Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

Mitch

She descends the stairs as if the devil is behind her…

He is…

She risks a look up; the briefest of glances. She can’t see him, but the clang of pursuit echoes above her.

And she runs…

Down two stories, three. Almost to ground level… and there… As she hits tarmac… a door close by… An emergency exit swings open, a body erupting out of it…

Frank.

He canons into her, grabbing her by the waist, swinging her around.

“Mitch…”

“Don’t stop.” She jerks a head up to where Klempner rattles down the steps after her. “Where’s your car?”

“Basement, but the keys…”

“Got them. Move.”

The pair swerve, u-turning back into the stairwell, barrelling downwards. From above, the sound of a slamming door; echoing boots on concrete

They burst into the parking lot.

“Where?” She peers into the low dark space.

“There.” He points, still running, snatching at her wrist, towing her along. From behind another crash from a swinging door. From off-side, Bech appears with Malory, both with guns in their hands.

The pair dash from one grey concrete pillar to another; stooping, running at a crouch, dodging between corridors of vehicles; vans, station wagons, saloons… Then, a sports car; shiny, bright red and low…

A crack behind her. A whistle…

Mitch shrieks and drops as the bullet skids over the door of the two-seater, taking paintwork with it…

Klempner’s voice, reverberating through the low space. “Put the fucking gun down. Hurt her and I’ll gut you.”

… but she keeps moving…

Frank is ahead of her. For a moment he skids, foot sliding over a patch of oil. Slipping, he falls but catches himself on the handle of the nearest door, then, “There… Keys!”

She tosses them across and twisting, he catches them one-handedly, pointing ahead to his own 4x4. Lights flash orange, beeping and the crunch of disengaging locks resound through the low-ceilinged space.

She tumbles into the passenger seat.

“Stay down.” Frank engages and with the screech of tortured rubber, the car careens down the ranks of vehicles.

the exit. Silhouetted against the daylight he

the gas, the car screams down the aisle, up the ramp, adding to the black-burned stripes on the pitted concrete. Slamming his fist onto the horn, it shrieks defiance as the car rockets to the exit. At the last moment, Klempner hurls himself to one side

the tarmac, cursing, he runs after them, squinting into the sunshine but already the

behind. “We can’t

planting his boot in Bech’s ribs. “Use a gun near her again and it will be the last thing you do. Understand me? Hurt her

on himself, Bech hisses through his teeth, winded; no words,

be more than my boot in your guts. Now get

*****

Charlotte

buzzes. “Francis, it’s Kirstie. I’m trying to find Charlotte. Is she up

to reply, but I interrupt her. “Yes, I’m here,

here for you. A Mr Maurio Vincenzo. He says he’s from

Master cocks a questioning

lawyers who handled my

on earth could

he say what it’s about,

needs to speak with you. Should

“Yes, of course.”

“You don’t have anything outstanding from your divorce

could. And if there was anything, I’m sure

you like me to sit

I want to sit in

like to, yes,

a man wearing a dark grey suit and a professional manner steps out. He glances around,

“That’s right.”

You dealt

hand, shake it. “Pleased to meet you. I’m a bit baffled though. Surely everything to do with my

a hand. “This isn’t to do with your divorce, but another matter entirely. Although it was your estranged husband who informed us where we could find

just now, Charlotte. The conference room is free all morning.” She gestures across. “If you’ll go through,

us in, to the sidelong

“It’s fine,” I say.

clicking open his briefcase, “I mean no offence, but you and I have not met before and I must establish your identity. I understand you are currently known as ‘Charlotte

“That’s right.”

you can

need to. But why should

give me your signature

it with some paper from his case, then looks up again, smiling, holding up the paper. “Your original petition for divorce,” he comments. “And that’s fine, Mrs Summerford.

“Right… So?”

with it. “So, I

clutches and my Master stirs in

spectacles at me…” Your old school-teacher I understand…” He hesitates. “As you probably know, he died some years

“Yes,