Mismatch

by Tracie Delaney

  There was the briefest pause before Jayne murmured, “Thanks for taking me today.” And with that, she climbed out of the car and entered her building without giving him a backward glance.

  18

  Jayne spent Sunday morning thinking about the argument with Rupe. He was right: she was hiding behind Kyle’s betrayal, which, in turn, was stopping her from moving on.

  Every time she thought about the tightly contained passion she’d sensed in Rupe when he’d put his mouth on hers the day before, her stomach made that weird flip, like the feeling of that first dip on a rollercoaster. She’d bet Rupert Fox-Whittingham knew where all the important points were on a woman’s body. No need to draw that man a map.

  She closed her eyes as a shiver drifted over her skin, and then she shook her head. If only she weren’t in the middle of a messy divorce. If only she weren’t so damaged from Kyle’s treachery. If only Rupe weren’t her client.

  Deciding that moping around would do her absolutely no good, she dressed in casual gear and went into work. No need for formal attire on the weekend.

  After several hours with her head buried in case files, Jayne trudged home. Work had done its job, and she was so exhausted that her feelings for Rupe and the impossible situation they found themselves in were the last things on her mind.

  But as she entered her apartment, regret, loneliness, and sorrow assailed her. Suddenly, her work, which she’d always put above everything else—even more so since Kyle’s betrayal—seemed like a poor substitute for a real life.

  Without invitation, her mind turned to Mike. Ten years ago, he’d been in the same position she now found herself in. He’d been trying to climb the ladder, working all hours, leaving no time for himself. Yet he’d somehow managed to have it all: a position as a top-ranking police officer, a lovely wife, and a gorgeous new baby.

  She rubbed her face as an uncomfortable feeling stirred in her stomach. After analysing it, she recognised the sensation as envy. She was envious of Mike and his perfect life, and yet she could have had all that with Kyle, but she hadn’t wanted to. So why was Rupe so different? She barely knew the man. Less than two weeks had passed since Darren had given her the case. Two weeks. Jesus.

  What is wrong with me?

  When her stomach rumbled, Jayne realised that she hadn’t eaten all day. She opened the fridge and took out a sad little meal for one. She pricked the cellophane wrapper and put the black plastic tray in the microwave.

  After toying with the food for a few minutes, barely touching it, she threw the leftovers in the waste bin and headed off to bed.

  She tossed and turned for what seemed like an age, but just as she was tumbling into unconsciousness, the mattress dipped beside her.

  “Jayne,” a warm voice murmured in her ear as a large hand settled on her hip and pulled her close to an impossibly hard torso.

  Jayne’s eyes sprang open as Rupe snuggled closer. His left hand travelled over her waist, her stomach, before cupping her breast through her nightgown. Jayne repressed a groan. She should stop this before it went too far, but it had been so long since she’d felt a man’s touch.

  “How did you get in?” she murmured, but Rupe simply shushed her as he tugged down her nightgown and squeezed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Jayne arched into his hand, urging him to go harder and faster as a wave of desire crashed through her body.

  Rupe eased her onto her back and slanted his mouth across hers, his tongue taking, possessing. God, this man owned her. He was proving that with his kisses alone.

  As his mouth began to travel down her body, nipping, sucking, licking, Jayne clutched the bedclothes, scrunching them tightly in her hands. Her stomach clenched, and a rush of wetness pooled between her thighs. She’d been right: Rupe knew exactly where all of her pressure points were—which parts to stroke softly, which to treat roughly, which needed more attention than others. He was playing her like a finely tuned Stradivarius, and dear God, her body was singing.

  Rupe settled between her legs, his day-old stubble rubbing the tender flesh between her thighs, which served to shoot her desire to the next level. He sucked hard on her clit and then used that wickedly exceptional tongue of his to plunge inside her over and over again.

  “Oh, hell.” Jayne cried out as her hips automatically rose off the bed. Rupe took the opportunity to cup a hand under her backside, holding her in place as his mouth worked its magic and his fingers played about with her clit.

  This is so wrong, but God help me, it feels so right.

  Jayne felt herself building towards an inevitable climax. She rode the wave as expertly as any experienced surfer. As she reached the crest, Rupe pressed down hard on her clit, and she crashed onto the shore.

  Jayne woke covered in sweat, midorgasm. Her body twitched and pulsed as she dragged herself into full consciousness.

  Oh. My. God. She’d had a dirty dream—a wet dream about Rupe, which had resulted in an orgasm.

  Jayne began to laugh. In thirty-two years of life, she’d never climaxed in her sleep. If her dream turned out to be even mildly accurate…

  Well, that experience had taught her one thing: she had to get Rupert Fox-Whittingham off this trumped-up murder charge. And then she needed to fuck him out of her system.

  19

  The following morning, Jayne gritted her teeth and picked up the phone to call Rupe. She owed it to him to make the first move, but as she dialled, heat rushed to her face as the memory of her dream came flooding back. But heat also rushed to her core as her mind picked over the vivid details of the dream.

  “Good morning, Ms Seymour,” Rupe said when he answered the phone.

  Jayne tried to pick up on his inflection, but his voice was calm, steady, and difficult to read.

  “Hi. I wondered if you were free for breakfast this morning?”

  A pause. “Like a date?”

  She chuckled. “No. Like a planning session. Have you received the email yet about Julie Fisher? I meant to ask yesterday.”

  “But you were too busy lying to yourself yesterday, weren’t you, Jayne?”

  She sighed. “Let’s not do this.”

  “No, let’s. Did you feel what I felt when I kissed you yesterday? Or was I imagining how perfectly we fit together? How kissing you felt like home, like where I’m supposed to be? If the kissing was that good, imagine the fucking, Jayne.”

  Her face heated once more, and it had only just cooled down. Could the man see inside her head?

  When she didn’t reply, Rupe let out a heavy breath. “Fine. Have it your way—for now. Yes, I got the email. Yes, we can meet for breakfast. I’ll meet you in the coffee shop across the road from your apartment in thirty minutes, give or take, depending on traffic.” He hung up without saying another word.

  Jayne quickly dressed, put in a quick call to Darren to let him know she was meeting Rupe to discuss his case—not a complete lie—and stood by the window that overlooked the coffee shop. She spotted Rupe’s car drawing up and stopping at the kerb. He was back to the chauffeur-driven one again, probably for convenience since it was difficult to park outside her building during rush hour. She couldn’t help thinking that the limo didn’t really suit him. The convertible had been much more his style: a little clichéd but hugely endearing.

  She slung her bag over her shoulder, grabbed her briefcase, and darted downstairs. Despite their argument the previous evening, her stomach fluttered with butterflies at the thought of seeing him again, which was ridiculous. She wasn’t sixteen and meeting her first crush. She was a grown woman—soon to be a divorcee—with a serious career. But something about Rupe made her feel skittish and ditsy.

  She pushed open the door to the coffee shop and scanned the room. He was sitting at the back and had managed to grab a table by the window. He spotted her and beckoned her over. Jayne sidled past the line of people waiting for their morning caffeine fix and slipped into the chair opposite.

  “I got you a latte,” Rupe said. “I wasn’t
sure whether you wanted anything to eat.”

  His polite manner set her teeth on edge, but she couldn’t exactly blame him. He had to be wary of her mixed signals by that point. Every time he made a move, she either threw herself at him and then backed away as fast as she could, or she refused to discuss the situation at all.

  The situation? Was that what she’d compartmentalised them as? It wouldn’t surprise her if she had. Oh God. She was all over the place. This man had her seriously rattled.

  “Thanks. Coffee is fine.”

  Rupe frowned. “You should eat something.”

  The thought of food turned her stomach, because it was already full of desire. She couldn’t fit anything else in. “I’ll eat at the office. So you got the email?”

  Rupe nodded. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of the inside pocket of his jacket and slid it across the table to her.

  “It doesn’t change anything,” he said as Jayne unfolded it and began to scan it. “It seems Aaron did run it past me, and you’ll see my reply there at the top, confirming his decision.” He shrugged, although he averted his gaze, preferring instead to stare at his hands. “I honestly don’t remember, but I get so many emails, and I can’t be expected to recall the contents of each one.”

  Jayne glanced over at him. “I’m not judging,” she said, but when Rupe scowled, she rushed on. “It does confirm the connection between you and Detective Fisher, though. At the very least, it calls into question his ethics, because don’t tell me that he doesn’t know. If he pretends it’s a surprise, he’s a liar.”

  Rupe nodded. "Are you seeing Mike Wilson today?”

  “Yes, later this morning. Can I keep this?”

  “Yeah. I’ll forward you an electronic copy too.”

  Jayne downed the last of her coffee and stood. “I’ll call you as soon as I’ve spoken to Mike.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry about yesterday. We will talk, Rupe. Just not now, okay?”

  “Sure, whatever,” he said almost petulantly.

  Jayne ignored him. To respond would be to get into a pointless argument.

  After clearing up a few things at work, she dropped Mike a quick text to let him know she was on her way. He replied with a single word, Good, which ratcheted up Jayne’s interest. Maybe he had some favourable news.

  Mike was waiting outside his office when she arrived. He motioned her inside and pushed a cup of coffee towards her along with a plate of Danish pastries. Jayne accepted the coffee but declined the food.

  “How was your weekend?” she said, remembering that he was supposed to be taking the family to the beach.

  Mike chuckled. “Fine, but that’s not what you’re really interested in, is it, Jayne?”

  Jayne smiled at the chief superintendent. “You know me too well. So have you found anything out?”

  Mike nodded. “You were right about the connection regarding Fisher’s sister working for one of Mr Fox-Whittingham’s companies before she died.”

  “I know I’m right about that,” Jayne said with a tinge of irritation.

  Mike grinned. “Don’t get tetchy. I have to check these things out for myself, Jayne. Anyway, Fisher’s connection gives him a conflict of interest in the case, even if he wasn’t aware.”

  “He’s aware,” Jayne said firmly.

  Mike shrugged. “That may be. I’ve spoken to the superintendent over there this morning. We’ve agreed I’ll interview Fisher.”

  “When?”

  “Later this afternoon.”

  “I want to be there when you question him.”

  Mike grinned. “I had a feeling you’d say that.” He rose from his desk and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. “Come on. I’ll buy you a late lunch.”

  Jayne fidgeted in her seat, her leg bouncing up and down as she waited for Fisher to be brought into the room where his formal interview would take place. Mike had shown her to a small office where she’d be able to listen in, though she wouldn’t be able to see what was going on.

  After a minute or so, she heard a rustling and a door closing. Then Mike’s voice, clipped and formal, said, “Sit down, Detective Fisher.”

  Chairs scraped along the floor, which told Jayne that Fisher had brought someone with him, as was his right during an investigation into misconduct. Her suspicions were confirmed when Mike said, “For the record, Detective Barron, you are here to observe and advise, but you cannot answer questions on behalf of Detective Fisher. Is that understood?”

  A murmured, “Yes,” was followed by the clearing of a throat.

  “Right, let’s get started.” There was a rustling of papers. “Detective Fisher, my name is Detective Chief Superintendent Mike Wilson. Have you been informed of the nature of this investigation?”

  “Yes,” Fisher replied in a surly tone.

  “Then tell me, when you brought Mr Fox-Whittingham in for questioning on Monday the third of July, did you know at that time that he was the former employer of your deceased sister?”

  “Yes.”

  Jayne caught her breath. She’d expected more of a fight.

  “Did you declare this conflict of interest to your superiors or the custody sergeant?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Jayne could almost picture the sullen shrug that accompanied Fisher’s reply.

  “Oh, come on now, Detective Fisher. You’re a seasoned officer who has been with the force for a long time. You know the procedures involving conflicts of interest. I’ll ask you again. Why didn’t you inform someone of your connection to Mr Fox-Whittingham?”

  Fisher laughed, the sound hollow and without feeling in Jayne’s ear. She shuddered.

  “No comment.”

  “Detective Fisher,” Mike said, his tone calm even though Jayne knew he’d be seething inside. “Full disclosure on your part will go a long way towards leniency in this case.”

  “You want full disclosure?” Fisher spat. “That pompous, rich fucker deserves everything he gets. He killed my sister. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Chief Superintendent? What you really want to know is did I set that fucker up? The answer is yes.”

  Jayne sucked in a breath through her teeth and pressed the headphones closer to her ears. Holy cow. He admitted it.

  “I couldn’t believe my luck when he came in to give a statement after Vanessa Reynolds died. I volunteered to take on the case. My DI was hardly likely to refuse, given how under-resourced we are.”

  The monosyllabic Fisher of earlier had gone. Now, he couldn’t seem to tell his story quickly enough. His gleeful tone told Jayne he had no remorse for what he’d put Rupe through.

  “Baz—that’s the drug pusher who fingered Whittingham—is one of my informants. He was happy to oblige.”

  “Let me get this absolutely clear, Detective Fisher,” Mike said. “You’re saying that the crucial piece of evidence against Mr Fox-Whittingham, namely that he’d bought heroin from a drug pusher the night before Mrs Reynolds died, is a fabrication?”

  “Yeah.” Fisher laughed. “I knew I wouldn’t get away with it for long, but it was worth it to put that bastard through the wringer.”

  Silence filled Jayne’s ear. She could picture Mike gathering his thoughts.

  “Detective Fisher, I am suspending you immediately pending further investigation into your conduct in this matter. You will be on full pay until the investigation is complete. Please turn in your warrant card.”

  Jayne didn’t need to hear any more. She dragged off the headphones and dropped them onto the desk. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Although this didn’t answer the question of who’d pumped Vanessa Reynolds with enough heroin to kill her, it did at least absolve Rupe of the only evidence tying him to her death. The CPS would have to drop the charges against him.

  A couple of minutes later Mike appeared, looking furious. He slammed the door behind him. “Did you listen to the lot?”

  She nodded. “At least u
p to the point where you suspended him.”

  “Fucker,” Mike said through clenched teeth. “As if this job isn’t tough enough. Bent coppers like Fisher just make it all the harder.”

  Jayne rose from her chair and swept a hand down his arm. “Drink?”

  “Yeah. Better make it a double.”

  “So what happens now?” Jayne said once they were settled in a pub not far from Kennington station with much-needed glasses of wine.

  “The CPS is in the process of dropping the case against your client. The overall case is still open, though, so there’s no guarantee that he wouldn’t be charged in the future if the evidence points that way. After all, a woman has still died under suspicious circumstances.”

  “I understand,” Jayne said. “Thank you, Mike. Thank you so much.”

  Mike shook his head. “No, thank you, Jayne, for trusting me enough to bring it to my attention.” He clinked his glass against hers. “Cheers.”

  As she and Mike left the pub, a taxi was just dropping someone off. She said goodbye to Mike and jumped in the back. She gave the driver Rupe’s address. It was time to celebrate.

  20

  Rupe slammed the front door when he got home after his abortive breakfast with Jayne. Maybe he needed to back right off and let Jayne come to him when she was ready, rather than constantly pushing and cajoling her. But then he might have to go days without seeing her, and that wouldn’t do. Not at all.

  He ignored Abi’s bright chatter, instead choosing to lock himself away in his study. It was so strange: he was more concerned with his lack of progress with Jayne than the murder charge looming over his head, which was completely preposterous.

  He got caught up in the vast amount of work that he’d been putting off for too long, and before he knew it, the day was drawing to a close. He heard Abi leave, although she didn’t come to say goodbye, probably because she sensed his mood. He’d make sure to apologise the next time he saw her.