Wilson through tightly ground teeth. This was not what he had signed up for.
    *
    I drive along Kensington High Street putting out my Marlboro Red and lighting another. The harsh smoke catches in my throat in a pleasing way. Common sense dictates that I should put more distance between myself and the scene of my second illegal kill. Who am I kidding? Second murder, I mean. Well, actually my fourth murder, but the first two were before I was legally responsible so they don’t count. Bradshaw reneged and had deserved to die. Torture had been failing, and the pounding at the door necessitated immediate evacuation. Loose ends are never an option. Ten more minutes, maybe less, and he’d have told me everything. I need to think and driving helps. I can’t bring myself to drive straight ahead and on to relative safety.
    To my right, at the tube station, I see a short, burly man being gripped at the shoulders by another man, about a foot taller. Both are dressed in thick navy blue coats. Johnson and Wilson. These are the Earthguard agents Bradshaw spoke of yesterday. Bradshaw’s description had sounded suspect but here they are, literally larger than life. This is a stroke of luck, perhaps? Instinctively, I duck my head as the tall one’s gaze wanders close. Idiot, what am I doing? I bear little resemblance to the man who entered Bradshaw’s apartment and snuffed out