All Chapters of Mastering Charlotte: Chapter 261 - Chapter 270

JamesNone of us speaks through our journey. We know what we're doing, what our intentions are.And this time, it is almost certainly a question of rescue. What are the chances of Charlotte escaping again? Resourceful though she is....A worry nags at me. I lean back to Richard in the rear seat. "We are sure this is the right place we're going?""Will said that the gunman was anxious to 'be helpful'," he replies. "He knows he's up for twenty to life. It's a question of how comfortable he's going to be for most of the rest of his future. He insisted apparently, that if the underground hideouts are off the menu, this is where they would take the women."I suppose I have to be satisfied with that for now. In any case, we'll soon know.Would Charlotte and Beth's abductors choose something so close out of bravado? To throw us off by misdirection? Thumbing their noses at us? A last 'fuck-you' parting shot? Could the gunman taken from the hotel fire have even been sure that....

RichardWe arrive under the window ledge. James inches up, looks in and then immediately drops down again, shaking his head and swearing under his breath. "Jeez… She's a fucking lunatic sometimes."Michael huffs. "What's she doing?""Winding them up, drawing them onto her. I think she's enjoying it.""You fucking bastards!" shrieks the voice. "You think you can do me? Let's see if you're up to it...."Michael's eyes meet mine and together we slide up, looking inside.The room is large, Klempner and his men gathered in a group.... And there's Elizabeth.My gut tightens. My beautiful Elizabeth. On the floor, hunched in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees she rocks herself. Her eyes are swollen with weeping, fiercely red against her pale face.She's terrified........ and Charlotte will keep her that way....Keep up the pretence....But the fear on her face is being nudged over by disbelief at what she sees. And at least for now, she's safe. Everyone is ignorin

Bech leans against the car, arms folded, pondering what best to do next.Klempner'll fuckin' fry me if I tell him I don't have the bitch....He looks up at the sound of footsteps. A young man, tall, blond, blue-eyed and unusually handsome approaches, then turns in to the Bennett house."Excuse me, would you be Chad Bennett?"He halts and turns. "Yes, that's right." He draws closer, looking surprised at first. "Why would a police officer be asking for me?""I'm asking in connection with Jennifer Conners. She's your wife I understand?"The man's eyes narrow. "Was my wife. What do you want with Jenny?""Was your wife? You're divorced?""If the papers haven't gone through yet, it'll happen any day. Now, why are you asking about Jenny? Has something happened to her?""We're trying to find her in connection with a series of recent petty thefts and scams."Chad snorts. "I don't believe that for a minute. You've got the wrong woman." Then he measures up the man in front of

RichardIt feels unreal. It can't possibly be real. The mind rejects such things. This isn't reality. It is the stuff of nightmares.The awful sight of James as the bullet impacts. His body jerking and jolting as he takes the shot intended for Charlotte. The agony and the shock when he cries out as he falls, unconscious, to lie in a pool of his own blood; a pool that spreads and grows, fed by the spurt of red where Corby's bullet speared into his flesh.Michael, gasping for breath, his blond hair dark with sweat, and eyes opaque with shock from the failure of his desperate attempt to bring Corby down before he could fire the shot.And Charlotte, howling in horror and disbelief, on hands and knees, covered in blood, James' blood, as she clutches and scrapes at his body.Is he dead?No....The blood is pumping....I have never seen Charlotte in anything like this condition. Always before, no matter how dire the situation, she has handled it. More than handled it. She has

RichardWhen Elizabeth and I arrive at the hospital, James is still in surgery. Charlotte and Michael, silent and strained, sit out in a waiting area. A couple of dozen seats accommodate a sketch of humanity: a small crying child, perhaps a girl, although it's hard to tell through the snot and tears, with her mother trying to comfort her. A couple of old ladies sit talking and laughing raucously, sharing tea from a flask. Two young men try to control a comrade who yells and struggles, clearly much the worse for drink and with a head wound bleeding down his face and clothes.Michael looks rough, sitting with one arm around her shoulders, his other hand holding hers.Charlotte looks appalling. Her eyes, dark-rimmed, are bloodshot hollows. Her hair and clothes, while she's obviously made some attempt at cleaning up, still carry traces of James' blood. As we arrive, she looks up and then away again, lost in tears and misery.They don't belong here....I catch Michael's eye, but h