Jayne couldn’t raise a smile when she walked into work the day after she and Rupe landed back in the UK. She was tired, grumpy as hell, jet-lagged, and already missing the man who had become far too important to her in a short space of time.

It had crossed her mind at least ten times in the last twenty-four hours that their relationship was moving too fast, but then she’d think about not being with him, and a pang would spread through her chest.

She hadn’t seen him since he’d dropped her off at her apartment the previous morning, and she missed him, which, when she thought about it, was bloody stupid. She was a grown woman, not a teenager. I can manage on my own quite well, thank you very much. Oh, but she ached for him. His absence had caused a great big hole to open up in her chest, and although she’d try to keep busy, she doubted work would fill it.

As she swept down the corridor, Donna rose from her desk, wearing a bright smile and holding a cup of coffee in an outstretched hand.

“It’s so great to have you back,” she said as Jayne took the paper cup from her. “You look amazing.”

“I feel like shit.” Jayne nudged open her office door with her hip. “Jet lag is a bitch.”

Chuckling, Donna followed her inside. “Well, you’ve got a fabulous tan. Did you have a good time?”

Jayne pointed at the chair opposite her desk, as she slid into her own behind it. “Lovely, thank you. Now, sit down and tell me what’s been going on around here,” she said, refusing to spill her guts about her holiday. Donna was great at her job, but she was also the head of gossip central, not just where Jayne worked but at several other law firms too. The law community was small and tight-knit.

Donna filled her in on the past ten days’ activities, and together, they went through Jayne’s calendar for the rest of the week. Thank God it was already Wednesday and she had a short week. That thought caught her off guard. On the odd occasion that she’d taken a holiday with Kyle, she’d always been chomping at the bit to get back to the office, regularly working the next several weekends to catch up. But while Donna droned on, Jayne tuned her out, her mind turning to the fit-as-all-hell billionaire she’d spent the last ten days with instead.

After she finally managed to shoo her assistant out of her office, Jayne gritted her teeth, put her head down, and got to work. Every now and then, she’d reach for her phone, make sure it wasn’t on silent, and then check to see if Rupe had texted her. When he hadn’t, she would swallow her disappointment and go back to her caseload.

At the end of an interminably long day—made worse because of an argument with a client who seemed to think he knew better than she did—Jayne made her way to the tube. Her feet were killing her. After ten days in flip-flops and flats, her corns did not appreciate being crammed into three-inch heels.

She picked up her post and took the lift upstairs. The second she set foot in her apartment, she kicked off her shoes. After grabbing a juice from the fridge, she slumped onto the sofa and let her head fall back, her eyes closing of their own accord. She’d known the first day back would be difficult, but as the last bit of energy drained from her, she began to wonder where her mojo had gone.

First-day-back-at-work blues, that’s all.

Jayne forced her eyes open and flicked through the post. Junk, bills, more junk. And then her tiredness was forgotten. At the bottom of the pile was a letter from her divorce lawyer. With shaking hands, she ripped open the envelope. As she scanned the letter, a sense of elation mingled with melancholy swept through her. The application for the decree nisi had been filed with the court. Although glad to be finally rid of the cheating bastard, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of loss at the time wasted. Seven years of her life spent on someone who had turned out to be the epitome of everything she abhorred. In three months, she’d have to tick the “divorced” box when forms asked for “marital status.”

She tossed the letter onto the coffee table and rose from the couch. Her stomach rumbled, but the thought of food wasn’t as appealing as a shower. She wanted to wash away the remnants of this crappy day. And Rupe still hadn’t called or texted her. But then, she hadn’t contacted him either.

What if, now that they were home, he’d changed his mind and decided that putting down roots in London wasn’t what he wanted after all?

Goddammit. She hated the uncertainty of new relationships—the way the mind played tricks, constantly throwing out multiple what-ifs. She hated the way that her confidence ebbed, making her question absolutely everything.

She stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower. Turning the temperature right up, she stood under the punishing spray without moving, her head tipped forward as the water cascaded over her neck and down her back. After a few minutes, she began to feel human again as both doubt and grime disappeared down the drain.

She shrugged into a dressing gown and swaddled her hair in a towel. Digging her phone out of her bag, she went to call Rupe and then chickened out. A text would seem more casual, less needy.

She wrote and deleted several messages before deciding on something light and breezy: Hope your jet lag isn’t as bad as mine.

She added a smiley on the end. Maybe she should have ended it with a kiss. No, if she wanted to keep it casual, an emoji worked better. Dear God, I’m getting on my own nerves. Get a grip, Jayne.

She tossed her phone on the couch and went to dry her hair. When she returned half an hour later, she reached for it, her heart thundering as she checked out the screen. Two texts.

She opened the first: I missed you today.

And the second: I’m coming over.

Both texts had been sent one minute after hers. She jumped at a rap on the door, and her pulse jolted.

“Hang on,” she called out as she looked in the mirror and checked herself out. No time to put any makeup on. She tucked her hair behind her ears and strode across her apartment.

She drew to a halt in front of the door and took a deep breath. “Hi—”

Rupe cut her off as he curved his hands around her neck and kissed her. He leaned his body into hers, forcing her to walk backwards. She heard the door slam. When they broke apart, a ghost of a smile graced his lips, but it was eclipsed by the hunger in his eyes.

“I swear today lasted about a hundred hours.” He bent to peck her lips once more.

“At least you could sleep off your jet lag. I had to work.”

“Oh, my poor baby.” He slipped his arms around her waist. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“Why don’t I order something, and then you can tell me all about your day?”

“Sounds perfect.” She twisted out of his arms and removed a bunch of take-out menus from her kitchen drawer. “What do you fancy?”

“Apart from you?”

She gave him a stern look. “To eat.”

Rupe chuckled. “Same answer.”

She tossed the menus at him. He managed to catch most, but a couple of them fluttered to the floor. “You are such an idiot,” she said with a scowl, which deepened when he laughed harder.

He picked up the fallen menus from the floor and flicked through them. “Jamaican jerk chicken it is, then,” he said, which made her laugh.

Jayne poured a couple of glasses of wine as her phone rang. Her eyes widened when she saw who was calling. “Hey, Mike,” she said, glancing at her watch and then at Rupe, who was wearing a puzzled look. “Is everything okay? It’s pretty late.”

“Yeah, sorry, Jayne,” Mike said. “I was wondering if you could swing by my office in the morning.”

“What for?”

“I have some news on the Vanessa Roberts death that you might be interested in.”

Jayne stood up straight. “Oh yeah? Have you found out what happened to her?” She mouthed “Vanessa” at Rupe, who immediately joined her in the kitchen. She put the phone on speaker, and set it down on the kitchen counter.

“Look, it’s a bit difficult over the phone. Face-to-face would be better.”

She shared a look with Rupe. “You’ve really piqued my interest. Any reason I can’t pop over now?”

“Yes, Jayne, there is. I have a wife and a daughter to get home to. Come and see me at nine tomorrow morning. And see if you can get hold of Rupert Fox-Whittingham. He should hear this too.”

Jayne winked at Rupe and placed a finger over his lips. “We’ll be there.”

* * *

The following morning, Jayne and Rupe were escorted to Mike’s office, their curiosity off the charts. They’d stayed up all night running scenarios, which might have been a useless waste of time but managed to keep them sane while they waited for dawn to break.

Mike’s PA told them to wait as he was on a call. She had a scowl for Jayne and a coy smile for Rupe. Jayne paced the hallway, whereas Rupe lounged in a chair, his legs splayed wide, hands laced behind his head. Honestly, the man was so laid-back, but instead of his demeanour having a calming mirrored effect on Jayne, she found her blood pressure rising.

Mike’s door opened, and he beckoned to them. After brief introductions were made, he motioned for them to sit. “I’m sorry if I was a bit cloak-and-dagger last night. I wanted to make sure I could get you both to come here as soon as possible, before you hear this somewhere else.”

Jayne leaned forward, sliding her chair closer to Mike’s desk. “Hear what?”

As Mike rested his arms on his desk, the light from the window fell on his face, and Jayne couldn’t help thinking how tired he looked. The skin beneath his eyes was dark and bruised, the lines around his mouth pronounced.

“There’s been a development in the Vanessa Roberts case.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I barely know where to start.”

Jayne began to fidget in her chair. Rupe put a hand on her knee to still her. Mike spotted the affectionate touch, and his eyes widened.

“Spit it out, Mike,” Jayne said. “The suspense is killing me.”

Mike blew out a breath. “We’ve charged the husband with conspiracy to commit murder.”

Rupe hissed a breath as Jayne fixed Mike with a hard stare. “So it was the husband,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s not all,” Mike said. “God, this is a fuck-up beyond all proportions. The commissioner has asked me to personally oversee this investigation.” He took a sip of water. “After the charges against you were dropped,” he said, indicating to Rupe, “the pressure increased on the local force to find out what happened. The media ran several campaigns, and when the lack of a viable suspect ramped up the pressure, I was asked to temporarily transfer a few of my senior officers over to Kennington to bolster the investigation. After some damned fine police work, we were able to bring Mr Reynolds in for questioning. He crumbled pretty quickly once we presented him with the facts.”

“What was his motive?” Rupe asked.

Mike steepled his fingers under his chin. “It turns out that Mrs Reynolds told Mr Reynolds she was leaving him. For you.”

Jayne swivelled her head in Rupe’s direction so quickly she damn near broke her neck. “Is this true?”

Rupe remained as calm as ever, although Jayne did spot a slight tightening of the skin around his mouth at her challenge. “No, it’s not true. Vanessa was a temporary distraction. Even if she’d been single, I wouldn’t have wanted anything more permanent.”

Jayne twisted back around in her seat, but the maelstrom of emotions swirling within her must have shown on her face, because he covered her hand with his and squeezed, an attempt at reassurance.

“Anyway,” Mike continued, either oblivious to the emotional undercurrent between her and Rupe or deciding to ignore it, “Mr Reynolds, whose influence stretches far and wide, used some contacts and pulled in a few favours. The reason why you can’t remember very much from that night, Mr Fox-Whittingham, is because your drinks were spiked. You don’t remember walking back to Mrs Reynolds’s hotel room because you didn’t. You were driven there by an assassin Mr Reynolds hired. Once you were both out of it, the hitman injected Mrs Reynolds with a massive overdose of heroin, one that she wouldn’t have stood a chance of surviving.”

“Jesus.” Rupe ran a hand over the top of his head. “I still don’t understand why, though. Even if he did think Nessa and I were running off into the sunset together, that’s hardly a reason to kill her. From what Nessa told me, their marriage was a sham anyway.”

“It seems that when Mrs Reynolds told her husband she was leaving him, he threatened to cut her off, to make sure she left penniless. He also said he’d throw Mrs Reynolds’s mother, who has Alzheimer’s, out of the nursing home that he was paying for. Mrs Reynolds decided to hit back. She told him that she knew all about his dodgy dealings over the years, and she threatened to expose him, to report them to the police and the newspapers.” Mike shrugged. “So he had her killed and set you up as the fall guy.”

Jayne frowned and shook her head slightly. “But how do Fisher and the drug pusher fit into all this?”

Mike closed his eyes briefly. “What I’m about to say stays within these four walls for now. Do I make myself clear?”

Rupe and Jayne nodded.

“That’s what I meant before when I said we had a right fuck-up on our hands. Fisher and Sean Reynolds knew each other from way back. They grew up on the same estate, but their lives obviously took very different directions. Reynolds found out about Fisher’s sister, and he used it as leverage to persuade Fisher to help him get you, Mr Fox-Whittingham, sent down for Mrs Reynolds’s murder—in exchange for a tidy sum, of course, which Fisher would receive if you were found guilty. Fisher jumped at the chance. Not only would he get revenge for his sister’s death, but he’d also be able to quit the force, to live the kind of life that he always thought was owed to him.”

Rupe’s hand tightened around Jayne’s as she shuffled even farther forwards in her seat. “So Fisher copped to all this?”

A faint flush crept up Mike’s neck, and he shook his head. “We don’t know where he is. Uniform went to pick him up yesterday, but he’d scarpered. His flat had been cleared of all personal items and his bank account emptied. We’ve put out an alert. He won’t get far. In the meantime, Mr Fox-Whittingham, I suggest you remain vigilant until we have Fisher in custody. He clearly has a vendetta against you, and I can’t say for sure that he won’t act on that.”

“Wow,” Rupe said with a shake of his head. “I really appreciate you sharing this with me.” He rubbed his fingertips over his lips. “Will I need to testify when it comes to trial?”

“Perhaps. That’ll be up to the CPS. I’ll keep you both updated.” Mike grimaced. “And please keep this confidential. The media will get hold of this story soon enough, but I’d rather it was through an official statement, written by the police press office, than a leak that will cause fallout that we won’t be able to control.”

Jayne rose from her chair. “Thank you, Mike. And don’t worry, this stays between us.”