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.

Five minutes later, a loud knock at the door had his heart thumping. Maybe Jayne had decided to call by. He swung open the heavy door. Outside, two suits held police identity cards in his face. Not again.

“Mr Fox-Whittingham. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Bailey. This is Detective Inspector Andrews. May we come in, please?”

“Come to charge me with another murder?” Rupe stood back to let the officers inside. “This one must be serious if I get the big brass. What happened to the delightful Detective Fisher?”

Both detectives ignored him, although the younger one, Andrews, smirked, and then straightened his face when Bailey glared at him. Rupe invited them to sit in the living room.

“So, gents, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

DCI Bailey cleared his throat. “Mr Fox-Whittingham, I’m here to let you know that all charges against you in relation to the death of Mrs Vanessa Reynolds have been dropped, although I would like to point out that this does not mean that you couldn’t be charged again in the future.”

Rupe’s mouth fell open. Jayne’s friend must have come through. If that was true, where the hell was Jayne? He’d have thought she’d have come to see him the minute she heard. It seemed he wasn’t as important to her as he’d hoped. Somehow, that thought took the edge off his delight at the news.

“Why?” Rupe said.

Bailey recoiled in surprise. “Why?”

“Yeah. You guys were so sure I did it. What’s changed?” he said, deciding that as these fuckers had wasted his time and given him several sleepless nights, he was going to make them feel a little uncomfortable.

A flush crept across Andrews’s cheeks, and he swallowed hard as he fidgeted in his seat. Bailey was more successful at hiding his discomfort, although he did clear his throat once more, a sure sign that both he and Andrews had drawn the short straw in coming to give Rupe the news.

“We discovered that the eye witness wasn’t reliable,” Bailey said.

Rupe frowned. “What do you mean?” he said, stretching out their discomfort.

“Erm, well it seems that, erm, he’d been coerced into giving a false statement.”

Rupe leaned forward in his chair, his forearms resting on his knees. “Is that so? This doesn’t have anything to do with Detective Fisher, by any chance?”

Bailey paled. “I’m afraid we can’t discuss internal police business, Mr Fox-Whittingham.”

Rupe gave a sharp laugh. “Sure you can’t. But you can charge an innocent man with murder. Throw him in the police cells for a night, drag him into court. In fact, if it hadn’t have been for my brilliant lawyer and a sympathetic magistrate, I’d have spent the last two weeks at Her Majesty’s pleasure.”

Bailey’s spine stiffened. “Please remember, Mr Fox-Whittingham, that a young woman has died. We owe it to her and her family to find out who was responsible, and if that means treading on a few toes, then so be it.”

“And I’d appreciate it if you remember that I knew Mrs Reynolds. No one is sorrier than me that she is no longer here. But know this: if I find out that Fisher was behind some sort of vendetta because he blames me for the death of his sister, then I won’t rest until that man pays. Do I make myself clear?”

Bailey’s shoulders sagged as he realised that Rupe knew more than they had thought. He got stiffly to his feet, followed by Andrews. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr Fox-Whittingham. The CPS will be in touch with a formal notification regarding the charges being dropped.”

“Thanks,” Rupe muttered ungratefully. He opened the front door and watched as the officers drove away. He was about to close it when a taxi pulled up, and Jayne climbed out. Her face was flushed, her soft russet eyes shining in triumph. He gave her a hard stare, and she stopped in her tracks.

“Was that the police leaving?”

“Yes,” Rupe said, his tone sharp.

“They told you, right?” she said, a frown marring her perfect features as she laid eyes on his deep scowl. “The charges are being dropped?”

“Yes, they told me,” Rupe turned around and went back inside the house. Jayne must have followed because he heard the front door click shut. He wandered into the kitchen and picked up a bottle of whiskey.

“Want one?” he said as Jayne appeared at the kitchen door, her frown deeper, confusion and hurt warring for equal face time.

“I think I’d better. I thought you’d be thrilled.”

“I am,” he said, pouring two large measures. He pushed one across the kitchen island towards her. “But I’d rather have heard it from you before Laurel and fucking Hardy turned up here.”

Jayne rested her hands low on her hips. “I only found out a short time ago. Mike said the CPS was preparing the paperwork. I didn’t expect the police to get here so quickly.”

“You could have called,” he said, knowing he was being childish but unable to stop himself.

“I wanted to see your face, but now that I have, I wish I hadn’t bothered.” When he didn’t reply, she let out a deep sigh. “Congratulations, Rupert. You’re in the clear. Enjoy your freedom.”

When she disappeared into the hallway, Rupe muttered, “You dickhead, Witters,” under his breath. He ran after her and wrapped an arm around her waist as she reached for the front door. He pulled her flush against him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured in her ear.

“Get off me,” she gritted out.

“No.” He brushed her hair over her shoulder, leaving part of her neck bare. He pressed his lips against her warm skin, and she shuddered.

“I’m warning you, Rupert,” she said, pushing back against him. He hardened at the feel of her soft body and the way her backside pressed into his crotch.

“I told you, Jayne, I like it rough.” His tongue traced a path from her shoulder up to her ear, and he gently sucked on her earlobe.

Jayne groaned and tilted her head farther to the side.

“I’m a free man, Jayne. There’s nothing standing in the way of us being together—apart from you. What’s your next excuse going to be?”

“I hate you,” she said.

“Lying to yourself again, Jayne?”

He spun her around in his arms, his eyes searching hers. She broke from his gaze.

“Trust me,” he said softly.

Jayne slowly lifted her chin, and for the first time, he saw raw vulnerability. And then she looked past him, over his shoulder.

“Don’t hurt me,” she said, her voice so low that he had to strain to hear her, even at such a close distance.

He curved his hands around her face, leaned in and kissed her, slow and languorous. His pulse kicked up a notch when she kissed him back.

“You’re safe with me.” He took her hand and led her upstairs.