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.

Malory race behind, but Klempner cuts across, sprinting for the exit. Silhouetted against

down the aisle, up the ramp, adding to the black-burned stripes on the pitted concrete. Slamming his fist onto the horn, it shrieks defiance

the tarmac, cursing, he runs after them, squinting into the

Malory wheezing behind. “We can’t let them

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

hisses through his teeth, winded; no

Next time it’ll be more than my boot

*****

Charlotte

I’m trying to find Charlotte.

starts to reply, but I

Mr

cocks

lawyers who handled

on earth could

say what it’s

that he needs to speak with you. Should

“Yes, of course.”

have anything outstanding from your divorce

And if there was anything,

in his cheeks. “Would you like

to

like to,

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

“That’s right.”

You dealt with my

you. I’m a bit baffled though. Surely everything

matter entirely. Although it was

just now, Charlotte. The conference room is free all

us in, to the

“It’s fine,” I say.

“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

“That’s right.”

can

But why should

you please give me your signature as Jennifer

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

“Right… So?”

with it. “So, I hold

and my Master

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

“Yes, I knew