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.

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

Slamming his fist onto the horn, it shrieks defiance as

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

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

man drops, grunting and clutching his gut. Klempner lashes out with a foot, planting his boot in Bech’s

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

be more than my boot in your guts. Now get up and

*****

Charlotte

it’s Kirstie. I’m trying

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

someone down here for you. A Mr Maurio Vincenzo. He says

cocks a questioning

who

earth could

say what it’s about,

he needs to speak with you.

“Yes, of course.”

Master, frowning, “You don’t have

And if there was anything, I’m sure Chad would have mentioned

cheeks. “Would you like me

I want to

like to, yes, of

elevator doors Ssshhhh… open and a man wearing a dark grey suit and a professional manner steps out. He glances

“That’s right.”

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 though. Surely everything to do with my divorce

to do with your divorce, but another matter entirely. Although it was your estranged husband who informed us where we could find you.

just now, Charlotte. The conference room is free all morning.” She

follows us in, to the

“It’s fine,” I say.

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 one ‘Jennifer Conners’. I have only Mr Bennett’s word that you are the same person.

“That’s right.”

can

to. But why should

could you please give

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 I mentioned, my firm was contacted recently by your ex-husband, Charles Bennett, to inform us that he had relocated you after he, and we, lost track

“Right… So?”

document, punctuating his words with it. “So, I hold

stomach clutches and my Master stirs in his

at me…” Your old school-teacher I understand…” He hesitates. “As you

throat tightens. “Yes,