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.

across, sprinting for the exit. Silhouetted against the daylight he stands, legs

foot flat on 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

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

up with him, Malory wheezing behind.

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? Hurt

in on himself, Bech hisses through his teeth,

it’ll be more than my boot in your guts. Now get

*****

Charlotte

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

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

have someone down here for you. A Mr Maurio Vincenzo.

cocks

lawyers who

on earth could they

he say what

needs to speak with you. Should I send him

“Yes, of course.”

have anything outstanding from

don’t see how I could. And if there was anything, I’m sure Chad would

sucks in his cheeks. “Would you like me to sit

to

you would like to, yes, of

and a professional manner steps out. He glances around, then to me. “Mrs

“That’s right.”

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

take the hand, shake it. “Pleased to meet you. I’m a bit baffled

holds up 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 you. Is there somewhere we can

conference room

Master follows us in, to the sidelong glance

“It’s fine,” I say.

known as ‘Charlotte Summerford’, but my father dealt with one ‘Jennifer Conners’. I have only Mr Bennett’s word that you are the same person. You can confirm that

“That’s right.”

you can prove

I need to. But why should

now, could you please give me your signature

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 to why I am here. As

“Right… So?”

holds up the document, punctuating his words with it. “So, I

and my Master stirs in

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

tightens. “Yes, I