Zero Tolerance

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Zero Tolerance © 2024 Jackie Keswick.

Cover Art © 2024 Black Jazz Design

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

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Warning: This contains references to the sexual exploitation of children.

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BLURB

Every man has a limit. Jack is about to reach his.

Jack Horwood should be content. His job keeps him busy and renovating his home keeps him entertained. So why does he feel as if something important is missing from his life and all he’s doing is wasting his time?

Discontent sharpens his attention, and between losing one mentor and watching the other fight prejudice and racism, Jack doesn’t like what he sees. Walking away is not an option, but neither can he carry on as he has.

It’s Rio, whose conduct gives Jack an idea, and his ladder-climbing partner, Tom Gatting, who makes him realise what is important to him.

After that, it’s just a question of making a choice. Because when he hits his limit, there’s only two ways Jack can go.

Zero Tolerance is the final part of the Zero Rising series, which follows Jack’s early life from scared, homeless boy to fierce, independent vigilante hacker. Zero Tolerance is not a romance, but it brings Jack’s story to the start of Job Hunt, the first book in the suspense-with-romance Power of Zero series, and Jack’s reunion with the man he’s carried a torch for since he was seventeen.

ZERO RISING BOOK 3

ZERO

TOLERANCE

JACKIE KESWICK

September 2011, London

AN IMPERFECT SITUATION

Jack stretched his arms over his head and twisted his torso until his spine gave a resounding crack and the stabbing pain at the base of his skull eased a tiny bit. Oh, thank the gods. I needed that.

He needed more than traction or a massage. After four days hunched over a keyboard, he needed food that didn’t come in a wrapper, and liquid that wasn’t caffeine. He’d done well until the previous day, stopping at intervals to eat, nap, and even take a shower. But the last twenty-four hours had been non-stop.

Directing teams in three countries while contributing his own share to the work had kept him chained to his desk. He’d relied on colleagues to keep him in coffee and chocolate bars, and they’d risen to the task as the overflowing wastepaper basket attested.

Jack knew he could lead. The three men he looked up to—Rio, Gareth Flynn, and Jon Briggs—had all told him so. He just didn’t enjoy it. But this case had grown too big for him to work alone, with leads stretching from England to Germany and into the Middle East. It had needed a team sharing data, protecting evidence, and co-ordinating activities on the ground, and Jack had stepped up to bring it all together.

For days, he’d had German-tinted English in one ear, Arabic in the other, and English right in front of him until judges in three countries had signed the warrants. Everyone was in place, and they’d moved in unison. They’d made the world a bit safer, but his headache and sweat-soaked clothes spoke of the stress of the last hours.

Now he’d handed off the last threads, Jack wanted to crawl into a hole. If it bought him a night’s rest, he’d even swallow the migraine pills he so despised.

Food. Water. Shower. Sleep, he listed his priorities. Then he finally pushed away from his desk and stood, closing his eyes against the sudden dizziness. In an hour, he’d be aching from head to toe, but compared to the brewing migraine, those aches were minor. Still, he’d better get home.

He was locking his filing cabinet when the door opened with a vehemence that rattled Jack’s aching brain.

You did it! Eighty-four arrests and no escapes. Damn it, Horwood—you did it!

Jack clutched his desk. Held tight. Breathed through the nausea following Gatting’s loud, cheerful declaration, and closed his eyes instead of watching Gatting spin around to face him. Glaring was beyond him.

As usual, Gatting had dressed to impress. His bespoke charcoal suit gave him gravitas. The bright pink tie and pocket square bellowed for attention. And his smug expression made Jack wonder if he’d got laid over lunch.

Behold the hero of the hour.

Jack never felt less like the man of the hour than when confronted by Gatting in all his finery. And then Gatting wrinkled his nose. Whether at the mess or the stench of honest work, Jack didn’t know, and Gatting gave him no chance to ask.

For fuck’s sake, Horwood. Everyone knows you’re the shit. Can’t you at least attempt to approximate the dress code? This endless rag rebellion is tedious.

Jack had worn a suit to work four days ago. It hung in his locker, ready for the dry cleaners, along with four shirts and the spare suit he’d changed into… yesterday morning? The clothes he currently wore had come from the bottom of his go bag. If you hadn’t pissed off home to primp and left me to do your work on top of mine, I might have had a chance.

The words stopped Gatting in his tracks. He flushed until his cheeks matched the colour of his pocket square and stepped back, hands up. All right, all right. I had a… We were nearly done, and I thought you had it all under control. I’m sorry if I misjudged the situation.

Jack should have known. What was it this time? Lunch with the prime minister?

It was a networking event at the Guildhall. With the French ambassador and the Minister for Trade and Industry.

Jack wanted to roll his eyes. The threat of throwing up on the carpet held him back. He pocketed his keys and picked up his phone to call a cab. He had the Gixxer parked in the basement, but he was in no fit state to ride.

Since you weren’t here to take over, he said as he slipped his arms into his jacket, I’ve handed the docket to Jon. He said to come see him when you showed your face.

Gatting winced, but Jack didn’t feel like improving on the half-hearted dig. Gatting spent long hours at work. He just didn’t work on projects Jack considered important and thought details were for other people.

He shooed Gatting out of his office and locked the door, taking it as a win that Gatting knew better than to ask when he’d be back.

Comfortable in a rumpled T-shirt and an ancient pair of jeans, Jack straddled the doorstep of his Wimbledon home. He lifted reclaimed Victorian floor tiles one by one from a pallet and stacked them in his hallway. It was delicate work, because the tiles were not just old, they were also rare. Jack had waited months for the salvage yard to find him this last lot. He wouldn’t risk their hard work when he was this close to finishing his renovations.

He reached past the pallet and snagged the open bottle of beer, then traded it for his phone when David Bowie sung about heroes.

Yes, sir?

Don’t jump, lad. Jon Briggs’s voice held an edge of amusement. Just calling to tell you to take the rest of the week off. That was one hell of a job.

Jack hadn’t planned on taking more than a day, but he stayed silent.

Briggs didn’t make him wait. We’re not skimping on the cleanup, just because we bagged the principal players. That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?

Gatting’s already texted me details of a new assignment he’s put in for.

He’s overeager.

He’s a man of ever-shifting goal posts.

Gatting craved success and the recognition that came with completed cases. He didn’t give a shit about tying up loose ends or documenting what they’d found. Or waiting until Jack said he was done, for that matter.

He is that. But it won’t affect this case. All the teams have agreed to keep working. We’re tracing every single backlink, Jack. The transport company will go out of business with the rest of them, and so will the backers, here and abroad, never mind what connections they claim. We have enough evidence to burn it to the ground.

Jack breathed out, and his shoulders dropped a couple of notches. I appreciate it, sir, he said. I knew you’d get it.

He’d trusted the docket to Briggs for just that reason. Gatting had collected their brownie points and was already rooting around for a new assignment. Something prestigious, with enough kudos to bring him to people’s attention and keep him there. He wasn’t interested in tidying up.

How he’d ended up working with a point-scoring ladder-climber was a mystery to Jack. Did he need someone good at talking to people and spotting opportunities to balance his skill set? Or had their glorious leaders paired him with Gatting, who understood politics and played by the rules, to make Jack fit in?

Jack had never asked. He might not care about kudos and promotions, but he could count on