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

stripes on the pitted concrete. Slamming his fist onto the horn, it shrieks defiance as the car rockets to the exit. At the last moment, Klempner hurls himself to one side as they smash through the barrier and

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

catches up with him, Malory wheezing behind. “We

directly into Bech’s stomach. The man drops, grunting and clutching his 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?

through his teeth, winded; no words,

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

*****

Charlotte

trying to find Charlotte. Is she up

reply, but I interrupt her. “Yes, I’m

someone down here for you. A Mr Maurio

Master cocks

who handled

earth could

he say what it’s about,

needs to speak with you. Should

“Yes, of course.”

“You don’t have anything outstanding

there was anything,

his cheeks. “Would you like

I want to sit in

like

Ssshhhh… open and a man wearing a dark grey suit and a professional manner steps out. He glances around, then to me. “Mrs

“That’s right.”

outstretched. “Maurio Vincenzo. You dealt with my father when he handled

shake it. “Pleased to meet you. I’m a bit baffled though.

but another matter entirely. Although it was your

up. “Richard has no appointments just now, Charlotte. The conference room is free all

us in, to the sidelong

“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. You can confirm that you are the woman once known as

“That’s right.”

you can prove

I need to. But

could you please give me

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

“Right… So?”

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

and my Master stirs in his

at me…” Your old school-teacher

tightens. “Yes, I knew