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.

and Malory race behind, but Klempner cuts across, sprinting for the exit. Silhouetted against the daylight he stands, legs akimbo, arms

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

he runs after them, squinting into the sunshine but already the traffic has closed around his

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

gut. Klempner lashes out with a foot, planting his boot in Bech’s ribs. “Use a gun near her again and it will be the last thing you do. Understand me?

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

more than my boot in your guts.

*****

Charlotte

buzzes. “Francis, it’s Kirstie. I’m trying to

I interrupt her. “Yes, I’m here,

A Mr Maurio Vincenzo.

Master cocks a

who

earth could

what it’s about,

to speak with you.

“Yes, of course.”

frowning, “You don’t have anything outstanding from your divorce

I could. And if there

in his cheeks. “Would you like me to sit

want to sit

you would like

doors Ssshhhh… open and a man wearing a dark grey suit and a professional manner

“That’s right.”

steps forward, hand outstretched. “Maurio Vincenzo. You dealt with my father when he handled

shake it. “Pleased to meet you. I’m a

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

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

follows us in, to

“It’s fine,” I say.

I understand you are currently known as ‘Charlotte Summerford’, but my father dealt with one ‘Jennifer Conners’. I have only

“That’s right.”

you can prove

I need to. But why should I need

could you please give me your signature

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

“Right… So?”

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

stomach clutches and my Master stirs in

at me…” Your old school-teacher

tightens. “Yes,