Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

An hour later, he accompanies her to the offices of Hofferman and Partners.

At the main door, uniformed guards stand. Theo displays ID, offers his briefcase for search to one guard. The other points to Mitch’s bag. “That too please, miss.” Then he waves across a woman in dark blue uniform.

“Arms and legs apart, please.” Mitch stands as hands frisk up and down, patting at arms, legs, hips and torso. Theo gets the same treatment from a male guard.

“Is it always like this?” she asks as her bag is returned.

“Romani case. High security.”

In the reception, secretary nods Theo through to an office, then with a chill glance at Mitch, points her to a seat. “Wait there, please.”

After only five minutes, the phone buzzes. The secretary answers then, “Go through please, Miss Kimberley. Mr Devlin is waiting for you.”

The office is huge, plush and darkly traditional. Theo sits to one side, ankle cocked onto a knee, poised with notebook and pen.

Max Devlin, whom she normally meets in less formal circumstances, sits behind an acre of green-leathered desk, face propped on thumb and forefinger. He doesn’t look friendly.

“Miss Kimberley. I have agreed to see you because what you have said to Mr Aldred here suggests a link to organised crime. That is the only reason. You have ten minutes of my time.”

She sucks inside her cheeks, trying to raise saliva. “Max… Mr Devlin… You see… I met a man; a client… Lawrence Klempner…

*****

Devlin relaxes back into the studded leather of his seat. “On your honour, Mitch, is all this true? If I take you at your word on this and follow it up to find you’re lying to me, I’ll throw you to the dogs.”

Considerably more than the ten minutes has passed. The secretary has served coffee which Mitch drinks as her porcelain cup rattles against its saucer. Theo puts down his pen, stretching aching fingers open and closed.

you, it’s true.

didn’t you report

didn't want to go to

picks at a hangnail. “Because the police are usually unsympathetic

thought I might

two men

his nose, then sighs, thumbing towards the door.

hers. “Mitch, I’ll help. The first thing I’ll do is see what I can learn about your Lawrence Klempner. Do

head swings. “No. He was

courtesans don’t like photos…” His brow cocks, mouth quirking… “Or

the ghost

of publicity around opening Blessingmoors. I’m sure I’ll track something down I can follow. Meanwhile…” His fingers tighten around hers. “Meanwhile, we’re going to get you out of sight. Book you into a hotel. I’ll get you taxi’d there, then you keep your door locked. Don't let anyone in unless you

***** 

Michael

Book-keeping and accounts…

bloody hate

and quotes, all that stuff. But once a month, like it or not, I go over the figures. It’s the only way to be sure I have my finger on the

the spa hotel and

*sigh*

parts of it manually, ensuring the numbers pass through my brain, not just my eyes. So, I check the ratios: overheads cost per client, number of

on the settee by the fire, laptop propped on my knees, I work through it all.

own

malt which sits on the

Calculator…

as though it’s some feat of magic that will conjure