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.

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

into the sunshine but already the traffic has closed around his quarry.

wheezing behind. “We can’t let them go. I’ll

planting his boot in Bech’s

his teeth, winded;

time it’ll be more than my boot in your

*****

Charlotte

Kirstie. I’m trying to find Charlotte. Is she up

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

here for you. A Mr Maurio Vincenzo.

cocks

lawyers who

on earth could they

what

to speak with you. Should I send him

“Yes, of course.”

don’t have anything outstanding

see how I could. And if there was anything,

cheeks. “Would you like me to

I want to

you would like to, yes,

wearing a dark grey suit and a professional manner steps out. He glances around, then to me.

“That’s right.”

You dealt

you. I’m a bit baffled though. Surely everything to do with my

your divorce, but another matter entirely. Although it was your

The conference room is

follows us in, to the sidelong glance of

“It’s fine,” I say.

down, “First of all,” says Vincenzo, 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 Summerford’, but my father dealt with

“That’s right.”

you can prove

need to. But

now, could you please give

finger pressed to his lips as I sign my old and long-abandoned name. The lawyer compares 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. Now…” He takes out another document. “As

“Right… So?”

the document, punctuating his words with it. “So, I hold here the will deposited with

clutches and my Master

the rim of his spectacles at me…” Your old school-teacher I

throat tightens. “Yes, I