Mismatch

by Tracie Delaney

  “Sorry, pal,” the guy said, leaning back in his chair, his hands laced over his enormous stomach. “No can do. Building rules.”

  Rupe slammed his palms on the messy desk and leaned forward. His eyes fell on the nametag pinned to the guy’s shirt. “I couldn’t give a shit about the rules, Dwayne. She’s not answering the door, and yet I can hear her phone ringing inside.”

  Dwayne pushed back his chair to put a bit of distance between himself and an increasingly angry Rupe. “Well, maybe she don’t want to be disturbed.” He grinned then. “You kids have a fight?”

  Rupe’s arm shot out, and he fisted Dwayne’s shirt. Despite the weight difference, Rupe effortlessly yanked him out of his chair.

  Dwayne’s eyes bulged. “Hey, that’s assault.”

  Rupe got right up in his face. “I don’t give a flying fuck. Now, either you open Jayne Seymour’s door with a key, or I am going to put your head through it. Your choice.”

  Dwayne’s hands shot in the air. “Okay, buddy. Take it easy.”

  Rupe let go. Dwayne stumbled a little before regaining his balance. He opened a cupboard fixed to the wall. Inside were row upon row of keys. “Apartment 1146, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  Dwayne’s chubby finger trailed across the individual keys, making Rupe’s impatience levels soar. Eventually, the building superintendent found what he was looking for and unhooked it.

  They took the lift up to Jayne’s floor because there was no way Dwayne would make eleven flights of stairs without having an asthma attack or collapsing from exhaustion. As Dwayne fumbled with getting the key in the lock, Rupe dialled Jayne once more. The ringing tone got louder as the door opened. Rupe shoved past Dwayne into the apartment.

  “Jayne,” he called out as he crossed the open-plan living space and opened her bedroom door. The bed was made, her dressing gown in a heap on the floor. Rupe went into the bathroom. Damp towels. So she’d taken a very recent shower, but there was absolutely no sign of her.

  He walked back into the living room and picked up her phone, cursing when he realised it was password protected. He downloaded a software programme he’d written to his own phone and ran the script. Within a minute, he’d unlocked the security on Jayne’s phone and broken the law at the same time. Too bad. He’d apologise later.

  He went into her recent calls list. She’d made several during the day. A couple to her partner, one to her PA, and a few with names he didn’t recognise, which he guessed were clients. And two to him about an hour ago—that he hadn’t received.

  With a growing sense of unease, he glanced over at Dwayne, who was hovering by the door.

  “You can go,” Rupe said dismissively.

  “I can’t leave you in here, buddy. I’ll lose my job.”

  “Fuck’s sake,” Rupe muttered. Still, it didn’t matter any more. Jayne wasn’t there, but at least he had her phone. “Fine. I’m leaving.”

  He stepped into the hallway and waited around long enough to make sure Dwayne locked up, then he tore downstairs. He’d lucked out, because his car hadn’t been towed or even ticketed. He drove to a legal spot and pulled up the list of numbers Jayne had called.

  He contacted every one. None of them had seen Jayne. He’d tried not to worry Darren, but he could hear the concerned tone in Jayne’s partner’s voice.

  Next, he opened her text programme—and his heart nearly stopped when he saw the text she’d received under his name. With escalating alarm, he went back to Jayne’s contacts and found the number he needed.

  By the time he arrived at the home of Detective Chief Superintendent Mike Wilson, Rupe was in full-on panic mode. Mike opened the door with a baby slung over his shoulder, his large hand rubbing in circles over the screaming kid’s back.

  “Sorry, my wife is at her sister’s, so it’s my turn to babysit,” he said with a roll of his eyes as he ushered Rupe inside.

  “I’m really sorry to bother you,” Rupe said as Mike finished winding the baby and put her down in her cot, where she quit crying and decided to gurgle instead.

  “It’s not a bother. You were a bit garbled on the phone. Clue me in.”

  Rupe took a breath. “I can’t find Jayne. She’s not at home, no one at work has seen her since she left for court this afternoon, and yet there were signs that she’d been at her apartment very recently, not to mention that she’d left her phone behind.”

  Mike frowned as he rubbed his mouth. “That’s strange. No sign of a struggle?”

  Rupe shook his head. “The weirdest thing is this.” He pulled up the text and passed the phone to Mike. “I didn’t send that.”

  Mike tilted his head to one side. “But it’s come up as you. Now, I’m no technological genius, but doesn’t that mean the number it was sent from coincides with the number against the contact in Jayne’s phone?”

  “Ordinarily, yes, but it’s not impossible to fake.”

  Mike ran a hand over the top of his head. “Okay, I’ll call it in. Normally, I’d wait at least until tomorrow, but as this is so out of character for Jayne, I’ll get the guys on it now.”

  “Thank you,” Rupe said.

  Within half an hour, a couple of detectives arrived at Mike’s house, and the four of them sat around Mike’s dining room table as Rupe shared what little he knew. He kept having to wipe clammy hands on his pants as his panic and worry increased with every second that Jayne was missing.

  “Who would take her?” Rupe asked when the detectives put their notebooks away.

  “We don’t know that anyone’s taken her,” Mike said. “Let’s not jump to conclusions until we know more.”

  “Of course someone’s taken her,” Rupe said, his voice escalating along with his fear.

  And then an idea hit him. “What if it’s Fisher?”

  Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ll accept that Fisher is in a lot of trouble. He’s a desperate man, but desperate enough to turn to kidnap? I’m not sure.” He patted Rupe on the shoulder. “I know it’s difficult, but try not to worry. I’m sure Jayne going missing is something completely innocent.”

  Rupe briefly closed his eyes and prayed Mike was right.

  30

  Jayne tried to bend her arms, but due to the angle that Fisher had handcuffed her to the chair, she couldn’t. Her arms began to cramp, and she fidgeted as shooting pains shot through her biceps and up to her shoulders.

  Her mouth was dry, her lips cracked, and she began to fantasise about Rupe crashing through the rickety old door and saving her. That meant she had to be hallucinating, because she was an independent woman who was perfectly capable of saving herself—as soon as she worked out how to impersonate Houdini.

  Panic began to rush through her body, making her limbs tremble and any remaining saliva in her mouth disappear. What did Fisher want? After dumping her there and making sure she had no chance of escape, he’d disappeared. That had been hours ago, although she had no idea exactly how much time had passed.

  God. I could die in this place.

  Another shooting pain darted up her arm, and she sat as tall as the handcuffs allowed, which gave her a tinge of relief.

  The door rattled, and daylight flooded the shack momentarily before Fisher slammed the door behind him. He came inside with a Tesco carrier bag. The normality of him walking in with a bag from a supermarket clashed with the terror of her situation. She glared at him with barely contained hatred, which probably wasn’t too smart, but she was beyond caring. After years of unhappiness with Kyle, she’d finally moved on with Rupe and had stitched together her shattered self-esteem and self-worth. She would not allow this bastard to wreck all her hard work.

  “Thirsty, Jayne?” he said, waving a plastic bottle of water in her face. Despite an intense yearning to feel the cool liquid soothing her ravaged throat, she shrugged nonchalantly. Fisher laughed, the sound hollow and more than a little scary. He appeared unhinged, his hair even more unkempt than usual, his eyes wild as he paced up and down. Once again, fear rushed
through her system, making it difficult to think straight. She couldn’t allow anxiety to cloud her vision. She needed to keep a clear head and wait for her opportunity—if one ever came.

  Fisher unscrewed the bottle and thrust it between her lips. With a painful grip on her hair, he tipped her head back. Water rushed into her mouth, and she struggled to swallow. The cool liquid eased her thirst. God, it feels good.

  Before she’d had her fill, he tore the bottle away from her lips. Her eyes greedily followed his hands as he screwed the top back on the bottle. He dug around in the plastic bag and pulled out a pack of sandwiches.

  “Hope you don’t mind tuna,” he said, whipping the cellophane wrapping from around the cardboard and pulling out a limp sandwich that had definitely seen better days.

  Jayne hated tuna, but right then, she’d eat anything. She had to keep her strength up, and turning down the only food Fisher was likely to share wouldn’t be the smartest move.

  He tore off a piece of sandwich. Jayne opened her mouth, and his little finger touched her bottom lip as he slipped the bread inside. She almost baulked but then managed to chew and swallow.

  “There’s a good girl,” he said.

  The condescending prick. The minute she got her chance, he’d be wearing his balls as earrings. He gave her another couple of pieces of sandwich, until she firmly clamped her lips together and jerked her head back.

  “Your loss,” he said with a shrug. He wolfed down the rest of the sandwich, along with a pork pie. The sound of his chewing, all slop and no manners, made her grind her teeth. Once he’d finished, he dusted off his hands and shoved the empty packets inside the plastic bag. He tossed it in the corner, and when he turned back around, he had a dirty rag in his hands. Jayne’s eyes widened as he stalked towards her.

  “You don’t need to gag me,” she said. “Please don’t.”

  Fisher ignored her. He rammed the balled-up gag in her mouth and secured it with grey duct tape. Jayne forced herself to stay calm, to keep breathing steadily through her nose. The rag tasted of oil and grease. Oh God. She couldn’t vomit, not with this in her mouth. She’d choke.

  Fisher stood back and examined his handiwork. He gave a satisfied nod followed by an equally satisfied smile. “That should do it.”

  Do what?

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a compact camera. He pointed it at her face, and when the flash went off, it almost blinded her. She flinched and blinked, and squeezed her eyes shut. Fisher slapped her hard, and her eyes flew open, her cheek throbbing from his assault—the same cheek he’d slammed into the car bonnet. She could feel the swelling spreading towards her eye socket. He took a couple more pictures.

  “Okay, Jayne, here’s how this is going to go down. Your rich-as-fuck boyfriend killed the only person who was there for me, who understood me, who loved me for who I am, not who everyone thought I should be. My plan to see him rot in prison backfired somewhat, so I had to make a new plan.”

  His chest heaved as his anger rolled through him. Jayne could sense the fury building, and fear for her safety soared.

  “Now, the lower classes of this country know all too well that money talks. And Rupert Fox-Whittingham has more than his fair share. More than he deserves. So I’m going to do him a favour. In return for sending you back in one piece…” Fisher paused as a slow, maddened smile crept across his face. “Almost in one piece, he’s going to transfer a large amount of cash to a bank account of my choosing—and he’s going to make sure I get out of the country to one without an extradition order. I’m thinking Rio would suit me.”

  Jayne shook her head. The guy was crazy. Rupe didn’t have the sort of power to guarantee safe passage. The police wouldn’t agree to a deal like that for the return of someone like her. She was a nobody, at least to them. To Rupe, she was somebody, even though the longer she was away from him, the more her certainty in Rupe’s feelings faded, until their connection almost seemed like a dream.

  Fisher ripped off the duct tape, taking several strands of hair from Jayne’s already tender head. He yanked the gag from her mouth and threw it to one side. Relief swept through her. At least he wasn’t going to leave her with the foul-tasting rag in her mouth. Without saying another word, he gathered up the plastic bag, dropped the camera back in his pocket, and went outside, securely padlocking the door behind him.

  Her head lolled forwards as exhaustion and terror swept through her body, but then she took a deep breath and gave herself a talking-to. At some point, her chance would come. And when it did, she’d be ready.

  31

  “Okay, I’m officially in the doghouse, but my wife is on her way home.” Mike tossed his phone on the table and tried—yet failed—to comfort his screaming daughter.

  “I’m sorry,” Rupe said, having to raise his voice to compete with the bawling kid. “But I didn’t want this being treated as a normal missing-person case, which it would have been if I’d simply called it in.”

  Mike gave a wry smile. “Don’t worry about it. To be honest, I’m regularly in the doghouse, so nothing new there.”

  Rupe’s lips twitched briefly before despair swamped him once more. He glanced at his watch. Four in the morning. “Where is she?” he muttered.

  Before Mike could answer, Rupe’s phone pinged. Unknown number. He swiped the screen, and all the blood drained from his face.

  “Oh, God,” he said, his voice harsh and rasping. He turned the phone to face Mike.

  “Shit.” Mike snatched the phone from Rupe’s trembling hand. His brows were pulled low as he examined the photograph of Jayne. His Jayne. Bound and gagged, battered and bruised.

  Anger rolled through him. Whoever had Jayne would pay. Whatever it took.

  His phone pinged with another text, and before Mike could react, Rupe had snatched his phone back and read:

  Fifty million pounds and transport to a nonextradition country of my choice, or she dies. You have three days.

  “Now we know it’s Fisher.” Rupe turned the screen around so Mike could read the message.

  Mike frowned. “It doesn’t say that.”

  Rupe launched himself to his feet and began to pace, his mind working overtime as he pieced it all together. “Think about it. Fisher wants revenge for my supposed culpability in his sister’s death. He agrees to help Sean Reynolds fit me up, but that falls apart, and then Reynolds blabs. Fisher is furious—all his carefully laid plans turning to shit. He needs a way out, fast. He wants me to suffer, so he snatches Jayne.”

  Mike rubbed his chin. “That makes sense, but we can’t ignore the possibility it isn’t him.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Send the text and the photo to my phone, and I’ll call it in.”

  Rupe tossed his hands in the air. “That’s it? Shouldn’t I start to get the money together or something?”

  “No. Hang fire.”

  Mike grabbed his phone and disappeared outside. Rupe did as Mike asked, then he sank into the nearest chair and covered his face with his hands. He shouldn’t have let Jayne out of his sight. As soon as they’d found out about Fisher, he should have realised the danger. Mike had warned him to stay vigilant, but neither he nor the detective had even thought about danger to Jayne. He fisted clumps of his hair. Why didn’t I see this coming? Whatever Mike said, Rupe knew the only logical answer was that Fisher had her.

  He hated doing nothing, despised sitting on his hands while Fisher held all the cards. And then it came to him—the new tracking software he and Aaron had been working on. He shouted through to Mike that he’d call him later and jumped into his car.

  By the time he reached Aaron’s apartment building in Canary Wharf, the morning rush hour had begun, and he had to dodge commuters streaming off buses and trains as they headed into the financial capital for another normal day. Except that day was anything but normal for Rupe. No doubt it would bring angst and worry and terror as Fisher moved the chess pieces.

  Aaron took an age to come to the
door, despite Rupe’s furious banging. Chains rattled and door locks eased into their housings before Aaron opened up, bleary-eyed and confused.

  “Rupe, it’s my bloody day off. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I know.” Rupe eased past, catching sight of a half-naked redhead sprawled on Aaron’s bed.

  With an apologetic grin, Aaron closed the bedroom door.

  “Sorry to disturb,” Rupe said, urgency leaking into his voice. “But I need your help.”

  Aaron’s momentary embarrassment at being caught with a woman who wasn’t his girlfriend disappeared as he latched on to Rupe’s tone. “Of course, anything. Here, have a seat.”

  Rupe collapsed into the offered chair and ran a hand roughly over the top of his head. “You know that tracking software we’ve been working on?”

  Aaron nodded. “Yeah.”

  “What’s the latest beta test look like?”

  “Over ninety-five per cent accuracy.”

  Rupe’s eyebrows shot up. “That good?”

  Aaron nodded. “Another couple of weeks, and we’ll hit close to one hundred. What’s this about?”

  Rupe briefly apprised him of the situation with Jayne before handing over his phone. “There’s a picture and a text. No number. I need you to run this through the latest version, trace what phone it came from, and then give me the location details.”

  Aaron’s eyes lit up. He was a pure techie at heart, but as CEO of one of Rupe’s most successful companies, he didn’t get to fiddle about much these days. The tracking-software project had given him a welcome diversion from strategy decisions, balance sheets, and cash-flow statements.

  Aaron briefly checked out the texts Fisher had sent. “We’ll need to go into the office.”

  Rupe stood and took back his phone. “Get dressed.”

  Aaron disappeared into the bedroom. His quiet but firm voice drifted into the living room, followed by a much louder, higher-pitched one. He had to be telling his latest conquest to ship out. Sure enough, two minutes later, Aaron and the woman appeared. She gave Rupe a scathing look before slinging her bag over her shoulder and slamming the door on her way out.