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.

but Klempner cuts across, sprinting for the exit. Silhouetted against the daylight

concrete. Slamming his fist onto the horn, it shrieks defiance as the car

the sunshine but already the traffic has closed around his quarry. They’re

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

Klempner lashes out with a foot, planting his boot in

Bech hisses through his teeth, winded; no

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

*****

Charlotte

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

to reply, but I interrupt

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

Master cocks a questioning

who handled

on earth

say what

speak with you. Should I

“Yes, of course.”

frowning, “You don’t have

if there was anything, I’m sure Chad

“Would you like me

I want to

like to,

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

“That’s right.”

You dealt with my father

to meet you. I’m a bit baffled though. Surely everything 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 speak

conference room

in, to the sidelong

“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 one ‘Jennifer Conners’. I have only Mr Bennett’s word that

“That’s right.”

you can prove

I need to. But why

you please give

Master sits, silently watching, a 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 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 of

“Right… So?”

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

stomach clutches and my Master stirs in his

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

throat tightens. “Yes, I