

### CONNEXIONS

### by Thelma Mariano

Copyright 2016 by Thelma Mariano

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition - License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial purposes. You are welcome to share it with your friends, provided the book remains in its complete original form. Thank you for your support.

http://thelmamariano.com

Cover art by Rae Monet, Inc.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

### Author's Note

ConneXions is about women searching for love and ultimately finding themselves. It's also the name of a dating site where the two main characters are exposed to a serial killer.

Crime novels often focus on "the hunt for the killer" and victims are little more than statistics. In this story, I have chosen to reveal the emotional lives of women who have been targeted by a psychopath. By getting into their hearts and minds, the reader is able to follow them as they step into dangerous waters.

###  PROLOGUE

### Montreal

### MONDAY, May 31st

Kyle paced the length of his hotel room. When the knock came, he was ready. His hands were slightly clammy, so he rubbed them against his trousers before opening the door. What struck him about the woman standing in the hallway were her eyes. They gleamed in the dim light. A mossy green \- like Lori's.

For a moment he just stared.

She peered past him into the room, instantly appraising what she saw. "Nice. Aren't you going to let me in?"

"Of course. I'm glad you made it." His stomach tightened as she brushed past him. He clicked the door shut behind them, reassured by the familiar metallic sound - the finality of it.

Her high heels sank into the plush carpeting as she slowly spun around the room. A bedside lamp lent a soft glow, and in the sitting area, he'd left on the tall brass lamp. The blinds were only partially open. With an expression of wonder, she walked over to the window. From the twenty-fifth floor, rows of bright lights glittered below them: downtown Montreal at its finest. "Great view."

He hoped she enjoyed it; it would be her last. Before things could unfold the way he planned, though, he had to put her at ease. The right words came easily, as they always did.

"Can you see the moon, half-hidden among the clouds?" he whispered against her ear. "Mysterious, yet beautiful. Just like you."

She murmured something back, but he wasn't listening. Her shoulders had relaxed and her feet moved slightly apart, telling him what he needed to know.

"Here, let me take your jacket." As he slipped off her linen jacket, he let his fingers graze her bare shoulders. As he knew she would, she had dressed appropriately. The gold lace halter top and trousers clung to her body, showcasing every curve. Her hair, usually worn loose to her shoulders, was swept up and pinned at the back. "You've done something different with your hair. I like it."

She glanced back at the coffee table. "Champagne?"

"I want this to be special for both of us," Kyle said.

He uncorked the bottle, poured the Dom Pérignon into two glasses and handed her the fuller one. "A toast. To finally being alone together. I've looked forward to this for some time."

"So have I."

Kyle smiled at her. If she only knew what he had in mind. But then how could she? He played his role so convincingly that he half believed it himself. "I've been trying to be patient. It's been hard, in more ways than one."

Her brows lifted at the innuendo. "You like the anticipation, Kyle. The chase. Did you wonder if I'd come?" Her fingertips lightly caressed the glass.

"No. You want this as much as I do. I know you aren't satisfied at home." _And your husband, the poor bugger, probably thinks he's doing everything right._

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions, but I will agree on one thing - I'm glad to be here now. To a night we'll always remember." She clinked her glass against his before raising it to her lips.

He took a long sip and put his drink down. When he lowered his head to nuzzle her neck, he met the subtle fragrance of vanilla. Good - she had worn the perfume he had given her. Thinking of the time ahead, his blood stirred. Somehow he had to make tonight last.

The question was how far to go before reaching under that pillow. And the answer was clear. He wanted to feel her move beneath him, then see the expression of pleasure on her features change to shock as the leather boot lace cut across her windpipe. See the look of betrayal in her eyes as she realized that she had completely misjudged him. That she really didn't know him at all.

The dating site had made it easy to find these women. Their profiles revealed more than they knew; he could always spot the vulnerable ones. He was amazed at how quickly they agreed to meet him alone. Only three dates and they were his.

He silently thanked ConneXions.

### Three Weeks Earlier

### SUNDAY, May 9th

### Chapter One

_You have 2 new messages._ The email sent a quiver of anticipation down Stephanie's spine. They had to be from George. Telling her when he could see her again. They had met only once last week and missing him was a constant ache.

She turned off her phone and reached for the old laptop stashed at the back of a pantry shelf. It felt safer connecting to the system this way and she needed the bigger screen.

Apart from the humming of a fourteen-year-old fridge and the spattering of rain against the windowpanes, the house was still. At 1:00 a.m., Richard wasn't coming home. He didn't bother making excuses anymore and she no longer asked.

Stephanie set the laptop on the dining room table and turned it on. Then she logged onto ConneXions through her user name _Sleepless2Nite_ and password. Every second dragged as she waited for her profile to come up.

She craned her head towards the stairs. Again she heard the floor creak - softly, as if someone were being careful not to be heard.

Instantly she thought of the murders: eleven women since February. All of them strangled in their own homes. Except of course for the young mother attacked in the St. Rémi tunnel eight days ago. She'd been struggling with her shopping bags, probably thinking of dinner and the three children waiting in a St. Henri apartment, when she'd been knocked down from behind. Like the ten other victims, she'd been raped.

No matter how empty she found her life with Richard, without this marriage, that could have been her.

Maybe the killer was here now. He could have been watching the house and knew she was alone tonight. The image of her naked body sprawled across the tiled floor was so real she could see every hill and valley of her flesh. In her mind's eye she watched Richard slip into the house after dawn; saw his eyes widen at the sight.

Her next thought was for the children. What if they came down in the morning and saw her corpse on the kitchen floor? How would they deal with the shock? And how would they survive without her? No one cared about their welfare as much as her. Only moments ago she'd peeked into their bedrooms for another check. It was something she did to reassure herself since they were infants. This time she had only glanced at Emma's peaceful face and then straightened Justin's cover, which he had flung across the bed in his sleep.

She grasped the bottle of Smirnoff on the table. Bottle in hand, she crept towards the stairs in the darkness, ready to do battle if she had to. A draft chilled her bare ankles as she moved forward in her pink slippers. The nightdress bunched, restricting her movements, until she straightened it out with a free hand.

Then she heard the toilet flush upstairs and realized that Emma or Justin had gotten up. Stephanie decided it had to be Emma, since she had drunk more liquids than usual after dinner.

Stephanie let out a deep sigh and returned to the kitchen. Slivers of moonlight from the back window provided just enough light to see. Before returning to the laptop, she reached for her glass. It had been drained. One more drink, then she'd check out her messages. Did George have any idea how she felt? Every day without him was more desolate than the one before.

She added a generous splash of vodka to her glass, followed by pineapple juice. Then she put the bottle back under the sink and poured the rest of the juice into a container which she placed in the fridge. Slowly she savored her second drink, letting its cool sweetness slide down her throat. Already the liquor had smoothed the edges of her anxiety.

Deciding to be a stay-at-home Mom after losing her job two years ago had come with a price. It had never been about money; Richard made enough to support them in style. She needed to work for the outside contact and the feeling of independence. Staying home felt like a trap. It was only temporary, she told herself. Until Justin was a little older.

Now she heard more creaking of the floor overhead as Emma made her way back to bed; the sound reassured her. She flipped the lid on her laptop and went to her inbox on ConneXions.

One of the messages was from a 25-year-old who called himself Dirty Dave. He claimed to like "older women," especially married ones. How had he even found her? She had not included any photos with her profile, although anyone could tell she had private images to share. After deleting his message, she went to her second message. Her heart fell as she realized it wasn't from George.

The man's headline read, _Loves Cats, Loves to Dance_. Similar to her own, _Let's Dance 'Til the Music Stops_.

Under user name _Searching4U_ , he had sent her two private images, both head shots. She inhaled sharply. Why was this man even on the system? He had dark hair, cropped short, a strong jawline and eyes that seemed to see right through her. Apparently, he was also 6 feet tall. And worked in investments.

_When I saw your tagline, I had to write_ , he began. _We have a common interest, don't we? I'd love to take you out on the dance floor. It can be modern or even a waltz. Life is too short to waste feeling alone. I want to be with someone, but I've gotten more discriminating in my thirties. My instincts about women are pretty good. They tell me you're very sweet, and just as lovely on the outside. Maybe a little shy_.

Why don't you send me a picture so we can see if we're a match? Then you can tell me more about yourself. Kyle.

Hmmm. Kyle listed himself as divorced. He had hundreds of women's profiles to choose from - married or not. Profiles with photos. Why had he chosen HER? Stephanie hadn't said much about herself, though she could feel her loneliness in every word she had written.

Warmed by Kyle's message, she decided to keep it for now. She wouldn't answer him, not with George in her life. Why hadn't he responded? Already she had left two messages for him on the system. Her stomach tightened. Maybe he hadn't admitted that he loved her, but no one could make love to her like that and not care. And they had seen each other six times over the past three weeks.

She clicked on _Free30DayTrial_ to read George's profile for the umpteenth time. His ad was still running. It gave her a sinking feeling that he hadn't removed it from the dating site. That was the only reason she had kept her own profile on ConneXions. Why erase hers when he still welcomed messages from other women?

After hanging up the phone, she climbed the curved staircase to the master bedroom. How many times had she made this solitary trip, driven by her insomnia and the vastness of their king-size bed? Even with Richard beside her, it felt lonely. When he was home, they slept with their backs to each other with an arm's length of space between them.

Stephanie fluffed her pillow and stretched out on the mattress, pulling the flowered sheet over her. Outside, thunder rumbled overhead as a hard rain pelted the roof. With the windows tightly closed, the room felt stuffy and she found it hard to breathe. How had she been reduced to this? Depending on the odd drink and an affair to keep her sanity - she who had once believed in the sacredness of marriage. Then she heard Justin cough in his bed down the hall, and she knew.

Richard had threatened to sue for full custody when she mentioned divorce. As a corporate lawyer, he had money and contacts. Although the marriage had lost its moorings, her children still needed her. This was a _temporary_ situation.

She would do what she must to meet her own needs until she could leave.

### Chapter Two

Jenny felt her stomach clench as her companion fitted a key into his apartment door. _You can do this. Get your rocks off and then go home_.

"This is what I like most about being divorced," Mike said. "Being able to take a beautiful woman home at three in the morning." As if sensing her uneasiness, he smiled at her as he pushed the door open. "We have all night, right?"

"Yes. My husband's away 'til tomorrow afternoon." How easily the lie rolled off her tongue. After weeks of referring to an imaginary spouse, she almost believed in him herself. The fake wedding band didn't stop men at the bar from putting the moves on her. Sometimes she thought it made them try harder.

He reached inside the entrance and switched on the overhead light. "Excuse the mess. I wasn't expecting company. Can I get you something to drink?"

"White wine, if you have it." Already she'd consumed eight or nine spritzers. The drinks, by themselves, were of little consequence. It was the excuse to smoke she really wanted.

She removed her Gucci raincoat and draped it across an armchair before following him to the kitchen. A soiled pair of white socks and T-shirt lay on the parquet floor. He was a jock. That was what had attracted her in the first place, wasn't it? The strength in his handshake and slightly bulging biceps under his shirt. Working as a landscaper had to be invigorating; certainly better than shuffling papers in an office. Seated next to him in Winnie's, she had let him buy her drinks and then made a decision. This was it, tonight, with him.

"Sorry, all I have is beer. Want one?"

Jenny nodded. No surprise here. He had been drinking Molson all night.

He uncapped two beers from the fridge and handed her one. "I hope this is okay; I don't have any clean glasses. Let's sit in here." He waited for her to follow him into the small living room.

Jenny found an ashtray before fishing for her package of du Maurier. Her nerves were taut; a cigarette would help. They sat on his sectional sofa drinking the beer as she gratefully drew smoke into her lungs.

Mike put her cigarette down, then brushed her dark hair from her face. "I feel like I won the lottery. Finding you tonight."

"It's all about getting lucky, isn't it?" She hoped he wasn't going to get all romantic on her.

Ignoring the pun, he said, "I never met anyone with such gorgeous eyes."

So he liked the color contacts. After thirty-two years with ordinary brown eyes, she'd chosen aquamarine. It seemed to complement her jet black hair \- part of her new image. The changes, she hoped, went further than skin deep. Jenny needed to feel different. The old persona had suffered too much pain and disillusionment. Now all she wanted were a few moments of physical intimacy and the comfort of being held. No promises, no tomorrows.

Mike kissed her, gently at first, his tongue probing the inside of her mouth. The slightly sour flavor of the beer was more pronounced now but not unpleasant. With one hand he unbuttoned her silk blouse.

"Nice." Almost reverently, he stroked her breasts. "Maybe we should take this into the other room."

"Good idea." It had been too long since her last time with Colin. Five months!

When Mike put his lips to the hollow of her throat, her pulse fluttered erratically. Why not enjoy tonight for what it offered? This man wouldn't pressure her to see him again, thinking she was married. And if she dated him a few times, then ended it, he would understand.

With her hand in his, he led her to a doorway down the hall. "I've gotta take a leak. Make yourself at home," he said before turning into the bathroom.

Jenny glanced down the hallway. The walls were bare except for two cheap prints of daffodils. The entire apartment felt empty, she realized - no plants, no warmth - like a hotel room. He hadn't invested anything of himself in his living space.

She flicked on a light in the bedroom. A top sheet had been hastily thrown over the king-size bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she kicked off her shoes and massaged her right foot. Maybe the narrow heels looked great with a slit skirt, but they cramped her toes.

Something protruded from under the bed - a piece of material. She moved it towards her with her big toe and found herself staring at a wrinkled pair of woman's bikinis, size small from the look of it.

Again she thought of Colin. Although he had been wrong for her, at least he had class. It showed in the quality of his clothes, his impeccable manners, even the expensive bottles of wine he brought her. Mike, on the other hand, offered little of substance. Conversation with him was limited and even his jokes bordered on crude. Why had she believed she wanted him?

Jenny stood to leave, then remembered how turned on she had been in his arms and sat back down. Why not find out what kind of lover he was? She didn't have to stay - just enjoy the sex.

Then she pictured him with the owner of the red bikinis. Probably the woman had a bad dye job, wore layers of makeup, and slept with anyone who asked. Mike only cared about scoring. She deserved better.

Jenny slipped into her shoes, hurried towards the living room and grabbed her handbag and trench coat. She could hear Mike call her name as he emerged from the bathroom. By that time, she was already out the door.

No sense in waiting for the elevator where he could find her. She took the emergency stairwell to the floor below and then pressed the button. If it came straight away, she'd take it. Otherwise she'd use the stairs. How could she explain her change of heart? Mike would think she had deliberately led him on.

Outside, the pavement was wet and puddles had formed on the street corners. A cold rain fell as she stood on the street and hailed a passing taxi.

"Regency Apartments on Côte des Neiges," she told the driver. A reflex made her glance through the back window at the empty street. Her hair was damp from the few minutes she had been waiting, and a chill had seeped into her bones. "Not a pretty night, is it? I'm glad you're still working."

The dark-complexioned driver glanced at her through the rear-view mirror. "No choice," he said with a guttural accent that sounded Armenian. "Not enough fares."

The Montreal economy wasn't what it used to be. Stories like his made her doubly grateful for her own well-paying job.

Soon they braked in front of her building near the fountain and potted cedars.

The twenty-four-hour security was one reason she liked it here. A young man with John Lennon glasses sat on night duty. He looked up from his magazine and nodded at her.

The elevator rolled upwards to the fourteenth floor, then shuddered to a stop. At 3:45 a.m., traces of cooking odors still lingered in the corridor on her floor, the strongest fried fish. One of the tenants was a young Portuguese couple. There wasn't a night of the week they didn't eat some kind of seafood.

Home at last. She locked the door behind her, kicked off her heels, and walked into the simple elegance of her living room. Last winter she'd redecorated. First came a large Oriental rug and vases of silk flowers. After adding lacquered paper fans on one wall, she realized she'd gone Japanese.

She sank into an armchair and opened her purse. With a sigh, she removed the unused package of condoms. In the last few months she'd brought it with her on her nights out, just in case. All she wanted was an uncomplicated lover. Someone who attracted her physically, could hold a conversation, and satisfied her in bed. A man who could charm her, but would not pressure her for a commitment.

Surely a man who fit the description was somewhere out there. She just needed to find him.

### Chapter Three

Kyle wiped down the counter for the third time. He glanced up as a long-legged blonde stepped into the bar. Here came trouble. Past midnight on a rainy Saturday, he was damned sure she wasn't here to socialize. Her hair was tangled and clung like a wet cap to her head. While that would have sent most women running for a brush, she only pushed it back with her hand. Even in this light, he could make out the puffiness around her eyes. Something, or someone, had sent her out into the night.

Instead of choosing a table, she slid onto a bar stool. She sat alone at the far end.

Taking his time, he sauntered over to her and put on his professional smile. "Miserable night. Doesn't look like it's going to let up, either."

She shrugged but didn't answer.

"Want a towel for your hair?" he asked. "You look soaked."

"That's the least of my problems. What I need is a drink. Any suggestions?"

Drinkers never asked that question. "You need a brandy."

"Good. Make it a brandy then." She shifted on the stool. Her suede skirt rode up her thighs. Half the men in the bar turned their heads; the other half, the ones with female companions, pretended not to notice.

"If you feel like talking, I've got time," Kyle said, placing the glass on a napkin in front of her. Ryan's used to buzz at this hour. Now only fourteen of the twenty tables were occupied.

"I'm not very good company tonight," she muttered. Her eyes were liquid with tears, which she blinked away with exquisitely long lashes.

He leaned closer and said, "What I should be asking is _who's the rotten bastard - and what's he done now?_ "

"Observant, aren't you? Maybe after another of these," she said, raising her glass, "I'll feel human again. I should have eaten something first, but Marcel got me so upset... Damn! I swore I wouldn't say his name again."

"Give me a minute and I'll be right with you." A client signaled from the other end of the bar. Another two orders. Kyle mixed a Bloody Mary, adding an extra dollop of Tabasco, and retrieved a Heidelberg from a small fridge under the counter.

A bearded man with a ponytail stood close to the counter and whispered, "Know where I can get some coke, man?"

"I take it you don't mean the canned stuff." Kyle sized him up in a few seconds. Narcs never seemed comfortable in their skins. Their jeans always had creases in them, as if they were freshly pressed, and their eyes were focused. This one looked too distracted.

"Will a twenty help?" the man asked, palming a bill.

"Let me think about it." Kyle delivered the Heidelberg with a glass mug. When he returned, he filled the pretzel bowl and put it in front of the man with the ponytail before taking the bill. "Other side of the room, two tables from the back exit, there's four men. Ask for John and say I sent you."

The man gave him a thumbs up, and left.

Kyle smiled to himself. Maybe tonight wasn't so slow after all. Later he'd get a cut of the deal, depending on how much coke exchanged hands. He often directed buyers to the sellers and warned the latter of suspected narcs. Twice so far he'd saved their hides and they thanked him in the only way that counted - hard cold cash.

With his peripheral vision, he could see the woman watching him now. Her gaze travelled up and down his body, from his tight black pants to the partially unbuttoned, fitted shirt and back again. She was interested all right - but also desperate for a distraction from whatever was eating her. Somehow she reminded him of his first, five months ago.

### ***

Three days before Christmas, it had been snowing - big fluffy flakes spiralling in the sky. That had only made him more depressed. He hadn't made any plans for the holidays and cringed at the idea of spending them alone. A woman in her thirties, with blotches of rouge on her cheeks and wheat-colored hair that fell untidily down her back, had wandered into the bar alone. Her eyes had been bloodshot with tears.

Watching her down a succession of Pina Coladas, Kyle had alternatively soothed and upset her with his words, reminding her of what she was trying so hard to forget. Then he called for a taxi. By then she was incoherent. Rummaging in her purse, he found an unpaid electricity bill with her address, which he gave the driver along with payment in advance.

When the bar closed he drove to the address he had committed to memory. The split-level sat in its own snow-covered yard in the east end, where the smell of oil refineries lingered in the air. She hadn't even locked the front door. Carefully Kyle crept into the house. He found her fast asleep on the couch in her crumpled dress, her mascara smeared.

When he pressed his mouth to hers, she stirred and her eyes flew open. "You - how'd you get in?" she sputtered, trying to sit up.

Kyle shoved her back against the cushions, relishing the fear on her face. "You're a mess, baby. And you stink of booze. We should call this a charity case."

"Get out! Leave me alone." Using both hands, she pushed against him. The more she shoved, though, the more he molded her to his body. It had the desired effect. Below the belt, he could feel a pulsating throb.

It had been too long since Lori. After she left, he hadn't been able to...it just hadn't worked, no matter how pretty they were.

The woman slapped him and he hit her with a closed fist. Full force. Her jaw cracked and she fell back in shock. Then he ripped her dress and peeled down her pantyhose. In another minute he was inside, taking the pleasure he'd been denied for almost two months.

"Bastard!" she managed to spit in his face.

Calmly he picked up her purse from the carpet and wrapped the long leather straps around her neck. He pulled hard. Seeing her face turn white, then purple, he felt himself grow harder still.

Finally he stopped. Her eyes bulged as she lay still beneath him, her mouth slightly open. He felt her pulse. Nothing.

Some instinct warned him to make it look like a robbery. He removed the remaining bills from her wallet, left the purse open, then raced through the rooms opening drawers and throwing their contents on the floor. Luckily he'd parked his car halfway down the block and he was certain that no one had seen him slip into the house.

A day later, the murder was reported and an investigator showed up at the bar, flashing the woman's photo. Apparently she had tried to talk a girlfriend into coming out with her and had mentioned Ryan's.

"A sad case," Kyle told the investigator. "She wouldn't stop drinking. I knew she shouldn't drive in her condition, so I put her into a taxi around 2:30 a.m. It was Unicab, if you want to check with them."

Afterwards he wiped his clammy hands on his shirt. Talk about close calls. The sex had been great, but not worth risking another jail sentence. The time he'd spent at Bordeaux for armed robbery had taught him to be careful. For the next couple of months, he kept a low profile. Then, in February, he heard about the murders. Three of them with the same modus operandi - Montreal women raped and strangled in their own homes, no signs of forced entry.

What clinched it for him was a conversation he overheard at his bar. Two young men in tweed coats had come into Ryan's on a Thursday night. They shifted their bar stools closer together and hung on each other's words in the annoying way of intimate couples. One of them ordered a Sex Machine.

"You know Gloria, that fat broad in my office? You met her at the Christmas party, remember?" When his companion nodded vaguely, he continued, "Rachel Delaney, the woman killed last week, was her friend. They were supposed to meet for dinner that night. Gloria phoned a few times but there was no answer. The next day she tried her at work. Rachel, of course, never showed up. When Gloria went to her apartment, she discovered the body." The man lowered his voice. "Something the police haven't said is how the victims were found. Apparently all three of them were nude from the waist down, with their own panties stuffed in their mouths."

Kyle paused with the bottle of Kahlua in his hand. Interesting. As he poured the sweet liqueur over ice and added a splash of Grand Marnier, he realized that the strangler had given him a game plan. Now he only needed to find his prey.

It took him a couple of weeks to figure it out. Dating systems and singles dances were too risky. He needed something anonymous, where he could make his moves and keep his identity a secret. Then he heard a radio ad for ConneXions, one of the hottest dating sites around. It had become popular in Montreal, too, probably because it was free. The best part, for him, was that it included attached women seeking _intimate encounters_. Most of them posted no images with their profiles because they needed discretion. They had marriages or living arrangements to protect. For the same reason, they probably told no one about their rendezvous.

Like Lori, they had lost all decency and needed to be taken down.

In the last few months, Kyle had strangled four women. To be doubly safe, he never dated anyone longer than three times before setting up the kill.

### ***

He returned to the tall blonde finishing her brandy.

She lowered her lashes. "Maybe you know of somewhere quiet we could go to later. Somewhere we could talk, maybe ... get to know each other."

Kyle took her empty glass. The cherry lipstick smeared on the rim stirred him. He could picture crushing her beneath him, her slender neck in his hands. Frowning, he forced himself to put the glass in the small sink. No. No matter how tempting, she was off limits.

"Lady, I don't get off 'til 3:00 a.m. I'll be too tired to do any talking then," he said wearily. "Do yourself a favor, and go home."

He watched her leave with regret, telling himself he would check out the dating site again when he got home.

### Chapter Four

The drumming of rain against her windowpane reminded Stephanie of cozy afternoons making love with George. As she lay in bed, still sleepless, she recalled their first encounter three weeks ago.

She sipped a _café au lait_ as she waited for him at Picasso's, a trendy restaurant on St. Jacques. After a few agonizing minutes when she doubted he would show, she saw a broad-shouldered man striding towards her. He wore a russet sports jacket and a cashmere turtleneck with the aplomb of someone used to quality.

"Stephanie? Is it you?" His thick eyebrows were offset by his equally thick, curly hair.

When she nodded, he slid into the seat opposite her. "Green eyes have always been my weakness."

"They're hazel, actually," Stephanie answered, returning his smile. She fidgeted in her seat, knowing she was way out of her comfort zone with this man.

"Relax, I'm not having you for dinner." He boldly stared at her across the table. "Though again, I just might."

She let him turn over her hand and stroke her palm with a confident fingertip, which sent shock waves of pleasure through her body. His intense focus on her worked like an aphrodisiac.

In all the years she had tried to please Richard, she had always come up short. He often compared her to the younger wives of his work colleagues, who were perfectly trim and groomed. She was letting herself go, he complained. In response, Stephanie used a rinse on her auburn hair and shed twenty pounds. The image in the mirror was sleeker, more polished. But Richard had succeeded in making her feel self-conscious about her looks.

George complimented her dress, her skin, even her smile. It surprised her that a stranger, with whom she had only exchanged messages and spoken with a few times, could make her feel so good.

He told her about his hobby, charcoal drawing. "I'm still an amateur, I'm afraid. Maybe I need a beautiful woman to inspire me." He reached forward to turn her head slightly. "You have a wonderful profile, my dear. Would you like to sit for me? I rent a small studio downtown. I go there whenever business is slow." Working in commercial real estate gave him flexibility.

"I always thought I had a weak chin, but if you really like my profile... I never had my portrait done." The invitation flattered her and, because of her powerful attraction to him, she wanted to see what would happen. Stephanie agreed to meet him two days later in front of a small brown-stone on Dr. Penfield.

She never told him how close she had come to cancelling their rendezvous. Maybe it was easy for Richard, but she cringed at the thought of breaking her marriage vows. Fidelity, though, was a two-way street. Why should she uphold her end of an agreement that he had repeatedly broken?

If George was late, she'd take it as a sign. Forget about her plans and go back home. Instead he stood waiting for her, his dark eyes dancing with anticipation. "Come. My studio is two floors up."

She made her way up the staircase to a locked door. Behind it, a narrow room overflowed with his drawings. Beside an easel lay a box of round and squared charcoal sticks, a mass of blue eraser, and several rags.

Stephanie tiptoed around the drawings. Some were scrolled with elastics on the floor, hidden from view, but others covered the walls. These she examined with interest. A variety of women stared back at her, kneeling or sitting in relaxed poses. Sweeping lines and subtle shading lent grace to their bodies.

"I didn't know you did nudes," she finally said, her mouth dry.

"Well, yes. I try to capture the beauty of the human form. Of course, I don't always feel I'm doing justice to it. What do you think?"

"They're very ... professional. Were they live models?" The thought of posing naked before him as he worked on his easel disturbed her and, at the same time, sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine.

"Yes, students mostly. But I've always wanted to draw a mature woman, someone with depth and intelligence." He gently cupped her face. "Let me draw you, Stephanie. If it doesn't meet your approval, I'll rip it up. I swear."

"I'd be too self-conscious." Her pulse raced as his lips moved closer.

"Dear heart," he murmured, "you're like a frightened bird. There's nothing to fear, only to enjoy." He kissed her then, a long, searching kiss that left her dizzy.

When he led her to the couch against the back wall, she didn't resist. It was what she had come here for, after all. In his arms, she ceased to be a wife and mother. For now, she was only a woman who aroused this man's passion as he fed her own.

In the ensuing weeks, he coaxed her into sitting for him. With sunlight filtering through the dusty windowpanes, she posed as he praised every contour of her body. The rasping of charcoal across paper became oddly erotic. She quivered with anticipation, knowing that soon he'd make love to her with the same slow deliberation he exercised in his work.

### ***

Surely by tomorrow morning, a message from George would be waiting for her on the system.

Almost guiltily, she remembered another message. Kyle's words replayed in her mind.

_My instincts about women are pretty good. They tell me you're very sweet, and just as lovely on the outside. Maybe a little shy_.

He wanted to see her picture, which was only fair since she had his.

Of course she couldn't answer him. As long as she was seeing George, it would be wrong to date anyone else.

Still thinking of Kyle, she finally fell into a dreamless sleep.

### Chapter Five

Early the next morning, Jenny reached for a cigarette as she thought about her fiasco with Mike. She couldn't blame it all on the bar scene. When it came to men, she seemed to specialize in bad choices.

She had put up with a musician's crazy hours during her six years with Neil. Their casual living arrangement had suited her in the beginning but towards the end, she had tired of partying and wondering where he was the nights he didn't come home.

Colin had been the ideal lover - attentive and considerate. She saw him whenever he came to Montreal on business, and they were in contact almost every night. For eight months she believed his story - that he was a divorced father of two young sons and lived alone in an apartment in Vermont. Last December, when he talked about spending Christmas apart from her, he had sounded despondent.

"I wish we could be together. But my ex has decided to go south and I've got my boys with me for the holidays," he sighed, folding her into his arms. "What will you do?"

"I've already taken the week off work. I assumed I'd spend a few days with you," she said. "Are you tied up the whole time?"

He nodded. "We'll catch up on New Year's Eve. I'll take you anywhere you want."

Until then, she had been reluctant to meet his children and he hadn't pressed her. They needed time, she figured, to see where this relationship was heading. Finding Colin's pocket agenda in her bedroom a week later suggested a change of plans. He probably hadn't even realized it was gone. There, on the first page, was his address neatly printed. What more encouragement did she need?

She slid into her car and headed for Vermont. The day after Christmas, the Interstate was windswept and almost void of traffic. Jenny imagined his pleasure when she suddenly showed up. She wouldn't stay long - just half a day. He could introduce her to his sons as a friend.

When she arrived at a sprawling bungalow in Burlington, she checked the address again. This couldn't be it. Feeling foolish, she rang the bell. A woman wearing an apron and oven mitts answered.

"Sorry to disturb you," Jenny said, "but I'm looking for a Colin Brentwood. This can't be the right address - "

"I'll get him for you." The woman called out his name as her eyes flicked curiously over her.

Colin appeared at her side, his face pale. In the background, a toddler dragged a plastic wagon across the floor. A giant Christmas tree, bright with ornaments, overwhelmed the room.

"I found this...on the street. I thought you might need it." Jenny held out the pocket agenda.

Later, the shock which had held her smile frozen in place gave way to anger, then grief. She cursed him and cried all the way back to Montreal.

He called to thank her for being so discreet. Sheepishly, he admitted that he had a second phone line in his house which his wife never answered. He paused. "You wouldn't have seen me if you knew I was married, would you?"

"Damn you, Colin. I cared about you - but then I thought I knew you. The only reason I didn't tell your wife was that she looked so trusting. Let someone else destroy her illusions. All I want you to do now, Colin, is to go to hell!" She shut the phone and tossed it on the sofa. He wasn't worth her tears, she realized. Men like him swarmed the planet.

### ***

Now another empty Sunday afternoon loomed ahead. Listlessly she flipped through the weekend paper, determined not to think of her disastrous date with Mike or her nightmare. No good news, of course. Just the usual robberies, and more speculation about the Montreal strangler. How many more women would have to die before they caught the creep? Maybe she should stop going to bars for a while; the city teemed with danger.

Jenny took another sip of coffee and stared at the sunshine outside her kitchen window. Un-scheduled time on the weekend only reminded her of what she was missing - close family ties or at least someone to share the day with.

After quickly changing, she grabbed her exercise bag and headed for the gym. A definite plus to being single was having time to exercise regularly. She'd never be one of those women who let their muscles turn to flab.

Tomorrow was Monday. As human resources manager at Miller Paper's head office, she could expect another stressful workweek.

That night, her queen-size bed felt too large, as it sometimes did. She stretched herself diagonally across it to minimize the amount of space. The darkness suffocated her, but she refused to turn on the light.

As her loneliness filled the room, she resolved to try harder to find a lover. _I miss having someone next to me. And he doesn't need to be here every night_.

### Chapter Six

Even in the soft Italian loafers, Kyle's feet ached by closing time. It had been a good shift, though. Two clients who were completely in the bag handed him fifty-dollar bills and paid no attention to the change.

He'd been relieved when the blonde bombshell left. Of course he had wanted her. Getting her alone would have been so easy. But easy wasn't always wise.

He left Ryan's and drove home carefully in the drizzle, mindful of the slick pavement. With its fluid lines and aggressive engine, the silver sports car felt like an extension of himself. The Nissan 350Z also oozed success.

By 3:35 a.m. he was back in Dorval, in the sturdy brick bungalow he'd bought with Lori. Set back from the road and surrounded by overgrown bushes and mature maples, it provided quietness and privacy - reason enough for him to stay.

As soon as he opened the door, three tabbies rushed at him.

He kicked aside the stack of newspapers in his path. They should have gone out with the last trash, but he must have forgotten. Lately he had let this place go; empty take-out cartons lay on the floor and dirty dishes overflowed the sink.

"I suppose you guys are hungry." He emptied three cans of cat food into their bowls. As they nibbled at the food, he stroked the back of the marmalade cat.

The cat turned to hiss at him, and then continued eating.

"Such bad manners." Kyle sighed. "What you're forgetting, Red, is that I don't HAVE to feed you." He took the cat's food and split it evenly between the other two bowls. Now the tabby had to fight to get any at all.

He had taken him in when he stood shivering on his back balcony last winter, bones protruding from his matted fur. But the marmalade cat acted like he owned the place - and he shed like crazy, leaving fur balls everywhere.

Even from here Kyle could smell the acrid odor from the litter box in the bathroom. The damn thing always needed changing. He picked up the half-finished bowls, opened the back door and shoved the cats outside.

"There's a female in heat down the street. Find her." The darkness immediately swallowed the black tabby but the others lingered around the door.

Kyle slammed it shut. The cats were usually good company, slinking around him when he was upset, or rubbing against his legs when they sensed he was receptive. Coming home to an empty house - well, he just couldn't do it.

He froze at the sight of the framed picture on top of the fridge. It was hard to believe that Lori had gone. Thoughtfully he stared at the features he knew by heart - soft, vulnerable lips, wide-spaced eyes and a mass of coppery hair falling almost to her waist. Sometimes he still reached for her in the night, only to find himself clutching his unoccupied pillow.

### ***

She had left for work as usual the first Monday in November - two days before their seventh wedding anniversary. Kyle had bought a bottle of her favorite champagne and made reservations at Les Halles. He had looked forward to their little celebration, certain that her affair was behind them. He supposed there was more to it. She had never liked the way he roughed her up. Never learned to accept it. A man had to show who was in control, didn't he?

But Lori had never come back. At first he thought she had taken only the clothes she wore. Later, though, he discovered that the bitch had cleaned out their joint savings account.

### ***

He logged onto ConneXions before retiring to bed.

Late yesterday he had sent a message to _Let's Dance 'Til the Music Stops_ , a 35-year-old woman who claimed that passion was missing from her life. Married, no photos. He had received no response so far, but he was just getting started. He liked her user name, _Sleepless2Nite_.

If all went well, she would be one of his next targets. It had been too long since his last kill, and he was getting edgy.

The only solution was to overlap his dates. Then, when one woman left his life, he would be close to finishing off another.

He'd never imagined that he would get his kicks this way, but it was the only thing that had worked since Lori left. A man who couldn't get it on was pathetic.

At the same time, he felt he was doing the world a favor. Every man deserved decent money, good liquor and a faithful wife. All women were weak. But attached women arranging to get laid through a dating site were beyond weak. They had become whores, just like Lori.

And they had to be stopped.

### Chapter Seven

"I'm worried, Dad. No one answered my Craigslist ad." Dana set down an empty cup after her third coffee that morning. "My study's dead in the water without those interviews." As a second-year PhD student in clinical psychology, she had received top marks. But only a doctoral thesis would land her a graduate degree.

"Maybe you advertised in the wrong place. And you need to offer those women an incentive. Money usually works," he answered from the bathroom, only a few steps from the kitchen counter where she sat. "There! It's up."

She got up to check out the newly installed space saver: four shelves that fit snugly over her toilet. "It's perfect. Thanks!"

Her mother's high cheekbones stared back from the mirror, more prominent after she'd tied back her dark blonde hair. The frown she wore deepened.

"What do you mean by _wrong place_?" She followed her father into the living room area. Only on weekends did she notice how cramped her basement apartment was. She had furnished it within her means, with a used couch and coffee table as well as book shelves resting on cement blocks.

"I don't know. Maybe try the dating sites."

She thought of iHookUp, Tinder and GetItOn, where casual sex was considered the norm. Dana had already ruled them out as sources for her interviews. "These are married women. I think they'd want to be discreet, if not invisible."

He ran a hand through his thinning hair. When had it turned so white? "What about the site everyone's talking about? _Connecting_ , I think it's called. One of your cousins met her husband that way. You might want to try it yourself."

"You mean ConneXions." Dana opened her laptop and quickly located the site. "Ah, I see attached people are on it as well. If I register as a male, I can see how many women are in my age range." She discovered over 700 profiles of Montreal women between the ages of 30 and 39.

If she narrowed her search to those seeking _intimate encounters_ , she could then pick out the ones already in relationships. Her spirits lifted. All she needed was fifteen interviews.

She threw her arms around her father. "You're brilliant."

As he prepared to leave, he gave her a conspiratorial wink. "Remember to offer money. At least fifty bucks."

Needing to unwind, she changed into her cycling shorts and grabbed a windbreaker. After pumping up her tires, she cycled to the path along the St. Lawrence. The freshness of a May breeze invigorated her as her legs circled in rhythm. The bicycle path extended for miles along the river, with a view of the rapids. After a harsh winter, the world had suddenly and noisily come alive. Overhead, a red-winged bird flew with twigs in its mouth.

Thirty minutes later she cycled past the Lachine marina into a park jutting into Baie St. Louis. Two years of impossible deadlines and a grueling schedule as an undergrad teaching assistant had taken its toll. She felt as tired as the yellowish grass.

A man and woman were locked in a tight embrace next to a giant stone sculpture. Something tightened in her chest. She'd spent all winter cooped up in her apartment with her books, grading papers or studying. There had been no time to even think of dating.

Dana parked her bicycle and sat on a bench overlooking the bay. Two in-line skaters were seated nearby, holding hands and speaking in low, intimate tones.

She thought of Nick. A few years ago he'd persuaded her to live with him as she pursued her degree in psychology. Neither of them cooked, so they survived on take-out, pasta and long breakfasts in bed. But he was already pushing thirty-eight and made no secret of his desire for family. In the end he found someone else.

The break-up had been so painful that she fell behind in her studies; it took her the better part of a year to get over him.

The doctorate was too important for her to risk getting romantically involved again. In another three years, she'd be finished with university at 29. After that, she'd have plenty of time to date. Days like this, though, she missed being part of a couple.

Still in a reflective mood, she returned to her apartment. Time to get back to work.

The first part of her doctoral thesis focused on why women had extramarital affairs. What she hoped to establish was that they lacked the self-esteem to assert themselves or leave their marital situation. All they had to do was answer her questions.

To arrange for interviews through ConneXions, she created a male profile without a photo. Surely some women would be curious enough to click on her message, titled "Research Study - Asking for your Participation." In the message, Dana explained who she was and why she needed their help. Complete discretion was assured. She didn't even want to know their names. Anyone who agreed to meet her for an interview would be handed fifty dollars for her time.

Dana sent the message to forty women on the dating site, identified as attached, who were seeking _intimate encounters_. If she needed more interviews, she would send additional messages.

It had to work.

### Monday, May 10th

### Chapter Eight

Richard motioned for a coffee refill as he sat at their kitchen table with his smart phone.

"Thanks, honey." He barely glanced at Stephanie as she poured more of the fresh brew into his mug - an Eight O'Clock Bokar blend.

No mention of where he had been and she'd be damned if she would ask.

The easy charm that had once won her over had evaporated with the years. She had been right about her husband's self-confidence, astute business sense and ability to provide for a family. But his arrogance in assuming she would put up with his shenanigans galled her. If it weren't for the children, she would have divorced him by now.

He had again managed to return home before they got up. Family routines like breakfast together were important to him.

His affairs rarely lasted more than two or three months. And she was pretty sure that he was the one who ended them. Even with his salt-and-pepper hair, he was a good-looking man.

"Yuck! Emma stuck her finger in my cereal." Justin shoved his bowl away from him. "It's contaminated now." Her ten-year-old had been learning about bacteria at school, a subject that both fascinated and repelled him.

"What a cry baby. I only took a raisin," his sister said.

He looked up at his mother with a hopeful expression. "Can I have cookies for breakfast instead?"

In no mood to argue, Stephanie handed her son two home-made oatmeal cookies and then helped him pack his schoolbag.

"It's official," Richard said. He had put down his phone and spoke between bites of his jam-smeared toast. "Geoff's retiring in three weeks. Now there's an opening for senior counsel."

"You have seventeen years in the department, don't you? That should give you an edge." Stephanie knew how much Richard wanted a promotion. He never hesitated to take on extra projects and always attended company events. Including the Christmas party that ended with him in bed with their paralegal.

"Wish me luck," he told Justin. "If I get this job, we can send you to that fancy summer camp your friend is going to."

"Cool. I hope you get it, Dad." Justin high-fived him before heading for the elementary school down the road.

For a moment, Stephanie considered their finances. In spite of losing her job two years ago, they had still managed to pay for Emma's private schooling and ballet lessons, not to mention the mortgage and repairs on this house. The prospect of Richard's promotion, though, made her feel more trapped with him. Even if she found another office job, she could never bring in that kind of money.

After both Justin and Richard had left, Emma helped her stack the plates in the dishwasher.

"Are you and Dad getting divorced?" she blurted.

Stephanie stared at her. "No. Why would you think such a thing?"

Emma flipped back her hair. "I don't know, Mom. Maybe because he doesn't come home some nights."

Stephanie fidgeted as she placed the cutlery in the plastic rack. She had often wondered how she would explain Richard's behavior to their children. "Your father sometimes has friends he likes to see. Women friends."

"And you're OK with that?" Emma's face looked pinched. Unfortunately, she had inherited the worst features from them both - her father's long nose and her own small chin. An abundance of dark hair, which Emma refused to cut, only emphasized her features.

Stephanie patted her daughter's arm, hoping to reassure her. "Marriage is complicated, sweetie. Your dad just needs to get something out of his system. He told me he has no intention of leaving."

Her own father had left when she was only eight, and she had grown up without his love or support. She was determined to keep this family together as long as she could.

Hoping to change the subject, she asked Emma if she wanted a ride to school.

"Not today. I'm meeting Carol at the bus stop," she said. "Oh, I won't be home for dinner. We're rehearsing at her place after class."

Emma had talked about the school play for weeks. Her friend was playing the Nurse and Emma had the understudy role for the lead in _Romeo and Juliet_. At fourteen, Emma lived and breathed acting. She had always enjoyed dressing up. And as she matured, she had avidly watched plays or movies, always remembering the names of actors and actresses.

"Have fun with it, but don't take it too seriously," Stephanie warned her. "Hardly anyone makes it as an actress." Hopefully, Emma would never need to step out on stage. Audiences could be so cruel.

"It's what I want, Mom." Squaring her shoulders, Emma walked out the front door.

Thinking of Richard again, Stephanie sighed. Believing he was everything she wanted, she had married him in good faith. She knew only one thing for certain: _our most cherished dreams can come crashing down. And then we must settle for what we can_.

She looked around the kitchen. Justin had spilled his milk and left cookie crumbs on the table. Emma's place setting, in contrast, was spotless. How had life turned into a series of chores? No one noticed that she did them. They only noticed when socks needed washing or if something was missing from the fridge or pantry.

Stephanie, though, needed so much more - someone to hold her close and tell her she was cherished. It existed for others. Why not her?

She logged into ConneXions to check for messages. Nothing from George. She emptied the hamper, did two loads of laundry, and then checked again. Nada. Had she done or said something to turn him off? Then she remembered the last time they had met and relaxed slightly. He'd been so aroused that he made love to her twice.

Taking the initiative wasn't her style, but she had to see him again. For a few magic hours, she could find in his arms the tenderness that was so painfully lacking in her life. There had to be another way to reach him.

### ***

As she sat in a Peel Street coffee shop in downtown Montreal, Stephanie watched the drizzle outside. This was all wrong - a woman waiting for a man. But why worry about etiquette, when they had both broken the rules? The affair had put her on a roller coaster of emotion, from exhilaration to despair. Still, she wouldn't trade one second of her time with George in the last few weeks.

Nursing her herbal tea, she again reflected on what she could have said to make him withdraw from her. Then she knew. Last week, after he made love to her on his studio couch, she had snuggled against his chest.

"You've made me unbelievably happy, George," she'd murmured. "The only thing missing is waking up together in the morning, sharing more of our lives." After an awkward silence that seemed to go on forever, she had seen his stony expression. Why, oh why, had she revealed more of her feelings than he felt comfortable with?

Now she saw him hesitate in the doorway as he scanned the room. With a few strides, he loomed over her table. His frown made Stephanie shrink back in her seat. She had to remind herself that his unsmiling mouth knew her intimately.

George scraped back the chair opposite her and sat down. "Why did you call my office? I never gave you the number."

His words chilled her. Of course he was angry; he had a right to be. "I saw your last name on the mailbox in your studio building, and I knew the name of the real estate company you worked for. You weren't answering my messages on the system."

"Five times? You had to call my office five times?"

"I'm sorry. I needed to see you. And here you are." What she desperately needed was reassurance. As she searched for a softening in his expression, she saw only displeasure.

"I'm getting coffee. Want another tea?" When she nodded, he asked, "What kind?"

"Lemon zinger." They had met in coffee shops four times, but he still couldn't remember her preference. That was odd - because she had memorized every detail about him, from the way he rolled up his socks to his choice of breath mint.

When he returned, he took a long sip of coffee before speaking. "It's over, Stephanie. You were getting too involved." He lowered his voice. "I've - uh - started seeing other women."

A contraction in her chest made it hard to breathe. "Can you sit there and tell me that you don't care?" She dared him to meet her eyes.

"We had some great times together, sure, but that's all." A strong hand reached across the table to grasp her wrist, then released it. "Get off the system and tend to your husband and children. Romance only exists in fairy tales, my dear."

"You won't be hearing from me again, George." She rubbed her wrist as if to erase his touch, then slipped into her trench coat and picked up her handbag. Stiffly she walked to the door. Tears mingled with the raindrops moistening her cheeks, but she continued to her car.

Thankfully it was only a ten-minute drive home. As she sat behind the steering wheel of her SUV, her wipers swooshing on the windshield, she felt like driving into oblivion. Even her children felt like a leaden weight now, forcing her to live with a bleeding heart.

All she had done was love him. And now George was on to the next. Had she been just another charcoal drawing on his wall? Drat. He still had the drawing, had been enormously proud of it, in fact. She smiled through her tears. No one could possibly recognize her in that artistic rendition. Although George had spent hours on her body contours, he had given little definition to her face.

Emma and Justin were now in school and the house stood empty. With the windows shut tightly against the rain, the air had gone stale. Like a wounded animal retreating to its lair, she picked up a glass and went upstairs to the back of the house. A solarium that had once served as a playroom now overflowed with her plants.

Stephanie opened a wood cabinet and reached past the bags of potting soil to a half-empty bottle of vodka. She poured herself a double shot. Sitting in the maple rocker, surrounded by philodendrons, African violets and English ivy, she drank it straight. The liquor rapidly spread its warmth. Better. After another shot, she screwed the cap back on and returned the bottle to its hiding place.

Silly fool. She had imagined that one day she and George would form their own family. That he'd leave his wife and she would divorce Richard, and they'd live with all their children - in a bigger house, of course.

She watched the water streaming in rivulets down the glass panes. George had been a jerk, but there were other men out there. Men who knew how to treat a lady. She thought of the message she had received from someone named Kyle.

As if in slow motion, she made her way down the stairs again and got out the lap top. Then she logged into ConneXions, clicked on the message from _Loves Cats, Loves to Dance_ and looked at the photos again. This man was even better looking than George, and younger too. She re-read his message:

I'd love to take you out on the dance floor. It can be modern or even a waltz. Life is too short to waste feeling alone. I want to be with someone, but I've gotten more discriminating in my thirties. My instincts about women are pretty good. They tell me you're very sweet, and just as lovely on the outside. Maybe a little shy.

Why don't you send me a picture so we can see if we're a match? Then you can tell me more about yourself.

Bolstered by the alcohol, she pressed Reply. She confided that she often felt isolated and could use a friend.

_And if we're both attracted to each other, well, I'm willing to take it further. I'm looking for a serious relationship, though. If you're still interested, leave me another message_.

She attached the same photos she had sent George - both recent head shots. If all he wanted was a fling, he wouldn't respond. She had too much to offer, and too much on the line, to spend time with the wrong person.

That night, when Stephanie finally stretched out on the king-size bed, she was relieved to be alone. It pleased her that Kyle had contacted her without seeing her picture, following his "instincts." Men liked the hunt, didn't they?

"You showed me one thing, George," she whispered into the darkness. "I need to be loved. And if you're not the right man, I'll find someone who is."

### Chapter Nine

_Someone should do away with Monday mornings_. Jenny could barely remember walking to her office building. Her upstairs neighbors had partied half the night and she still felt groggy from lack of sleep. Sipping her second cup of coffee, she checked through her email to spot any urgencies.

When her phone rang, she almost jumped. No one called this early on a Monday.

Lisa, a clerical worker in Accounting, wanted to see her.

"Just give me five minutes." Jenny cleared some papers from her desk and stared out her downtown window. Not an inspiring view. On the twenty-first floor, she faced the glassy wall of another high-rise. She wondered about Lisa. Employees never came here to chat. Lately, they even kept their heads down when passing her in the corridor. Too many of their ex-colleagues had been called to her office to find out their services had been terminated.

After their mill closed in Trois Rivières, the number of layoffs in Miller Paper's head office had escalated. So had the number of exit interviews she had to conduct. She couldn't blame workers for feeling insecure.

Lisa arrived in twenty minutes, her face flushed. "Sorry I'm late. I had to run a report."

"Why don't you have a seat and tell me what I can do for you." Jenny closed the door behind her.

The woman folded her hands in her lap and visibly swallowed. "As you probably know, I took over Bev's job six months ago. I was already busy with the expense reports but didn't feel I could refuse. The truth is I can't keep up. I fall behind no matter how late I stay. And now I'm getting migraines." She rubbed at her temple with one hand. "I've been with Miller for twelve years. Do you think - can you find me something else?"

Jenny sighed. Sometimes she hated being right. Last year when Bev retired, management used the opportunity to combine two busy administrative positions. Jenny had voiced her concern - that it was too much for one person - but they had made up their minds. Reducing headcount had become a holy crusade.

"Not at the moment, I'm afraid." Jenny shifted in her seat. "We've cut back everywhere. But I'll let you know if anything comes up."

Lisa gave her a tight smile as she got up. "Thanks. If I didn't have two children to support, it wouldn't be so bad. I can't afford to be without a job."

"I understand." After she left, Jenny glanced at the overtime sheets for last month. Lisa had put in at least 10-15 additional hours each week. She needed to be home at night with her family, not here.

With a sinking feeling, she went back to checking her email. As their human resources manager, she had hoped to make a difference. All it meant was that she now took orders from higher level management. They made the decisions, and she had to deal with the fall-out.

A message caught her attention - asking for nominations for the next executive development seminar. The irony hit her. The company had $100,000 for executive training but had found it necessary to lay off half their mailing room staff last month.

Time for a cigarette break. Outside, a good distance from the front door, people stood in clusters, smoking in the May sunshine. Jenny saw a woman she had spoken with many times, who worked for another company in the same office tower. Barb's olive complexion looked darker and seemed to glow.

"I haven't seen you around lately," Jenny said. "I wondered if you'd kicked the habit."

"God no," the other woman said. "I've been away - Myrtle Beach."

"You play golf?" This was their official "de-stress" zone. They never discussed their jobs.

In one giant puff, Barb expelled smoke from her lungs. "Nope. And I hardly saw the ocean. Spent a lot of time in my room." Her eyes danced. "It was kind of an impromptu vacation with someone I met a few months ago."

"Someone from Montreal?" Jenny felt a stab of envy. She wouldn't mind spending lazy days in bed with the right man.

She nodded. "We met through a dating site. ConneXions."

"Isn't that risky?"

Barb shook her head. "It's just a way for busy people to connect. After messaging on the system and a few live conversations, you arrange to meet in a public place. Dating sites are anonymous. You don't even have to use your real name."

Jenny said, "It seems to have worked for you."

"Hey, if you're still looking, you may want to try it yourself."

Barb's suggestion stayed with her as she returned to her office. Maybe she should give it a shot. Cruising bars was getting far too dangerous. Apart from the Montreal strangler, there were other predatory men out there. Last weekend she'd almost slept with someone she barely knew. Using a dating site, she could assess if they had anything in common before any face-to-face encounters.

That evening, she checked out ConneXions, which claimed to be Montreal's hottest site for meeting new people. After registering as a female with user name _Jen789_ , she browsed the men's profiles in her age range. Hundreds and hundreds of them - but their descriptions sounded the same. They liked to keep in shape and take long walks or drives; they often posted pictures with their cars or pets. Dogs mostly. Boring!

One profile - captioned _Just Your Average Bloke_ \- made her laugh out loud.

_Too many men lie about who they are just to impress the ladies. I'm laying it on the line. I'm short, fat and ugly. I have no sense of humor and no class. I love greasy food and spend my off time watching Star Trek reruns, preferably with a few bottles of beer. I'm looking for someone to share deep conversations about the weather_.

The 35-year-old man had not posted a photo, but she doubted he was anything like his description.

Even if half the men on the system were duds, she knew she could have fun. Chewing on her lower lip, she set up her own profile. Wanting to keep things casual, she identified herself as "attached" and selected _intimate encounters_ as her category. She could admit to being single later. Or not.

She gave her real age of 32 and height of 5'4". Then, after a lot of drafting and re-drafting, she composed an ad which she felt comfortable with. Under a headline called _Walk on the Wild Side_ , she wrote:

I'm looking for a man with a sense of adventure as well as savoir faire. I value friendship and loyalty. The best things in life are simple - a genuine smile, sharing a meal and sharing our day ... cuddling in the dark. My likes: 100% chocolate, soft music, sourdough bread. Who can explain chemistry? If we feel it together, let's take a walk on the wild side.

She uploaded a photo of herself surrounded by blue and white hydrangeas, which Colin had taken of her at the Botanical Gardens. Then she submitted her profile to the system. It was expected to appear on the site in 24 hours, after a routine check.

Afterwards, she sent a short message to _Just Your Average Bloke_. His profile was just too funny to ignore.

All Jenny wanted was a few dates and, hopefully, a lover who would become part of her life. She was tired of always waking up alone. Tired of fantasizing about sex with someone who took her breath away. If Barb could find the man of her dreams through the system, surely it could do something for her.

### Chapter Ten

Montreal Gazette \- **Few Leads in Sex Slayings**

The latest victim in Montreal's sex slayings, Nancy Durham, was on her way home on Saturday afternoon, 1 May, when she was accosted in the St. Rémi tunnel in Côte St. Paul. She was sexually assaulted and strangled.

Det.-Lt. Claude Robillard, spokesman for the Montreal Urban Community police homicide squad, confirmed today that forensic evidence links the 27-year-old woman's murder to several sex slayings earlier this year.

Hundreds of tips in the murder cases have been received since February but there are few solid leads. Homicide detectives are working around the clock to track the killer, who appears to stalk his prey in the afternoon or early evening. Until 1 May, victims in these sex slayings, all women in their twenties or thirties, were killed in their own homes.

Police are warning women in Montreal to lock their windows and doors and to be extremely vigilant on the street.

Dana quickly read the online newsfeed which her father had downloaded on his tablet. When she finally looked up, he was wearing a frown. Now she understood why he'd picked her up today, though she lived only a short walk from their home in LaSalle.

"I worry about you," he said. "There's always room here with us, if you decide to come back. I'll help you move."

She wasn't about to give up the independence of living on her own, no matter who prowled the streets.

"I like my apartment. And I have a solid lock. You installed it yourself, remember?" She leaned closer to pat his knee as they sat on the couch. "Any offers on the house?"

He sighed. "Lots of lookers, but no buyers so far. Your mother's getting stressed with all the traffic through here."

"You just need to find the right people." The semi-detached cottage was in excellent shape. They had decided to sell only because of the stairs and Dad's arthritic knees.

The aroma of roast chicken and potatoes wafted into the room, stirring her appetite. "I'll go say hi to Mom."

In the kitchen, her mother was pricking the baked potatoes with a fork. Dana blinked. "Isn't that the dress I found in the attic last year?" The pink striped seersucker tucked in at the waistline before flaring past her generous hips.

She flushed, whether from the heat in the kitchen or something else. "I put it on for the last time. I'm donating it to Renaissance along with a lot of other stuff."

Dana wondered if she was thinking of the man she had worn it with so long ago. Nothing had shocked her more than learning about her mother's affair.

### ***

Before setting up a garage sale last year, Mom had asked her to check the attic to see if she wanted to keep any of her childhood things. "Watch your step, okay?" she warned. "A couple of nails are sticking out of the floorboards."

Entering the upstairs attic was like stepping into her past.

Using the flashlight near the door, Dana looked around the dim space. In one corner sat her old red sled. She again saw her parents pulling her down a snow-covered street, laughing in the frosty air. As she touched a rusty runner, she thought how lucky her parents were to have each other.

They had inspired the thesis for her Bachelor of Psychology - "Contributing Factors to Marital Satisfaction." Her study had concluded that couples who stayed together had values and backgrounds in common - more similarities than disparities.

She reached for a cardboard box. A thin layer of dust scattered as she opened the flaps. Inside were dolls she'd played with as a child and a pair of her skates. Nothing worth keeping. She reached for the plastic bag behind the box. Beneath two woolen blankets lay the dress her mother wore today. As she gathered it towards her, something clattered on the floor.

A delicate necklace with a small locket shaped like an apple lay at her feet. She shone the flashlight on the engraving inside. "Love always," it said above a set of initials which she couldn't make out. Dana pocketed the necklace before leaving.

"I found this in the attic. Who's E.R. - a secret lover?" she jokingly asked her mother after-wards.

"I don't know. It was so long ago." All the same, her fingers closed possessively around the locket as she took it from her.

Dana thought she knew everything about her mother. "I'm an adult now, remember? You can trust me, Mom."

"This has nothing to do with you." Before her mother turned away, Dana glimpsed tears in her eyes.

During the next few days, she badgered her for details, swearing she would never breathe a word to anyone. She just wanted to know.

Finally her mother relented. Holding the locket against her cheek, she said, "His name was Ethan."

He was a New York advertising executive she had met at the Botanical Gardens where she first wore that dress. Apparently, Dana had been there, too, in a stroller.

"Your father was away a lot then," she continued. "Remember the bakery he owned with your uncle? He worked evenings and weekends to keep it going. And I had no roots here yet - all my friends and family were in Ontario. Ethan was going through a difficult divorce. I saw him whenever he came to Montreal." She unclasped the locket to gaze inside.

"You had an affair?" Dana felt crushed. Her parents' marriage had not been so perfect after all.

"I was very lonely. And my shyness stopped me from reaching out to people. Ethan helped me to see my own strengths. But one day I had to make a choice." She snapped the locket shut.

Mom had always seemed content looking after them and their home. Dana wondered if they had unknowingly stopped her from finding a deeper kind of fulfilment.

Imagining her in a lover's arms, Dana thought of her unsuspecting father, who had always shown his love in concrete ways. For weeks she rehashed the affair in her mind. It bothered her, no matter how she tried to rationalize her mother's behavior so many years ago.

The confession made her rethink intimate relationships and love. Mom had been young and vulnerable when Ethan came into her life. She was a decent, caring woman, not someone with loose morals. Any married woman seeking outside validation of her self-worth could be drawn into an affair. Suddenly Dana wanted to study the issues.

She had been trying to come up with a subject for her doctoral thesis. This was it - "Why Women Stray: The Relationship between Infidelity and Low Self-Esteem."

### ***

Now Dana helped her mother carry the plates of food to the dining room table. During dinner, she watched her father eat all his broccoli before tackling the chicken. He'd always eaten that way - vegetables first.

"The last time you were here, you almost fell asleep at the table. You're always working," he said. "Any word on your interviews with those women?"

"Not yet." Dana would check the dating site again later to see if any of them had responded. "And I don't mind the workload. One day I'll be practicing psychology with my own patients and it will all have been worth it."

He reached for a glass of water on the table. "You're right. It's important to follow our dreams, pumpkin, no matter what it takes." He was probably thinking about the bakery he had sold years ago. In spite of the long hours, he had loved his work.

She walked home alone after sunset, promising to call them as soon as she got in. The streets were quiet and she took her time. Something made her look up. A husky man in faded jeans strode towards her, the brim on his baseball cap covering his eyes. Thinking of the strangler, she rushed to her apartment, unlocked her front door and stepped inside.

Dana drew a long, shaky breath as the man continued down the street. No woman in this city would feel safe until the killer was apprehended.

### Tuesday, May 11th

### Chapter Eleven

_Sneaky bastard_. Kyle watched the marmalade cat slink out his neighbor's back door in the morning light. Her house was directly behind his, partially hidden by an overgrown cedar hedge.

Red hadn't come home last night. The overcast skies had threatened rain, and he called until he was hoarse. In the warmer weather, the cat had started disappearing regularly, days at a time. Kyle had assumed he just wanted to be out, not freeloading somewhere else.

Now he saw the big tabby saunter to the next yard, without even a glance in his owner's direction. Their showers had just ended; the animal carefully placed his paws in the sodden grass, mindful of getting wet.

He felt a familiar anger stir within. Women and cats. There wasn't much difference, was there? They were both fickle and not to be trusted.

His cell rang. Elaine was right on schedule.

"Tell me what you're wearing," he said as he plucked a cat hair from his trousers. "I want to picture you."

She giggled, a girlish sound for a woman in her late thirties. "Oh God, no. I just finished working out. I'm in warm-up pants and my hair's a mess. But I think I just dropped three pounds."

"That's too bad. I like a woman with curves." He grimaced, remembering the beginnings of a double chin and the extra padding around her middle. Elaine needed to drop at least twenty pounds but it was too late now. In less than one week, she'd be history.

"I've been thinking about you since last Thursday. Do you want - are we still getting together tomorrow?"

Her neediness made him smile. Interested but slightly aloof - that was how he'd learned to play the first two dates. A few compliments thrown out haphazardly were that much more effective. Each woman came closer, like a fly stepping into a spider's web.

He said, "Let's do lunch. You name the restaurant and I'll be there." Later they would go for a short drive and he'd hand her the bottle of perfume. Elaine, he knew, would be only too pleased to wear it for him on their fourth - and last - date.

Afterwards it started raining again, a constant drip. Still no sign of Red. Maybe he would return to the neighbor's house instead of coming here.

Feeling restless, Kyle logged into ConneXions with his iPad. A week from now he'd be starting over, and he preferred to have his quarry in sight. For that reason he had left messages for two other women during the last few days.

The last one was new to the dating site. Her tagline, _Walk on the Wild Side_ , caught his attention. He admired her bravado, posting a picture when she was married. Who was she kidding, saying she valued friendship and loyalty? She was seeking _intimate encounters_ , which made her prey.

The other profile had not been as imaginative. _Sleepless2Nite_ had not posted any photos, but he had a good feeling about her looks. Her caption, _Let's Dance 'Til the Music Stops_ , hinted at romantic longings. Like Lori, she had unrealistic ideas about love and would probably be easy to manipulate.

He had one new message on the system. _Sleepless2Nite_ had answered him and included two photos. An attractive woman with auburn hair and dark eyes stared back at him. Her smile looked a little forced and he caught a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. Just what he needed: an unhappily married woman. Time to focus on her message.

I can really use a friend. And if we're both attracted to each other, well, I'm willing to take it further. I'm looking for a serious relationship, though.

A serious relationship ...when she already had a husband and two children?

Of course Kyle would play her game. He loved games, especially when he could set it up to win.

Tuesday was a day off and he didn't have anything planned. The hours would be consumed by his chores - laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning. Damn it. He had gotten married to have that stuff taken care of.

When night finally closed in, he was physically tired but still wired. Going to bed earlier wouldn't help. He was accustomed to working the late shift at the bar.

Kyle heard a demanding meow at the back door. His two other cats had just eaten and were stretched out on the carpet.

Silently he let Red in. As if nothing were amiss, the cat raised his pale orange tail and rubbed his head against Kyle's legs.

"Can't catch a mouse to save your life, but you think you've got me twisted around your paw." Kyle spoke quietly, stooping to stroke Red's thick fur. The cat, responding to his tone, purred loudly. He continued brushing up against Kyle's calves. When his owner picked him up, he was still purring.

"I know where you've been. Turns out I'm not the forgiving kind. And I won't have you setting a bad example for Luther and Smoky."

Kyle carried the unsuspecting animal down the rickety stairs to the basement. He disliked coming down here; the dampness seeped through the cement floor. A single naked bulb cast a light over the stacks of plywood, an old barbecue he'd only used a few times, and a bike with flat tires.

Red stirred in his arms, looking warily around him. He and the others rarely descended the stairs. The cat was unprepared when Kyle opened a storage closet and dropped him inside. Rags piled on an overhanging shelf smelled of mold, and somewhere higher, paintbrushes soaked in turpentine.

Kyle latched the closet door and closed the light, leaving Red in the suffocating darkness. He climbed the stairs two at a time. Then he grabbed a beer from the fridge. As he drank from the can, he felt his anger begin to dissipate.

Damn cats. Didn't know why he put up with them. He finished the Molson and got another, thinking of the closet. And the stifling darkness. From the edges of his consciousness, memories swarmed at him.

### ***

He couldn't have been more than four or five. Those men with his mother - some with hairy chests, others with tattoos - he hated them all. Of course he didn't know then about a woman's weakness. All he knew was that his mother was ignoring him. At first he watched in the shadows. Then he coughed, letting them know he was there. Anything to stop the thrashing on her bed.

But she'd taken him out to the tool shed and locked him inside. "I told you to stay away from my room," she said. "You'll come out when I'm good and ready."

Kyle had cried out until his lungs hurt, but no one was listening. The inside of the shed was pitch black. After a while his eyes adjusted and he could make out shadowy shapes - tools, a wheelbarrow, sacks of fertilizer. He bumped against a wall and something hard and metallic hit him. Scratched his face. He screamed, but still no one came. Later he realized it had only been a rake, but the terror and rage had settled inside him by then.

### ***

Now he crushed the empty Molson can and tossed it into the trash. Why relive the past? He wasn't small and helpless anymore. Thinking of his recent sexual experiences, he felt a surge in his groin. They had fought back, all five of them, but in the end it had been easy. None could match his physical strength. Women. What were they but wrongs he could make right?

In the living room, he unlocked a small filing cabinet and extracted a manila folder from the top drawer. Then he spread the news clippings across his glass-topped coffee table.

He glanced fondly over his first headline, **Robbery Victim Slain**. The report focused on the burglary, saying the woman's attacker had rummaged through the house, presumably looking for valuables, after emptying her purse. The fact that she had also been sexually assaulted had not been mentioned.

That experience had been a Christmas present to himself, a little pick-me-up after Lori left.

But if it weren't for the man everyone referred to as the Montreal strangler, Kyle wouldn't have indulged himself again. He had almost resigned himself to a painfully celibate life when the murders began. Then, suddenly, the road was wide open to him, and with the anonymity of ConneXions, he was in the driver's seat. He didn't even mind having the strangler take the credit. Sometimes he wondered if the police had caught on yet. Nothing in the media hinted at two killers.

Carefully he fingered his other clippings, smoothing out a few creases in the paper. He got most of his news online now, which meant printing out each report. It was worth the trouble, just to have access to everything at once.

Three of the headlines screamed, **Sex Slayer Strikes Again** , **36-yr.-old Woman Slain in NDG** , and **School Teacher Raped and Strangled**.

Ah, yes. Although he had contacted the teacher through the dating site, their first meeting had taken place in the Westmount library.

She taught English literature. Knowing that should have prepared him for her question: _who are your favorite authors_?

Kyle hadn't picked up a book in years, but still remembered what he had been forced to read in high school. "I guess I never outgrew the classics," he said, trying to sound sincere. "John Steinbeck, Ernest Hemingway, even Charles Dickens. There's so much to learn from them."

As he saw her eyes widen with pleasure, he felt himself relax. Christ, he was good.

"You are a surprise. Go on." She uncrossed her legs in the shapeless skirt, giving him a glimpse of long, slender limbs.

"I despise mindless entertainment. If more people read, we'd have a more civilized society," he went on, warming up to his persona. At this point, his eyes connected with hers and he gave her a hesitant smile.

After two more dates, she invited him over. Her husband was away on business and she was tired of being alone. In the privacy of her blue-and-white bedroom, Kyle removed her clothes and his facade.

"Isn't this moving a little fast?" she argued when he suddenly positioned himself over her.

"This is all I want from you," he said, pinning her arms to the bed. "All I ever wanted."

Unfortunately she used her fingernails on him before he could cut off her oxygen. Later the gashes on his face were easily explained at the bar; he had simply blamed his cats.

With a sigh, he returned the clippings to the drawer and locked the cabinet. It always gave him a thrill to read about his handiwork, even if no one knew who he was.

He went to the basement door, opened it a crack, and listened for a moment. The meowing was intermittent and fainter now. At least it wouldn't keep him awake.

After shutting the door, he strode into his bedroom. For a long moment he gazed at the photograph on the dresser. Lori lounged on a lawn chair in shorts and a snug T-shirt, her golden brown hair glinting in the sun. So goddamn gorgeous.

Kyle slid open the bottom drawer of his dresser. In it lay seven pairs of Dack's leather boot laces. He had bought them for next to nothing at Wal-Mart, where no one would remember the purchase. He used a new pair each time, in case all that pulling weakened the cords. The laces were reliable and made it easier for him to concentrate on having sex.

Three rectangular bottles of _Midnight Romance_ \- _Eau de Parfum_ stood next to the boot¬ laces. A nifty design, with pink liquid representing a peony fragrance, and the dark label, the scent of rich black vanilla. When they were first married, he had bought this perfume for Lori, and she wore it whenever they made love. The scent alone aroused him.

The Ralph Lauren spray bottles were sleek and sexy, even if he had bought them on discount. For the women he met on ConneXions, it was the perfect gift.

Kyle stretched out on his bed, his left arm flung uselessly across the empty space. In whose arms was Lori now? He needed her here, damn it. Maybe he had been kidding himself. His couplings with these women were only a distraction. None of them came close to her.

The build-up to the fourth date was still exciting, though. He liked the anticipation. Once he had them in bed, everything moved quickly. And then it was over. If only he could prolong his pleasure somehow. It was time to introduce something new.

### Chapter Twelve

As she prepared for work, Jenny checked her messages on ConneXions. _Just Your Average Bloke_ had replied. He wrote that they had something in common with their love of sourdough bread. Roger worked in computer sales and didn't start before 10. He invited her to call any morning before 9:30 a.m. for a quick chat.

Why speculate about who he was when she could speak to him and find out? After using a two-digit code to protect her caller ID, she punched out his number.

A throaty male voice answered. "Sorry, I was gargling. Who did you say you were?"

" _Walk on the Wild Side_ , from the system. You left your number." This was such a bad idea. Maybe he left messages for dozens of women.

"Awesome. A little early for a walk, but I remember. You mentioned chocolate and sourdough bread. I know the best places in Montreal for both."

She was good with details, too. "What about greasy food?"

He laughed. "OK, we can add fries to the list."

As they continued chatting, she realized he sounded as normal as anyone she'd met in a bar. And she was right about his sense of humor. "You been on the system long?"

"A few months. I just came out of a relationship. We were living together. Then one day I came home and found half the furniture missing. She took off with some guy."

"Oh." Jenny could empathize. She told him about the musician she'd lived with, who moved in with someone else after they broke off.

"Life's a bitch sometimes," he said. "Listen, you probably need to leave for work. I know this is last minute, but a friend of mine has a vernissage at an art gallery this evening. Would you care to join me? That is, if you're free."

Jenny told him she could make it any time after seven. Viewing artwork together would be an interesting way to get to know each other. Even if Roger didn't appeal to her physically, at least she would be out. Her career had taken up too much time since Colin.

At work that morning, her boss called her in. When she got to his office, he quietly shut the door.

"Keep this to yourself," he said. "We plan on closing one of our mills in the Maritimes, and that means more cuts in head office."

"We just shut the mill in Trois Rivières. Is business that bad?"

Tom Burnett, a stout man in his fifties, pushed back the glasses that had slid down his nose. His unflinching eyes met hers. "Yes. So far, we're keeping fine papers in Quebec."

They must have considered closing part of that division as well. She waited for more, feeling a sudden stiffness in her back.

"Our building lease expires next year and we found something more affordable, slightly out of the downtown core. There's only room for three hundred employees." He looked down at his hands, folded on the desk. "We have to cut another thirty percent. We'll start with an early retirement program."

"Our last one was only two years ago," she pointed out. "That covered everyone fifty-eight or over." While many employees had welcomed the package, a number of them had problems with the loss of income and pleaded to be kept on. Dozens of lay-offs had followed the early retirements and she had learned to steel herself for every exit interview.

He cleared his throat. "We're starting at fifty-five this time. I want you to crunch out the numbers - by department, with job titles, years of service, current salaries. We can expect a success rate of eighty-five percent. And those are employees we don't have to replace."

"Our staff is already overworked," Jenny protested. "I don't see how they can handle any more." Again she heard Lisa saying she couldn't keep up.

"Get me those numbers," he said, glancing at the door. Meeting dismissed.

Jenny returned to her desk with a sinking feeling. If only she could quit and work elsewhere. The Montreal job market was extremely tight. HR professionals with more experience than her were seeking positions that didn't exist. Every week their résumés flooded her in-box.

She couldn't wait to get home. The vernissage would be a nice distraction and maybe she'd have fun with Roger. After a quick shower, she changed into a floral off-the-shoulder designer dress. First impressions.

Thinking of Roger, she drove to rue St. Laurent or "the Main." This street, which ran north to south, divided the city. She passed a delicatessen, then a bakery with crusty loaves in the window. The art gallery was farther north. After parking, she arrived at Entre Cadre only a few minutes late.

A tall man in a business suit stood near the door. His features were Germanic - pale blue eyes and a well-defined jawline. By the way he smiled at her, she knew it had to be him. "Roger?"

His sweeping gaze took her in. "Jenny. You're just how I pictured you. Ready for a tour of the exhibit?"

When he offered his arm, she gratefully took it. So much for _short, fat and ugly_.

They circled the room, following a procession of people from one painting to the next. The collection, _Le Chemin du zodiaque_ , was in acrylic. The person illustrated on each canvas represented an astrological sign, with a bilingual placard describing his or her qualities.

"Pricey, aren't they?" Jenny whispered. The paintings ranged from $500 to $2,000.

Roger put an arm around her shoulders. "It's negotiable. But the artist does very well."

Of course, the close physical contact wasn't appropriate for someone she'd just met. But she liked the feel of his body next to hers. The painting for Scorpio made her shiver. The man's eyes were piercing and intense. The description read,

"Of all the types, the Scorpio personality is the most dominant, ruthless and self-willed. A person born under this sign has great strength and energy but can also have an almost inhuman insensibility towards the feelings and reactions of others."

"There's more downstairs," Roger said, tugging at her arm. She followed him past the wrought-iron gate in the center of the room and down the stairs.

As soon as they entered the room, Jenny felt someone staring at them. A pretty woman with platinum blonde hair looked away, then back.

"Who's that?" Jenny asked, sensing an undercurrent between her and Roger.

"My ex," he said. "The artist is her best friend." As they toured the room, he slid an arm around Jenny's waist. The warmth of his hand could be felt through her dress. If he knew his ex would be here, why had he come? Was he trying to make her jealous?

Back upstairs, Roger left her side to speak to the artist as well as the woman he had once shared his living space with. Minutes dragged by. Finally Jenny went up to him.

"I'm ready to leave. Are you coming? _" Prove me wrong._

"Go ahead. I'll catch up later." He barely glanced at her before returning to the two women.

Outside, she hesitated several minutes before heading for her car. Every few steps, she looked back at the door in case he had followed her.

Humiliation washed over her on the drive home. Roger was not who he said he was but, more than that, she knew he had never been interested in her. He just wanted to show his ex that he was fine without her. Jenny refused to waste any more time thinking about him.

At home, she kicked off her high heels and sank into a chair. After turning on the news, she lit a cigarette and took a long drag. Another clothing retailer was closing. So many businesses struggled in this economy. It didn't help that residents were the most highly taxed in North America. Thinking of Miller Paper again and the new cutbacks, she sighed.

Finally she closed the TV. The news depressed her and she wanted to end the night on a lighter note. She went over to the laptop on the table and turned it on.

A new message waited for her on the system. _Loves Cats, Loves to Dance_ had sent her two private images with his message as well as his phone number. He claimed to be a divorced stockbroker.

You say you like cuddling in the dark. Me too. Life is meant to be shared, don't you think? Until six months ago, I was married. I'm still not ready for a commitment, which is why I chose Intimate Encounters. Give me a call. If you really want a walk on the wild side, I know just where to take you.

Jenny glanced at his user name. _Searching4U_ sounded intelligent and intriguing. What did she have to lose? She pressed Reply and shot back a message.

I have a busy career in HR, but my husband's away a lot on business. I'm looking for something casual, too. I'll phone you soon.

### Wednesday, May 12th

### Chapter Thirteen

ConneXions was a goldmine for Dana's interviews. Twelve women seeking _intimate encounters_ outside marriage had agreed to see her so far, with the assurance of utmost discretion of course, and more profiles went up daily.

Time to get her questionnaires approved by her thesis supervisor. She called Russell after lunch.

"If you're free tomorrow evening, why don't we discuss them over dinner?" he asked.

"Dinner?" Dana almost dropped her phone. She had always had a crush on him, but their relationship had remained well within the boundaries of professor and student. She called him by his first name only after working closely with him on her thesis last year.

"I do have an ulterior motive." He chuckled. "I have two tickets to the MSO but my friend cancelled out. I hope you'll join me afterwards for the concert, luv. Do you like classical?"

She expelled a long breath. "I grew up with it. And I'd love to join you."

Russell picked her up promptly the next evening. He wore a Giorgio Armani suit with a salmon shirt that flattered his complexion. He got out to open the passenger door of his BMW for her. Dana slid into the seat, clutching a sheaf of notes.

His glance took her in - the glittery top, short skirt, stiletto heels and the extra care she'd taken with her makeup. She had even braided her blonde hair and twisted it into a chignon.

"You look radiant."

"Thanks." She suddenly felt tongue-tied. This felt more like a date than a working session, at least to her.

"I have a hankering for seafood. Is that okay?" When she nodded, he said, "I know a wonderful restaurant on Peel. It's Portuguese."

With his usual efficiency, Russell maneuvered through traffic and then parked the car. As he ushered her into Ferreira Trattoria, a variety of tantalizing aromas mingled in the air.

Colorful dishes decorated one wall, with ceramic murals on another. A baked clay counter ran the length of the room. He had certainly chosen a classy place to go over the questionnaires.

"Corner table," Russell told the hostess.

Once they were seated, Dana tried to decipher the Portuguese meals on the menu. When Russell offered to order for her, she gratefully accepted.

The mixed hors d'oeuvres were bite-sized portions of grilled octopus, squid and shrimp along with yellow and red peppers. Dana tentatively tried a piece and immediately reached for another.

What would her friends say if they saw her now? Russell had often been the target of speculation on campus. Rumors of his affairs had only grown since his divorce. In class, he often answered Dana's questions first or looked straight at her when addressing the room, and that was enough to fuel the rumor mill. Not that anything was going on between them.

Of course, having an affair with him could jeopardize her finances. As one of his grad students, she received part of his research grant. That, and what she made as a teaching assistant, paid the rent.

Russell cleared his throat. "Can I see your questionnaires before our food arrives?"

Dana handed him her papers, then took a sip of the full-bodied wine he had ordered.

Her title ran across the top - "Why Women Stray: The Relationship between Infidelity and Low Self-Esteem." Russell and the thesis committee had already approved the topic. She just needed clearance on procedures.

"I split my thesis into three studies," she said. "My first will prove that married women having affairs lack self-esteem. For the second study, I'll interview monogamous women and measure their marital satisfaction and level of self-esteem. A third study will show how raising women's self-worth can improve their marriages."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sounds ambitious, luv, especially the last part."

"I thought it all out," she said. "I'll interview married women who are taking steps to improve themselves. Anything from self-development courses to Weight Watchers."

As he looked down at her papers again, a shock of brownish-gray hair fell across his forehead. His longish hair was part of his boyish charm. Vacillating between her attraction to him and her need to get her proposal accepted, she fiddled with her fork until he spoke again.

"Let's focus on your first study for now." At that moment their main dishes arrived and Russell slid the papers to one side. "I hope you like the _acorda de marisco_. They do it well."

The deep seafood casserole had an egg topping and was garnished with shrimp and clams in their shells. Her first spoonful of fish broth was flavored with coriander, tomato and clam juices. Delicious.

When Russell refocused on her papers, he used a pen to scrawl some notes across them. "Start off with the general questions. And we need to measure how meaningful their jobs are to them. Put in a scale. How long will these questions take?"

"About thirty minutes."

When he asked about the instrument for self-esteem, she told him to look at the top of page 2.

Russell turned the page. "I can't go along with this, Dana. The Canadian questionnaire isn't comprehensive enough. Use a traditional model - Coopersmith or Rosenberg."

"Okay. I can find them quickly enough. I've got three interviews lined up for tomorrow, another two on Friday. Can I go ahead?"

He nodded. "If you make the changes."

Relieved at getting his agreement, she tucked the papers back into her bag.

"Did you know I'm going to Europe? I leave in two and a half weeks."

"Yes." She already knew she'd miss him. "Where are you going?

"One of my colleagues wants me to house sit in Cannes. It's been years since I've been on the Côte d'Azur."

She smiled. "I heard about the nude beaches."

He shrugged. "It's as much a part of the French culture as Henri Matisse." Russell peeled a shrimp and popped it into his mouth. "I'll be gone for two months. I should check on your project before I leave, in case we need more adjustments. Let's meet after your interviews this week. How about Friday evening?"

Dana's pulse skipped a beat because he wanted to again see her in the evening. Maybe the timing was convenient for him but she hoped it was something more. As he drove her to the concert hall, she let herself fantasize that they were a couple.

Seated next to Russell in the great hall, Dana became aware of a few curious glances. Was it their age difference? They had at least twenty years between them. She knew Russell could have his pick of women; she was only with him tonight because he didn't want to go alone.

Soon the orchestra began and dozens of stringed instruments transported her to another world. Russell pressed her hand for a moment. "Enjoying the music?"

She let out a sigh of pleasure. "Vivaldi's Four Seasons is my favorite."

All too soon, the performance was over. He drove her back to LaSalle in silence.

After walking her to her door, Russell kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks for accepting my invitation. You were great company."

"Good night then." She tried to hide her disappointment that he hadn't tried for a real kiss.

"I'll call you Friday - fivish."

She heard Russell's car pull away from the curb as the deadlock on her door clicked into place. Maybe tonight the Montreal strangler would seek his next victim; she could only ensure that it wasn't her.

### Chapter Fourteen

Kyle hurried to a vegetarian restaurant on McGill College Avenue, Elaine's choice. Women hated to be kept waiting, and this was his third date with her. The fourth date was the winner; he couldn't afford to screw this one up.

Elaine sat at a small table next to a full-sized window overlooking the busy intersection.

"Did you get held up with a client?"

He nodded, mentally thanking her for the excuse. She still hadn't asked which brokerage firm he worked for, which made things easier. "Sorry I'm late."

The real reason for his tardiness, of course, had been Stephanie's call.

_Sleepless2Nite_ had phoned just after 1:00 p.m. He had left her his number on the system yesterday. When she identified herself, he remembered her ridiculous statement about wanting a serious relationship. _Serious_ was "married" as far as he was concerned. Why couldn't women be more upfront when they wanted sex?

The hesitancy in her voice told him that she needed to be handled with finesse. To gain her sympathy, he confided that he wasn't actually divorced. It pained him to talk about it, he said, but his wife had died of cancer. After he admitted that he hated being on his own, he sensed Stephanie warming up to him.

Now Kyle reached across the table for Elaine's hand. As his thumb drew lazy circles on her palm, he said. "Your hair's sexy like that. Did you do it for me?"

She patted the spiked hair with its purple streaks. "You really like it? My hairdresser talked me into it."

He nodded, thinking her hair looked stupid, the eye shadow overdone, and that dress was definitely a size too small.

The lunch crowd had thinned out; he was glad they had some privacy.

"We better help ourselves to the buffet before it's gone." Elaine pushed back her chair and headed for the self-serve counters in the center of the room.

"You were right. This food is great," Kyle said afterwards over a plate heaped with potato salad, eggplant, and a meatless pot pie. He had purposefully eaten eggs and bacon this morning. That was the only way he could put up with this vegetarian crap.

As they sat with their coffee, he casually brushed his trousered calf against her bare leg.

Elaine lowered her lashes. "I haven't had a good night's sleep since I met you. I find myself fantasizing about ... you know."

Good, his cue. He had known instinctively how to play her. All it took was a bit of flattery.

"Me too." Looking into her eyes, he said, "I have something for you."

From his jacket pocket, he withdrew a sleek bottle of _Midnight Romance_ , _Eau de Parfum_ and handed it to her. "I'd love if you could wear this for me on our next date."

She sprayed a few drops on her wrist and sniffed her skin. "What a pretty fragrance. And Ralph Lauren. I don't get romantic gifts from my husband anymore." Her eyes clouded. "You probably wonder about my marriage."

Damn. Here came another sob story and he wasn't in the mood.

Elaine continued, "Derek was diagnosed with clinical depression a few years ago, and started taking medication. He's on the minimum dosage now, but he still can't...you know. Derek doesn't seem to mind - he lost all desire for sex. But it's been hard on me." She smiled at the play on words. "The wrong kind of hard."

Kyle forced a smile. Incredible that she could blab about something as personal as her husband's impotence. He had a few disastrous dates after Lori left. One woman had even put his dick in her mouth to coax him. It hadn't worked. Humiliated, he had jumped into his clothes and slammed out the room. He felt his shoulders tense at the memory.

"I hope I haven't shocked you," Elaine said in a low voice. "My marriage is solid. This is the only area that isn't working."

Looking past the defenseless chin to her thick neck, he wondered if choking her would require a second boot lace for extra strength.

He said, "Everyone needs a little love. Let's get together next week. Is Monday okay? I have the day off."

She touched a napkin to her lips. "I usually go to aerobics in the afternoon."

Under the table, he trapped her legs between his and exerted a little pressure. "Cancel for once. I need to be with you, Elaine. I'll meet you at your place. And don't worry about the neighbors. I'll park down the street and come around the back. Just leave the door open."

Her cheeks flushed now. "Well, Derek should be out of town then and my daughter gets home after five-thirty. You can come over. But you absolutely have to be out by five."

"Not a problem." Since he had already paid for their meals, they were ready to go. On the street, he gave her hand an intimate squeeze. "'Til Monday then. I'll be counting the hours."

As he drove home, he felt himself relax behind the steering wheel. Good thing about the night shift at the bar; it left his afternoons free.

Back in Dorval, he kicked an empty carton of BBQ out of his hallway, the only box that hadn't made it to the garbage. As he thought of Monday, his adrenalin started to pump. Needing to calm down, he sat on the sofa and popped open a can of beer. He still had some time to kill before going to work.

While flipping channels, he caught a news station. Two women with a strong family resemblance flashed on the screen. Then he saw an old brick building on a residential street.

"The stalker ran out the first-floor flat and down this street," the reporter said. "Borello and her mother later helped police put together a computer-generated composite."

The composite displayed as the reporter went on, "He's a white French-speaking male aged 25 to 30 years, standing about 5 feet 8 inches tall with a muscular build. He has short dark hair. At the time of the attack, he wore faded jeans, a blue-and-white checkered shirt and running shoes."

The reporter now looked straight into the camera. "This man is a prime suspect in the murders earlier this year. A DNA match of semen samples obtained from four women slain in February and March indicates a single killer. Other cases are still being examined." A phone number for the Montreal Urban Community police homicide squad appeared at the bottom of the screen.

Kyle hunched forward to examine the composite photo. Apparently he and the stalker had only one feature in common. Straight, dark hair not quite over the collar.

The police still hadn't figured out there were two killers. Kyle had imitated the other man's style and carefully wiped his fingerprints from every scene. Of course it was only a matter of time before the truth emerged.

He finished his beer and fed Luther and Smoky. When he opened his back door, both cats sauntered out into the fading sunshine. A car door slammed: another neighbor pulling in from the office. Kyle liked going to work after everyone else had gone home.

A faint scratching sound and a feeble meow came from the basement. Time to get rid of Red. No sense in prolonging his life now that he couldn't be trusted. With a sigh, he grabbed a couple of large garbage bags from a drawer, placed one inside the other for reinforcement, and made his way down the basement stairs.

The place stank. The cat had urinated in the closet, and from the looks of it, thrown up as well. Kyle grabbed the marmalade cat by the scruff of his neck and shoved him into the bag. He hauled the bundle upstairs and tossed it near the door.

"This is what you get for messing with me," he said. "I don't know what I was thinking, taking in a stray." Kyle got dressed for work as Red struggled in the bag. In his weakened and dehydrated state, the lack of oxygen eventually stilled his movements.

On his way to the bar that night, Kyle pulled up at the dumpster behind the supermarket. It was already half filled with trash. He swung the bag over the top and heard a solid thud.

By the time he reached Ryan's, he had already forgotten the cat.

### Thursday, May 13th

### Chapter Fifteen

Sixty minutes before her date with Kyle, Stephanie felt her hands go clammy. She paced between the kitchen and the bay window in the living room, trying to relax. Was she setting herself up for more heartache? And why risk another affair?

Richard had stayed out all night again, and she hadn't even tried to excuse his absence to the children. His insistence on an open marriage made the rift between them grow bigger every day. And Justin and Emma made it impractical to leave. Maybe Kyle would fill the gap in her life. What if he didn't like her? They hadn't talked much, but he sounded sure of himself. Certain, too, of his desire to see her.

She picked up her cell, only to put it down again. Cancelling at the last minute was a crummy thing to do; Kyle looked forward to meeting her. Finally she sought the bottle of vodka under the sink. She downed two shots in quick succession. As the alcohol entered her bloodstream, she felt the knots in her stomach slowly dissolve.

Yesterday morning, still depressed over her breakup with George, she had logged into ConneXions. _Loves Cats, Loves to Dance_ had left her another message, telling her where to reach him any time after noon.

When she phoned him, she heard a meow in the background. It reassured her that he wanted her to call him at home. But then he was divorced. "Is that a cat?"

"Two of them, actually. A black tabby and a gray one with white paws. They're good company. You have any pets?"

"Only children. You do know I'm married. Shouldn't you be dating women who are more available?"

After a brief silence, he said, "I'm not really divorced. I lost my wife to cancer six months ago. It's still hard to talk about it." His voice dropped. "Much as I hate being alone, I'm not ready for a full-time relationship. It's too soon."

Sympathy washed over her. Here he was, caring for his cats and trying to forget the tragedy in his life. No wonder he put himself in _intimate encounters_. Like her, he was just trying to make it through another day.

"I'm sorry, Kyle."

"Let's meet somewhere. I need to see you, maybe touch your hand. It would mean a lot to me."

"I don't know what I'm looking for."

"But you'll know when you find it, won't you?" he asked. "We don't have anything to lose."

### ***

Now Stephanie squeezed her SUV between two other vehicles in a popular area east of the downtown core. After turning off the ignition, she sat for a moment, enjoying the warm air through her half-open window. Her thoughts ran in circles. _What if we can't think of anything to say to each other_? Maybe all they had was today.

Kyle had chosen a café on St. Denis, where they could sit on a terrace. As she headed for her destination, beads of perspiration trickled between her breasts. She unbuttoned her sweater and kept walking. Thankfully she had worn a sleeveless dress.

She passed a man strumming a guitar on a door stoop. La Capoterie, a boutique specializing in condoms, stood next to a tourist hotel. How convenient, she thought. Now came a string of cafés spilling onto the sidewalk. People sat on white plastic chairs, laughing in the sunshine after another long winter.

Café Chaos was wedged between a bistro and a bakery. It had wooden tables on its terrace and chairs with red seats. The buttery aroma of croissants wafted in the air.

"Stephanie?" A dark-haired man motioned to her as his slow gaze took her in.

She seated herself at his table, unable to pull herself away from his hypnotic eyes. "You're younger than I expected."

"You mean you're surprised I still have all my hair and don't have a pot belly. I know about the men on the system; other women have told me."

As she arranged her sweater on the back of her chair, she tried to collect her thoughts. If anything, Kyle looked better in person than in his photos. "I met only one other man, but he was honest about his looks at least." She thought of George and the whispered endearments which had fallen so easily from his lips.

Kyle reached out to squeeze her wrist, then released it. "No unhappy memories while you're with me. Deal?"

Stephanie nodded.

" _Quelque chose à boire_?" A waitress suddenly appeared at her elbow.

Stephanie ordered her usual herbal tea and Kyle another coffee. The woman had straight blonde hair past her shoulders and the perfect body for a leather mini-skirt. Most men would have watched her swing her hips as she walked away. Kyle, though, turned his back to the waitress and focused on her.

Certainly Kyle had surpassed her expectations. His eyes were dark and intense and his presence commanded attention. The only visible flaw, a slightly crooked front tooth, made him more approachable.

She saw him glance at her wedding ring.

"So what do you do, Stephanie, when you're not looking after your family?" Seemingly by accident, his knee grazed her leg under the table.

"I worked in a dental office for many years. I've been brushing up on my language skills since they closed. Hopefully I'll find another job soon." To her, "soon" meant in a couple of years. Justin was still young, and Emma growing fast. "Meanwhile, I jog or walk to stay fit."

Kyle reached over to brush a strand of auburn hair from her face. His palm lingered on her cheek for a moment before he let his hand drop. Her pulse continued to race afterwards. "I admire women who keep in shape. Your husband must be a fool. But if he appreciated you, you wouldn't be here now, would you?"

That was true. If Richard hadn't repeatedly broken their vows, she wouldn't have tried ConneXions.

"I can't offer you much," she said. "All I have are a handful of afternoons and that can't possibly be enough for someone in your -"

He put a finger to his lips. "Let's not put boundaries on what we have. I want to be with you, Stephanie, for however long it lasts."

She let him hold her hand as she finished sipping her tea. Minutes passed as they sat in companionable silence, watching a parade of people walk by. Then she glanced at her watch with a start. "I hate to go - but my son will be back from school."

"I'll walk you to your car." He tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table. Not waiting for change, he steered Stephanie to the sidewalk and casually slipped an arm around her shoulders. "If we run into anyone you know, we'll say I'm your cousin."

She smiled up at him. "Visiting from Calgary. My car's two blocks up." One question burned in her mind. How soon did he want to meet again? After George's easy dismissal of her, she didn't wish to appear overeager.

When they reached her SUV, a Toyota RAV, he reluctantly removed his arm from her shoulders.

"This isn't goodbye, Stephanie. It's _au revoir_." He held her against him, and then gazed into her face. She saw pleasure mixed with pain in his eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

"You remind me of Lori. You have the same fair skin, and you're just as soft-spoken."

Now she understood. "You must have loved your wife very much." Kyle's sensitivity surprised her. Although he appeared self-confident, even charming, she sensed there were depths to him she could not yet fathom.

"When did you want to get together again?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

He smiled at her. "How about meeting for a walk next Thursday? I'm planning to take time off work."

"Perfect. I'll call you the day before to confirm. Or we can leave messages for each other on the system." That would give her a week to sift through her impressions of Kyle and see if she wanted to take the next step. She liked that he hadn't pressured her into giving him her number before she was ready.

She slid into the driver's seat and he shut the door. Through the window pane, his eyes continued to hold hers. Then he blew her a kiss and was gone.

Stephanie's spirits lifted as she drove home. Kyle was right. Richard didn't appreciate her. If she wanted love and intimacy, she had to find it outside her marriage. George had been a mistake, but she would be careful with Kyle.

She would put a lid on her emotions until she felt certain of his.

### Chapter Sixteen

Montreal Gazette \- **Suspect in Sex Killings Sighted**

A 23-year-old woman was assaulted and almost choked to death in her LaSalle apartment minutes after returning home yesterday afternoon. Carla Borello, a Concordia student, got off the 112 bus at Broadway at 3:20 p.m. and walked half a block to her ground-level flat on 7th Avenue. She was carrying school books and didn't see the man who stalking her until she had stepped inside her front door.

The man squeezed her throat to subdue her before tearing off her clothes. Borello's mother, who lives upstairs, heard noises and came down to investigate. She startled her daughter's attacker, who fled on foot.

Jenny examined the composite photo alongside the report on her tablet. It alarmed her how ordinary the suspect looked. He was dark-haired, in his mid to late twenties, with regular features and a slightly muscular build. Someone she wouldn't even notice on the street.

She shivered. When would the police catch this guy? He had killed women across the city; she had no reason to believe that the downtown core was safe.

Coughing, she reached for a du Maurier to go with her morning coffee. As Jenny drew the cigarette smoke into her lungs, she coughed again. She seriously needed to quit. But with all the stress in her life, she wasn't sure how.

With another sip of coffee, she logged into the dating site. A single message sat in her inbox, the one from _Loves Cats, Loves to Dance_. Another glance at the photos he'd sent confirmed her earlier assessment of his good looks. Seeing the time, she shut down her tablet.

As she hurriedly dressed for work, she recalled her nightmare. A long line of people wearing T-shirts with "55" emblazoned on them shuffled forward. Jenny led them, one by one, to a guillotine. The meaning was crystal clear.

Yesterday she had handed the report to Tom. It identified 109 employees in head office aged fifty-five or older. Early retirement packages were being prepared. For many, the settlement would not be enough to cover their expenses. Damn. It wasn't her decision.

After lunch, she looked up to see Tom standing before her. "Any questions about the report?"

"No." He took the chair on the other side of her desk. "We need to cut more costs. We're thinking of changing the company that handles our employee assistance programs."

"Life Management Systems?" She had always been satisfied with their services.

He nodded. "Get the caseload and costs broken down by category over the last three years. How much we spent for substance abuse, depression, family problems, whatever." He told her they also had to do something about their high rate of absenteeism. "We've got too many people off sick."

Jenny sighed. "We're asking them to take on added responsibilities and learn new skills. Employees are overwhelmed and get run down. Some of them have flu symptoms for weeks."

Tom rapped his knuckles on her desk. "From now on, anyone who stays home more than one day needs a doctor's note. Inform all the salary administrators."

She shook her head at his receding back. Had he heard a word she'd said? The atmosphere in head office was getting tenser. No one lingered at coffee stations anymore and smokers took fewer breaks. The hallways were silent except for hushed whispers about the Montreal strangler and women arranging to leave the building together.

Reluctantly she called the company that handled their employee problems. Tom would get his statistics. She only wished he would consider the reasons. When people got stressed at work, it affected their performance and spilled over into their private lives.

The general manager at Life Management Systems explained there would be a delay in putting together the information for her. Their program administrator had just quit and they needed to find a replacement.

"Jenny, you're in the field. Do you know anyone with a degree in HR management who can assess client needs? And likes dealing with people?"

"You mean someone like me."

He laughed. "Hey - the job's wide open if you want it. I doubt we'll be able to attract anyone of your caliber, though. We don't pay enough."

"I'll flip through my résumé file," she promised.

Afterwards, Jenny imagined how satisfying it must be helping people with their personal problems instead of always being the bearer of bad news. She brushed the idea aside. She already had ten years with Miller Paper, and they paid her enough to afford her downtown apartment and a few luxuries.

When she left the office at the end of the day, employees were still hunched over their key-boards. Many of them worked well into the evening; it was the only way to keep up.

The pressures of the day had tied her stomach in knots. After a quick shower at home, she headed for the gym. As she ran on a treadmill, she couldn't shake off her feelings of unease. With the coming cutbacks, employees would be even more overworked. She would again have to deal with the fallout.

When she finally left the gym, she had exhausted every muscle in her body. Outside, rain spattered before swiftly changing to a downpour. Jenny puffed on a cigarette as it came down on sheets.

"Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?" A sandy-haired man in jeans and a hoodie stood a few feet away, looking at her smoke. "I saw you work out at the gym."

"I'm trying to quit." She expelled the smoke away from him as she looked him over. Tall, lean, attractive. The fine lines around his gray-blue eyes put him in his late thirties.

"I used to smoke. Now I jog," he said. Thunder rolled overhead. "Do you need a lift? I'm parked across the street."

Jenny looked at the dark skies. She hadn't even brought an umbrella. The thought of walking alone into the wet night, especially with a serial killer on the loose, did not seem wise. "Okay. I'm only a few blocks from here."

She found out that Eric worked with juvenile delinquents at a _centre d'accueil_. He told her that he had an effective program to stop smoking at the center, if she really wanted to quit.

When they got to her building, she impulsively reached across the seat to kiss him on the cheek. "Thanks for the ride."

The way he stiffened at the contact surprised her. She took it as a challenge. "I live alone, Eric. If you aren't going anywhere, why don't you come up for a few minutes?"

He sighed. "It would be tempting. But I'm gay."

"Oh." Her hand froze on the door handle. How could she have been so stupid?

Eric squeezed her arm. "It isn't obvious." He handed her a business card. "Call my cell number if you want to try my stop-smoking program. Or if you just feel like it. I hope we become friends."

As she rode the elevator to her floor, she dreaded the prospect of another lonely night. Even if she wasn't ready for a commitment, she missed physical intimacy with a man. Part of the message from _Loves Cats, Loves to Dance_ floated into her mind:

If you really want a walk on the wild side, I know just where to take you.

Why procrastinate? She would phone him this weekend.

### Chapter Seventeen

Stephanie began preparing dinner as Justin sat at the table, texting one of his friends. Discipline had never been a big part of his life and she resented having to take a hard line in the absence of his father. "Got any homework?"

Her son looked up from his device with an expression that said: _Why are you disturbing me_? He had inherited Richard's weak chin but his eyes could melt her with a single glance.

"Just a geography project, Mom. I have to make a three-dimensional map of North America, showing the mountains and rivers."

"You can try brown plasticine for the mountains; I know just where to get it." Maybe they could work together. She could set it up on the table downstairs. Since turning ten, Justin had grown more independent and she missed their closeness.

He shook his head. "It's a team project. Adam's got all the stuff we need. Can you drive me to his place after supper?"

"Of course, sweetheart." Swallowing her disappointment, she went back to chopping vegetables for a stir fry. Not so long ago, she had been wiping runny noses and comforting her children after mishaps. Their demands had been exhausting, but parenting deeply fulfilled her. She wondered if she'd ever feel so connected to them again.

Now that Justin and Emma had their own activities and friends, the emptiness of her marriage gnawed at her. Stephanie sighed, thinking of Kyle. A nice-looking man with such a gentle manner. She chopped a little faster, remembering the way he had held her hand at the café.

Too bad about his wife. He must have nursed her through the cancer. No wonder he didn't want to rush into another relationship. Stephanie only hoped that he would eventually open his heart to love.

"Miranda's got stomach flu." Emma burst into the kitchen.

"Who's Miranda?" She glanced at the dresses draped over her daughter's arm.

Emma danced around her, looking impatient. "She can't make the play tonight. I'm the understudy for Juliet, remember? Here's my costumes." She flung them on the counter. "I'm a couple of inches taller than her but the length's still good. I need help with the bodice. Can we tuck it in?"

As she pinned the dresses later, Stephanie pricked herself a few times. She had planned on driving Emma to the play, where they would watch her friend Carol handle the Nurse's role.

"Aren't you nervous, sweetheart? There's going to be a few hundred people watching you on that stage."

Emma pulled at the bodice of the dress. The cotton puckered over her flat chest. "I'll stuff my bra with tissue," she muttered. Giving her mother a confident smile, she said, "In Shakespeare's time, women's parts were played by men. I can do better than that. And we're the same age. Juliet just turned fourteen."

Stephanie called Richard at the office, not really expecting him to be there. She turned to Emma with an apologetic shrug. "I can't reach your Dad."

"I want you in the audience, Mom. Dad doesn't think much of my acting anyway." She yanked the last dress over her head. "I'll eat dinner as you sew these up. Then I want to go over my lines."

Her fingers stiff with dread, Stephanie adjusted the costumes. She hadn't taken Emma's rehearsing seriously, assuming she wouldn't make it to the stage. Now she had the lead and Stephanie wondered if she could carry it off. At least she would be there to pick up the pieces if the whole thing flopped. To calm her nerves, she had a shot of vodka when dinner was over.

After dropping Justin off at his friend's house, Stephanie drove her daughter to school. Emma ran backstage with her costumes.

The auditorium was half-filled. Stephanie took a seat three rows from the front and read the pamphlet on tonight's performance. In the cast of characters, Miranda's name had been hastily crossed off and replaced with Emma's. As minutes went by, the buzz of conversation thickened around her.

She nodded to Carol's father, who sat behind her. The girl's mother was working tonight. What was Richard's excuse? She had left an urgent message at his office, saying that Emma now had the lead.

After the curtains lifted on stage, a young boy told the audience that two households in Verona, Italy, the Capulets and Montagues, were engaged in a blood feud.

Emma's first appearance was in Scene 3 of the first Act. The flouncy dress only accentuated her thin frame; the lights bore down mercilessly on her plain features. She stood between Lady Capulet and her Nurse. The latter gazed at Juliet and said:

"Thou wast the prettiest babe that 'er I nursed:

An' I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish."

The audience tittered. A voice that carried across the room said, "THAT'S Juliet? She looks pathetic."

In a later scene the Capulets hosted a ball where Romeo, as a masked guest, converged. Juliet strolled before him. Her gown had puffed sleeves and displayed what appeared to be the slight swell of her breasts.

She spoke playfully with Romeo, casting shy glances at him, then looking away. She let him steal a kiss. Then she ran to her Nurse to find out who he was. Tormented by her discovery that he was a Montague, she cried,

"My only love sprung from my only hate!

Too early seen unknown, and known too late!

Prodigious birth of love it is to me,

That I must love a loathed enemy."

The young girl was clearly torn between loyalty to her family and her passion for Romeo. Her anguish seemed real. Stephanie now saw a different expression on the faces around her. Who among them, in their youth, had not experienced an ill-fated love?

Then came the balcony scene, where the young couple spoke of their feelings. They clung to one another. Juliet's voice rang across the still auditorium,

"Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,

That I shall say good night till it be morrow."

The audience was caught in her spell, believing that this ordinary-looking girl, radiant with love, had somehow captured Romeo's heart.

In the final scene, Juliet thrust Romeo's dagger into her own chest. "There rust," she sobbed, "and let me die."

As she collapsed on the stage, the audience stirred. A few parents blew their noses or wiped their eyes. She, too, had tears in her eyes. And not of pity.

The cast bowed in a single line, Emma beaming in the center. The standing ovation continued long after the curtains closed. Above the sound of clapping came the chanting of Juliet's name. Emma returned, curtsied again, then waved and left the stage.

Stephanie waited for her outside the dressing room. Finally the door opened and her daughter rushed into her arms. "How was I?"

"You carried the play, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you."

Emma pushed back the frizzy hair that had been tied with ribbons. "The cast is going for pizza to celebrate," she said. "The director will drive me and Carol home. Is that okay?"

"Just be home by midnight. You have school tomorrow."

The car felt empty as Stephanie headed home. Never had she seen Emma's face glow like it did this evening. Why had she worried? Emma was following her passion and trusted her acting skills. She herself had grown up trying to make the best of things. Now she wondered what she could have become with a little more confidence in herself.

Stephanie soon walked into a silent house. Justin was already upstairs in his room and Richard, of course, nowhere to be found. As the quietness closed around her like a shroud, she prepared another drink. Then she pulled out the laptop and logged into ConneXions. Her pulse started to race. Kyle had sent another message, saying how much he enjoyed their time together.

He also wrote that he couldn't stop thinking of her, ending with: _Can't wait to see you again, Stephanie. I look forward to your call, whenever you're ready_.

Another affair could not save this marriage, nothing could. But Kyle made her heart sing.

### Chapter Eighteen

Dana had seven missed calls. When she finally answered her cell, her mother wanted to know why she hadn't picked up.

"Sorry, Mom. I'm preparing for my interviews today."

"Did you hear the news? A woman was almost strangled in LaSalle. Not far from you \- 7th Avenue."

Dana drew in a quick breath. She had heard about the attempted murder, of course, but hadn't realized the victim was only a few blocks from where she lived.

"She was a university student, too - walking home from the bus stop. He followed her home. If her mother hadn't been upstairs and heard a noise, the young woman would have ended up like the others. Dead." She paused. "Your father's right, sweetie. You should move back in with us until they catch this guy. We can't help worrying."

"Can we talk about this another time? I have people coming downtown for interviews in an hour."

En route to her office, she thought about the latest news. Of course it bothered her. But the strangler could have struck anywhere in the city. She was extra vigilant on the street now, and never opened her door to strangers.

She reached her office well before her first scheduled meeting. It was a cramped space with just enough room for another chair, located on the 4th floor of McGill's Stewart Biology Building. What mattered most to her was the central location and easy access to university facilities.

The first woman arrived eighteen minutes late. Dana was glad she had allowed for gaps between meetings.

"Trish," as she called herself, appeared to be mid-thirties. Her wispy bangs flattered her heart-shaped face and she wore a trendy black and white pantsuit. After shaking Dana's hand, she seated herself.

"I almost didn't come, but then figured I should. More women are having affairs these days, and our stories need to be told."

"I'm glad you're here." Dana placed the questionnaires on the desk before her, along with a pen. "This is for background info. Let me get you a coffee while you fill these in, and then we'll chat."

Afterwards, Trish asked why she had been questioned about her work outside the home, since that wasn't the problem.

"I'm trying to develop profiles of women having affairs - a picture of their whole lives," Dana explained, handing her an envelope with the promised payment of fifty dollars. "Are you ready to talk? Let's not use any real names. This will be recorded."

The next half hour passed quickly. Trish said her husband worked in a car dealership, and got stressed when he didn't make any sales. He now drank beer by the caseload, and had put on a lot of weight. "He also smokes. Kissing him is like kissing an ashtray." She rolled her eyes.

"We've been married ten years and hardly have sex anymore. It's his fault." Trish sat up straighter and raised her voice. "I told him to cut out the fast food. But he won't. And because of that, he has high blood pressure. The medication he's on makes it challenging for him to make love. And he's only 40."

Dana heard the resentment in the woman's voice. Blaming him for everything probably helped her to justify her extramarital affairs. The completed questionnaires would likely show other markers for low self-esteem, like depression, anxiety or trouble making new friends.

"I never thought I'd lead a double life. But my lovers are great and the sex has me hooked," she said. "I don't even speak to my girlfriends about this. I can't risk my husband finding out. We have two sons together."

"Do you see yourself still married ten years from now?" Dana asked at the end of the interview.

Trish shook her head. "Even if I give up the affairs, I've changed." Her eyes looked pensive. "I just don't care about him like I used to."

That interview rolled into the next. The second woman felt guilty about her affairs but powerless to stop. The last one struggled with loneliness, with her husband being away on business much of the time. ConneXions provided an easy way for her to meet men while protecting her privacy.

Later, Dana wondered about her mother. Had she felt guilty about Ethan? In the end she had been forced to make a choice, and Dana wondered how difficult that had been.

Her thoughts increasingly strayed to the scheduled dinner with Russell. Deliberating on what to wear, she felt her pulse flutter as she imagined where he'd take her tomorrow evening. Silly girl. The man was just being thorough. As her thesis supervisor, he wanted to make sure her research project was on track before he left.

### Friday, May 14th

### Chapter Nineteen

Kyle sliced two lemons and a lime as he stood behind the bar. He put the wedges on a saucer and quickly poured one ounce rye and two ounces soda water into a glass for an Old Fashioned. Working made him invisible; right now he was tuned into a conversation a few feet away.

The two young women were early twenties at best - small breasts and short hair, one with an earring in her nose. He had zero interest in them, but the word "murder" had caught his attention.

"I'm taking karate," said the woman with the nose ring. "I get chills every time I step out alone."

Her friend sipped her spritzer. "Where's the police in all this? If one of their wives was murdered, I bet they'd work harder on the case. Thank God for that girl in LaSalle. At least now we know what the strangler looks like."

"Her mother saved her life, coming downstairs when she did."

"What about the woman killed last month, the one you knew? Did you find out anything else?"

The brunette coughed. "She was only one block over from me in NDG, that's what's freaky. No one heard or saw a thing the day of the murder. I remember babysitting for her, for Christ's sake. Mrs. Elwood took good care of herself. If it can happen to her, it can happen to anyone."

Kyle smirked as he wiped the counter in front of them. If they only knew that they sat a foot away from Elwood's killer here at Ryan's.

However short-lived, she had been his fourth lover this year. For a woman pushing late thirties, Elwood had been surprisingly firm. She acted like a horny teenager; on their third date she had practically thrown herself at him. Of course he had restrained himself until their next date - no sense in changing his pattern. His role was to stop her cheating ways. When the time came, taking her out of circulation felt right.

A patron wearing a bad toupee sat alone at one end of the bar, drinking doubles. Not cheap scotch, either - Chivas Regal. In Kyle's opinion, this wasn't someone who could afford it.

The striped tie draped across the man's chest was hideous: the perfect conversation piece. Kyle strode over to his end of the bar, leaned closer and said, "Interesting blend of colors."

The man fingered the tie with pride. "My wife bought it for our last anniversary. I only wish she were with me now, instead of visiting her family in Portugal. Uh - how much do I owe for the last few drinks?"

After a fast calculation, Kyle said, "Sixty-five bucks."

He pulled a hundred out of a stuffed billfold and handed it to Kyle. "Keep the change."

"Thanks, buddy." Kyle took the money, all his senses alert. The guy was loaded.

"Bet you're wondering how I came into all this," the man said as he returned the billfold to his inside pocket. "With the wife away, I decided to go to Atlantic City with some friends. She hates when I gamble. But last night, I hit a lucky streak."

"Congratulations. What were you playing?" Kyle kept his tone flat, almost bored.

"Blackjack. I don't know how many times I've been to that casino and lost."

Kyle told him the next drink was on the house, in honor of his winnings. After serving another customer, he made a quick call.

"Bert? An easy number - just won big time at the casino," he said, keeping his voice low. "Sitting at one end of the bar with a striped tie and a bad rug, black streaked with grey." He listened for a moment, then spoke again. "Inside suit pocket, left-hand side. Another thirty minutes. You don't want to lose this one."

Later, big Bert came in and sat at the table nearest the door. He gave Kyle a thumbs-up signal as the waitress brought him a beer. The man with the ugly tie would lose his winnings in the parking lot. And afterwards Kyle would get his cut.

Kyle made sure the geezer with the bad rug had all the scotch he could handle. Before leaving, the man apologized for rambling on about his family. Over his head, Kyle saw Bert casually stroll towards the door.

Years ago, he and Bert had done time together at Bordeaux. After eighteen months in a cell, Kyle knew he'd do anything to stay on the outside.

The world was full of fools. He would always take advantage of them but had learned to let others take the heat.

When Kyle drove home with half the casino winnings in his pocket, it was 3:30 a.m. and raining. His two felines greeted him at the door, the dusky gray cat rubbing himself against Kyle's leg.

"What do you guys want?" He stooped to scratch Smoky behind his ears. The black patch around one eye gave him a roguish appearance, something Kyle had always appreciated. Not to be ignored, the black cat also thrust his head under his hand.

Kyle did a double take when he stepped into the living room. The off-white Tergal curtains that Lori had sewn when they were first married had been gashed in several places.

He swung around to confront the cats. "Who did this - Luther? Smoky?"

Hearing the reproach in his voice, the tabbies scattered.

"Damn! It took her forever to make those curtains." Forgetting the cats for now, he went over to the window and ran the sheer fabric through his fingers.

The curtains had been ruined beyond repair, like his relationship with the woman who had made them.

### ***

At the start of their marriage, Lori had tried to be the perfect homemaker. With time she had gotten slipshod, giving him leftovers for dinner or letting the laundry pile up.

"A man can't live on meatloaf and potatoes," Kyle had complained after they bought the house and stopped dining out. "Try something different once in a while. Surprise me."

"I could take a gourmet cooking class," she suggested. "One of the women at work goes two evenings a week, and she's making all kinds of dishes - Italian, French, even Chinese. It's right after work."

How could he have known that she'd meet someone? And worse - give into her attraction?

To complicate matters, she had told him she was pregnant last August. He figured she was still on the pill.

"I can't wait anymore, Kyle. I'm already thirty-four. Even if you're ready in a few years, my body may not be. I want this baby." Lori refused to get an abortion, for once standing firm.

Although he wouldn't admit it, Kyle gradually got used to the idea of becoming a father. He looked forward to taking his son to the park or teaching him how to ride a bike. Then, on a muggy day in Fall, he went through his wife's purse - something he did periodically. This time he found a man's name and phone number on her agenda. It was jotted on the date she had her last cooking class.

At the end of her next scheduled class, he waited across the street in his parked car. Incredulously he watched her leave the building with a man and get into his car. It was 8:00 p.m., time for Kyle to head to work. Instead he called in sick. Three hours later Lori got home, humming as she came through the door. Her face fell when she saw him.

"You must take me for an idiot," he said, following her down the hallway. Her hair hung loose past her shoulders, and she wore a black, sleeveless number that billowed over her stomach and fell gracefully past her knees. Pregnancy became her.

She turned to face him. "I don't know what you're talking about. Why aren't you at the bar? Have you been drinking?" The delicate scent of vanilla wafted around her. It infuriated him that she had splashed on the same _Eau de Parfum_ she wore for him.

He grabbed her arm. "Who is he, Lori? I saw you get into that car."

Eyes wide now, she tried to pull away. "Frank is just a friend. He offered me a lift home. Don't make such a big deal of it."

"And it took you three hours to get here? Bitch."

The next few minutes blurred in his mind. Kyle felt his fists swing and connect as his fury took over. When he stopped, the room was silent except for her moans.

Lori lay on the carpet, clutching her stomach. Her body was convulsing.

Kyle realized that he'd punched her repeatedly in the abdomen. He could have killed her. Part of him still wanted to. "I don't even know if your baby's mine," he muttered. "Maybe it wasn't meant to live."

He knelt and stared into her tear-streaked face. "If you tell them it was an accident, I'll take you to the hospital."

On the way to the emergency room, she huddled in her seat, holding her stomach. "I'll never forgive you for this, Kyle. Never."

He half-carried her into the hospital and shoved a few bills into her pocket. "Take a taxi home. I don't feel like waiting around. And remember, you fell down the stairs."

Lori lost a five-month-old fetus that night. She returned home a shadow of her former self, head down, barely talking. She slept a lot. When he was there, Kyle could hear her crying in the middle of the night.

A month later she returned to work. She still wouldn't let him near her but he was being patient. An anniversary was coming up - their seventh. He planned a romantic evening for them.

She had dropped out of cooking class, and Kyle assumed that her little affair was over.

"Why don't we take in a movie?" he suggested one evening in late October. "Anything you want to see."

Lori told him she just wanted to be alone. Staring out the living room window, she kept her back to him. In her lap was the same book she'd been reading for weeks - some horseshit about taking charge of your life.

He felt like shaking her. "I put up with your cold treatment 'til now, but you're pushing it, Lori."

"So what are you going to do, hit me again?" Her eyes defied him.

Instead of crushing her to him and taking his due, he forced himself to stride away.

Before leaving for the office on Monday morning, she actually brushed his cheek with her lips. He thought of that later, remembering how the gesture had warmed him.

That night he made dinner for them - a first for him. Their anniversary was in two more days; he had already reserved at an expensive French restaurant. By 6:00 p.m., he knew something was wrong - she was never late. He called her office and caught the manager.

"Lori? She quit last Friday - took her vacation pay."

Kyle clicked off and tossed the phone across the kitchen counter, knowing she wouldn't be back.

### ***

Leaving the ripped curtains in a heap on the floor, Kyle made his way to the bedroom. It had been a long night and he was tired.

How long had Lori been gone - seven months? He shouldn't have thrown out all her stuff. Now there was nothing left of her. Despondent, he went through the dresser drawers he had emptied right after she left. All her clothes had gone into the trash.

The last drawer held sheets and pillowcases. Something black and lacy peeked from underneath. Intrigued, he pulled out the satin teddy he'd bought for her thirty-fourth birthday.

"I wondered what she did with it." Turning the silky material over in his hands, he found the dried blood stains. It had been her time of the month then, he remembered, and she'd begged him to take it easy. He had only laughed. Knowing he was causing her pain only heightened his pleasure.

Lori had gotten pregnant a month later and had never worn that teddy again.

Fingering the teddy, he suddenly knew what was missing in his sexual encounters with the women from the dating site. Perfume wasn't enough - each of them should wear a teddy like this. He even recalled where he'd bought it: a lingerie boutique on Crescent, just up the street from the bar.

Tomorrow he'd pay a visit to the boutique. Elaine was small-busted but a little overweight; he'd get her a 34 to be sure of the fit. For Stephanie, he'd buy a bigger size. Under the dress she'd worn for their first encounter, her breasts had appeared heavy and well-shaped. It was shame he could only enjoy her once.

### Chapter Twenty

Russell showed up at Dana's door with a single white rose. Its petals were still tightly furled. As he handed it over, he said, "This reminds me of you, luv. There's so much for you to experience in life. To explore."

The warmth in his voice seemed to allude to explorations of a more intimate nature. Pleased by his romantic gift, she rushed to put it in a glass of water.

He had told her to dress warmly. Over a pleated skirt that had once belonged to her mother, she wore a pink angora sweater. Pointing to the thin wool coat on a clothes rack near the door, he said, "Better take that along, too."

"Where are we going, Alaska?"

"We have reservations on a cruise ship leaving the Old Port within the hour." He helped her into the wraparound coat and arranged for her blonde hair to spill over her shoulders.

"I thought we were going to dinner." She slid into the soft upholstery of his passenger seat, aware of her hunger pangs.

He winked at her as he started the car. "There will be plenty to eat, luv, but we'll be on the water."

Dana had never imagined being on a cruise. On her budget, it was the ultimate indulgence.

The _Nouvelles-Orléans_ was moored at the Jacques Cartier Pier. As they climbed the ramp, Russell explained that it replicated a Mississippi river boat. "See the paddle wheel in the back? Let's picture ourselves in Louisiana two hundred years ago. You're in one of those wretchedly uncomfortable hoop skirts and there are five gentlemen in top hats vying for your attention."

"And are you one of them?" she asked with a sidelong glance as they were ushered to a private table inside.

"I'll leave that for you to figure out," he said. They stared out the window as the boat pulled away from the harbor and leisurely chugged down the St. Lawrence.

"Tell me about your interviews," Russell said. He poured more wine into her glass from the bottle of Mouton Cadet he had ordered.

"I'm probably the only person these women can confide in. I think that's why they agree to participate in the study; they need to unburden themselves."

"But how can you identify with them, luv, if you never felt ... tempted?" he said in a low voice.

In the falling darkness, thousands of city lights blinked over the water. Apart from the hushed conversations of other diners, silence filled the cabin. It felt like an enchanted bubble.

"I can't imagine how trapped they feel, since I was never married. I'm not even in a relationship at the moment." She wondered why she felt compelled to tell him that, when they needed to keep this professional.

"I don't find that hard to believe. You're too discriminating to settle down with the first man who asks." He nodded at the waiter, who then served their meals - plates heavy with grilled salmon and steamed vegetables. He had again ordered for both of them.

"I was involved with someone a few years ago," she said. "He was a bit older and wanted a family. I was still working on my bachelor."

Russell sampled a piece of fish. "I'm glad you didn't stay with him, luv. He would have destroyed your dreams." After a few bites of food, he put down his fork. He reached for her hand on the linen tablecloth and covered it with his own. "You have so many exciting years ahead, seeing what you can do in your field, maybe travelling. We're alike in a way, Dana. Neither of us can be satisfied with mediocrity."

She ate in silence as she considered his words. He was so different from the young men she'd dated in the last year, who inevitably grumbled at her unavailability. Russell not only accepted her priorities, but encouraged them.

After they had finished eating, Russell picked up his thin leather jacket. "Feel like some fresh air? The view from the upper deck is spectacular."

The deck was still empty. They both leaned against the railing, enjoying the view as they adjusted to the boat's rocking motion. Dana stared at the stars sparkling overhead like so many diamonds before becoming aware of Russell's intense gaze.

"She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies. And all that's best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes."

"What a pretty passage," she said, turning towards him. No one had ever quoted poetry to her before.

"Not bad for someone's who's been dead for two centuries. Lord Byron," he said.

Not knowing what to say, she faced the south shore, where she saw the ghostly outline of the Biosphere and the Ferris wheel at La Ronde. She couldn't help shivering in the night breeze. "This is wonderful."

"Chilly?" he asked, pulling her close. His gray eyes locked into hers. "You're incredibly beautiful."

She felt her legs tremble as he cupped her face. Tentatively he pressed his lips to hers. Tested their softness. Then he crushed her to him and his mouth took possession of hers. She could taste the tartness of the wine as she caught the scent of his aftershave. A hint of lemon and something else she couldn't define. Of their own volition, her arms wound around his neck.

He broke away first. As he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she could feel his body heat. "I'd like to get to know you better, Dana. In all ways."

Her lips still throbbed from the kiss but her rational mind took over. "We have a professional relationship, Russell."

He chuckled, a sound that seemed to ripple across the waves. "Our embrace didn't feel professional, did it? I'm not trying to change your life, luv. I think you should give us a chance; you owe it to yourself."

Dana thought quickly. Two more weeks before he left. If it was only physical, it would fizzle out. In any case, Russell would go to Europe and she could pick up where she left off.

Later, they danced in a private area on the second deck to piped-in jazz as well as R & B music. During the slow numbers, Dana nestled against him, enjoying how the top of her head fit perfectly beneath his chin. As he held her close, he caressed her back through the thin coat, sending sparks of heat up her spine.

"I could dance with you forever," he whispered against her ear. After driving her home, Russell asked if she was free the following week.

Disappointed that he hadn't asked about the rest of the weekend, she told him she had interviews booked the first three days.

"Come to the Centaur with me on Wednesday evening," he said. "I have season's tickets that I've hardly used."

"I didn't know you were a theatre buff." His season tickets didn't surprise her. The worldly professor was probably involved in all kinds of cultural events.

"I love the immediacy of the stage," he said, capturing her fingers in his. "There's nothing but a few lighting effects and the audience. You'll see acting at its finest."

As he sped off, she regretted that he hadn't tried to kiss her again. She already looked forward to their evening at the theatre. This is madness, she thought as she stared at the white rose in her kitchen, so erect in its glass. It had already opened slightly in the water. When she touched a petal with her fingertip, it felt smoother than silk. Love, too, was delicate.

Why risk getting her heart broken? Russell had no track record when it came to commitment. If things didn't last, it would be awkward continuing to work together on the thesis.

Lowering her head, she breathed in the rose's subtle fragrance and realized that she didn't care.

### Saturday, May 15th

### Chapter Twenty-One

Jenny heard a commotion early Saturday morning. When she opened her door, she saw movers carting out furniture at the end of her hallway.

Her next door neighbor told her that the tenant in the last apartment had died. "She actually passed on last week, but no one knew. Lung cancer."

Jenny shuddered. She had sometimes seen the woman smoking on her balcony but had never gotten to know her. Like her, she had lived alone.

After brewing a pot of coffee, she reached for a cigarette. In the sunshine streaming from the window, her fingertips looked stained - a yellowish color. Thinking of the deceased smoker, she pushed away the package of du Maurier. She had to quit.

She fought the urge to light up, feeling her resolve weaken with every sip of coffee. Why not call the man she had met outside the gym? Eric had offered to help and had given her his phone number.

"I'm happy to hear from you, Jenny. I was just playing my guitar," he said. "I still practice every morning."

She heard a few intricate chords. "Very good. You're a musician?" She tried not to think of Neil and all the recording sessions she had sat through. Different man, different time.

He told her that he used to play with a band called _Les Foufounes Electriques_. "But that's not why you called."

Jenny said that she was ready to kick her addiction. "Last year, I tried the patch. I stopped for six weeks, then went back to smoking. You mentioned a program."

When he offered to come over and discuss it with her, she said she would tell the doorman to let him in.

Within the hour, Eric sat at her kitchen table and handed her a ruled pad. "Whenever you get the urge to smoke, write down the date and time and what you're thinking or feeling. You need to know why you smoke."

"I reach for a cigarette whenever I feel tense. Which is often these days." She told him she worked for one of the largest paper makers in Canada, though their labor force shrank every week. Thinking of the forced early retirements and lay-offs, she frowned.

"Your job stresses you out?"

Jenny nodded. Her latest project was to coordinate a time management course for employees to improve their efficiency. Management refused to acknowledge that office staff struggled with double or triple workloads because nothing had been done to cut down responsibilities when reducing staff.

"If they didn't pay you, would you still go in?" asked Eric.

"No. Would you?"

He shrugged. "Maybe, as long as I can make a difference. Most of the kids at the center come from broken homes, and we help some of them turn their lives around." As a social worker, he earned much less than her. Some men would feel threatened by that.

"About the smoking ... whenever you get the urge, do something else," he said. "Stretch, go for a walk, or hug someone."

"What if there's no one to hug?" Isolation in her private life posed a problem, and lovers only provided a temporary fix.

Eric got to his feet. "I'm only a phone call away. Here, try me." He held his arms open and she stepped into them.

She could feel every hollow of his angular frame as well as his strength. Nestled against him, she felt cared for. It didn't matter that they barely knew each other or that he was gay. When he pulled away, much of her tension had evaporated.

"I can't exactly call you every time I need a hug," she said.

"Why not? I just ended a relationship and I can use a friend. We all need people in our lives who are there for us."

Jenny told him about her last boyfriend Colin and how she had found out about his wife.

" _Merde_ ," he said. "Some men always lie, just like some women."

She thought of ConneXions and how misleading profiles could be. Like Roger's, even if it was funny. "I'm on a dating site now."

Eric reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "Be careful, Jenny. It's just a game to most of the men I know."

Before leaving, he told her about international non-smoking day, coming up in two weeks. "May 31st," he said. "How about setting that as a goal?" He thought she could quit by then if she reduced the number of cigarettes every day.

"I'll try," she said after noting the date on her agenda.

"Forget about trying. Just do it." He gave her a quick hug and was gone.

After buying groceries and doing a few errands, Jenny started to prepare a light lunch. _Loves Cats, Loves to Dance_ had invited her to call him any day around 1:00 p.m.

He picked up on the third ring. "Good timing," he said. "I'm trying to decide between pizza and Chinese."

She had blocked her caller ID, so he couldn't possibly know who she was. A man with his looks probably had all kinds of women calling him. How odd that he didn't ask.

"I vote for Chinese," she said.

"Thanks for solving my dilemma. The menu's already covered. All the take-out places know me on a first-name basis. They tell me what I want before I ask."

She laughed. According to his message, he had gotten divorced only six months ago. She pictured him eating takeout in front of his TV or laptop. "It's tough being a bachelor, isn't it?"

"Which is why I'm on the system. I want someone to cook for me again."

"But that's not \- "

"Only joking," he said before she could finish. In a warm, seductive voice, he continued, "So what do your friends call you: Jennifer, Jenny or just plain Jen?"

The question caught her off guard. Not only had he known who she was, but he had remembered her user name, _Jen789_. It gave her an eerie feeling. Eric's warning also prompted her to use caution.

"You'll find out if we meet."

"You mean when. Let's get together for a drink. Unless you were only kidding about walking on the wild side?"

Jenny felt her pulse quicken at the challenge in his words. He was right, though. If she wanted to find a lover, she needed to get out.

After they agreed to meet in a bar on Tuesday after office hours, he told her his name was Kyle. And that she wouldn't be disappointed.

As she terminated the call, a shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. Men with Kyle's level of self-possession were either very successful, well endowed, or both.

### Sunday, May 16th

### Chapter Twenty-Two

"Where's Dad? I want him to check my bicycle tires for me." Emma's eyes met her mother's in the mirror above the triple dresser.

Stephanie paused as she brushed her daughter's dark hair. Richard hadn't even come back for breakfast this weekend.

"It's his first golfing weekend this year, sweetheart. He'll be home when he's ready."

Emma turned to face her. "Why do you put up with it, Mom? I know you're not happy. Sometimes you look so sad. It scares me, especially when you're drinking."

"But I don't \--- "

She cut her off. "Justin and I both know about the bottles. Under the sink, in the closet upstairs behind the towels and a couple of other places. We used to make a game of finding them."

"Oh." Stephanie bit her lower lip. So much for being careful; her children were more observant than she had realized. "I thought you had an exam tomorrow."

Emma scraped back her chair and stood up. "Chemistry. Carol and I are studying together today. Drive me to her place?"

It must be comforting to have a friend. Stephanie knew the girls were in constant contact, either talking or texting.

Her own childhood had been isolating. She had moved with her mother from one low-rent apartment to another and was enrolled in more schools than she could remember. The few friends she made were soon lost. Maintaining a facade of aloofness became her way of avoiding the pain of another goodbye.

As she drove Emma to her friend's house, Stephanie knew her daughter could never understand. The advantages that she took for granted - a nice house, good neighborhood, reputable school - all came with a price.

With Justin out at baseball practice, the house was empty. Stephanie decided to use the time to do some gardening. The strip of ground in front of the house needed preparation before she could plant her petunias. In the garage she found her work gloves. Crouching beside the flower bed, she turned the soil over with her spade. She breathed in the pungent smell of earth, still moist from last night's rain. Gardening satisfied a very basic need. It gave her a sense of connection to the earth and every living thing.

With a sigh, she finally got to her feet. Soon she would buy the flowers that made such a pretty pink-and-white border. Her gloves were stained with earth, as was the spade. Planning to toss them under the balcony, she walked towards the backyard. A sudden noise startled her.

Something had rattled the lid on their metal garbage can.

She thought of the strangler. He often struck in the afternoon and she was alone. Unprotected. Cautiously, she turned the corner.

A black cat stared sullenly at her from a hole in the hedge. Apparently it had been hiding under the balcony and she had disturbed it.

"Silly twit," she said as much to herself as to the cat. As she returned through the garage, she saw that Richard's car now sat in its usual spot. Drat, he was home. He had been so upset about not getting the promotion that she was relieved to see him pack his clubs Friday night.

"How was your game?" she asked as she came in. Not that she cared; she only hoped his mood had improved.

"Lousy. I hit ten over par. One of the women at the club invited me for a consolation drink. We went to her place afterwards. Where are the kids?"

Her peacefulness had been shattered. Why did he always fling his indiscretions in her face?

Remembering her conversation with Emma, she snapped, "They're both out, Richard. We've all learned to lead our lives without you."

He picked up his leather briefcase from the vestibule, where he'd left it on Friday evening. "Don't forget who's paying the bills around here. I have to work harder now for the same money. I can only imagine the extra crap waiting for me at the office."

The hours he put in at Anco's legal department had multiplied over the years. But the anger beneath his words seemed directed at her.

"It's not my fault you didn't get the promotion. Maybe Ted Coleman is a better fit for the job." She knew that the man was new to the company but had experience in mergers and acquisitions.

Richard's frown made his nose appear sharper, his lips thinner. "It is your fault, Stephanie. The other men's wives mingle. I see them having lunch together. Would it have killed you to get involved?

"It isn't that easy." The women married to his office colleagues had never invited her anywhere. Their worlds revolved around travel, entertaining and pricey personal upkeep. She never even stepped into the fashion boutiques they frequented.

She followed him into his study. "You aren't the only one working hard. When was the last time you mowed the lawn or helped the children with their homework? Everything's up to me."

"You should have thought of that before you decided to stay home."

"I lost my job, remember?" Her eyes stung from unshed tears. "How about emotional support, Richard? When was the last time you asked how I felt, or gave a damn?"

He opened his briefcase and placed two piles of paper on the desk. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Maybe we should consider divorce." The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

Richard looked up from the desk. "Seriously? When I can prove you're an unfit mother with a drinking problem?"

She stiffened. Losing the children would kill her and he knew it. He could probably smell liquor on her the nights he came home unexpectedly. There was no point in denying it.

"If I do have the odd drink," she said, "it's never affected them."

"A judge may not agree. I wouldn't chance it if I were you."

She felt more trapped than ever. What had she ever seen in him? Richard was so self-centered; he only did what suited him. At this point in their lives together, she was like the furniture he sat upon: familiar, and therefore invisible.

As he worked in the study off their bedroom, she sat in the solarium at the other end of the hallway, surrounded by her plants. As afternoon shadows lengthened across the yard below, she realized that she needed a distraction. She reached for the tablet left on a small table to check the news.

Montreal Gazette \- **Living in Fear**

With 11 sex slayings in only 3 months, Montreal women no longer feel safe. Many have taken measures to better protect themselves from a sex killer who is believed to stalk his prey in the afternoon or evening. Enrollment in karate and self-defence centers across the island has shot up by 20% in the past month alone, with women accounting for 95% of the increase.

"I hate feeling vulnerable. At least this way, if I'm attacked, I can fight back," said Diane Birnam, a new student at a martial arts school on St. Laurent. "My neighbors are afraid to go out and buy a liter of milk in the middle of the day. This whole thing is making us nuts."

The composite drawing released after Carla Borello's near murder earlier this week is plastered in every shopping centre and corner store. Women here will breathe easier once the strangler is caught.

Stephanie could understand why women wanted to regain a sense of control. Hours ago she had been frightened by a cat.

She clicked on a local job site, where she saw two ads for downtown receptionists. Screw Richard and her financial dependence on him. Both positions asked for perfect bilingualism. She really needed to work harder on her French language skills.

A moment later a tear trickled down her cheek. He really had her with the custody threat. They both knew that she wouldn't risk losing a lawsuit. Choking back a sob, she opened the cabinet behind her and reached for a tall bottle and the glass next to it. Just one drink to calm herself down.

Dinner was subdued. Richard had brought his laptop to the table and Emma texted a friend. Only Justin wanted to talk.

"I made a home run today. It would have been nice if one of you could have seen it," he said, staring at his mother.

"But it was only a practice, sweetheart. You know I never miss a real game." Fingers of guilt squeezed her chest. No matter what she did, it seemed, it was never enough.

Afterwards, as she washed dishes in the double sink, she welcomed the solitude. Emma had gone up to her room and Justin sat in the rec room watching television. A faint headache throbbed at her temples. Ignoring it, she gazed out the kitchen window at their two crab-apple trees. Swathed in pink blossoms, they were an exquisite sight in the fading light.

Richard came to bed late that night, but she was still awake. She watched him strip down to his boxers like hundreds of times before. Even at forty-two, his stomach was nearly flat. Of course he played squash, did weights and monitored his diet. His image was just as important to him as how much money he made.

After climbing into the king-size bed, he promptly fell asleep. She lay in the darkness, listening to the rhythmic in and out of his breathing. Determined not to think about whatever woman he had made love to this weekend, she hugged the far side of the mattress.

Midnight came and went as she stared at the ceiling. The argument with Richard had unraveled her, mostly because of his disregard for her feelings.

Kyle's image swam into her mind. She remembered how he had listened to her as they sat together and again felt the protectiveness of his arm around her shoulders as he walked her to her SUV. At least she had her next date with him to look forward to. If she had to live within the confines of this marriage, she didn't have to feel totally alone.

Beside her, Richard grunted and then began to snore. Too restless to sleep, she crept down the stairs in her nightdress. No one stirred. Quietly, she took out the old laptop and turned it on. When she logged into ConneXions, a new message waited for her.

Surprisingly, it was from a woman called Dana.

I'm doing a PhD in Psychology and need to interview women having affairs for my research. It's completely anonymous. I don't need to know your name \- just your experiences on the system. I'll give you fifty dollars in cash for your participation.

Stephanie almost deleted the message, then jotted down Dana's number instead. Maybe she should talk to someone. The last few months had been an emotional roller-coaster, loving George only to get dumped, and finding Richard increasingly hard to take. Starting an affair with Kyle opened the door to even more uncertainties.

Dana sounded intelligent. Maybe she could help her make sense of her life.

### Monday, May 17th

### Chapter Twenty-Three

Kyle glanced over at a grocery cart in the next line and smirked to himself. It was stockpiled with cereal, milk, diapers and other essentials for a growing family - making his own choices look frugal. The man probably had three kids and a wife who sat around all day. Sucker.

Then he turned and froze. The slim woman paying at the cash looked achingly familiar. Her back was to him, but he recognized her taffy-colored hair. She had put some streaks in it and cut it to her shoulders, but the waves were still intact. A few times she'd threatened to straighten it; he had forbidden it. He needed her hair loose and untamed, reassuring him that there was some spirit left in the subdued woman he'd married.

"Lori!" He called her name softly and then more loudly.

She pretended not to hear. After lifting her bag of groceries off the counter, she walked towards the door, her body sagging with their weight.

An elderly woman in front of him waved a fistful of coupons at the cashier. Half her groceries still sat in her cart, waiting to be unloaded.

Kyle shoved past her, leaving his own cart behind. Had Lori returned to Dorval, thinking he wouldn't recognize her?

From the door he scanned the parking lot. She couldn't have gone far with that bag; she had never been physically strong.

There she was - on his left. She was handing the groceries to a man in a suit, who carefully placed it into the trunk of his SUV. It had been dark when Kyle glimpsed her lover, but he remembered someone taller, with more hair. To think she'd left him for such a sorry excuse of a man.

Kyle sprinted over to them now, feeling his muscles tense. She was his, damn it.

Lori still had her back to him when he reached the car. Kyle grabbed her arm, about to fling her aside so he could face his rival. Now he saw her features - the flat nose, oversized mouth and sallow complexion.

"What kind of creep are you? Get your hands off me!" The woman wrenched herself free.

As she took stock of him, her initial shock faded. He could see the wheels spinning in her head. Too well-dressed to be after money, not bad-looking.

"I thought ... you were someone else," he stammered. "My mistake." Her husband or boyfriend shook his head and closed the trunk.

As Kyle strode away, the woman's laughter trailed after him. Tinny, full of self-importance. His hands balled into fists. Somehow it was Lori mocking him, leaving after seven years in his bed to be with another man. Shaken, he climbed into his car and peeled away from the supermarket.

He took the 640 to the Laurentian AutoRoute, letting the sports car eat up the road. At a snack bar in St. Jerome, he ordered _poutine_ and ate the fries with cheese curd and gravy at a scarred wooden table outside. From here, he could see the greenish haze of spring on mountains to the north.

A seagull circled overhead, shrieking, then flew closer. Kyle tossed a rock at him. It clipped his wing and the bird beat a hasty retreat. Reflectively, Kyle popped a dripping fry into his mouth. The heat of anger was gone, replaced by some¬thing cold and unflinching.

He slowly headed back to the city. It was Monday, and he needed to prepare for Elaine. At the thought of doing her in the same bed she shared with her husband, he felt his pulse quicken. His last kill had been five weeks ago. No wonder he'd gotten edgy. He had tried to line one up earlier but it hadn't worked out. Some women just weren't right for the part.

This afternoon he would again bring some order to a screwed-up world. Unfaithful wives, like his Lori, needed to be taken down.

Back at home, he checked the dating site for messages. There were none. His shoulders relaxed; that meant everything was going according to schedule. He thought of his conversation with _Walk on the Wild Side_. Beyond the woman's nonchalance, he sensed a yearning that he could exploit. Why else did she long to cuddle in the dark with someone? And she had been curious enough to agree to meet him tomorrow.

He was stuffing the black teddy into a bag when Elaine phoned.

"I'm crazy to be doing this, but come on over," she said. "We've got until four-thirty." She gave him the directions to her house in Snowdon.

"I'll make every minute count," he promised. "Why don't you try on some of that perfume I gave you? And ... I have something else I want you to wear for me."

Then he put a new set of leather boot laces in the bag, under the teddy. No sense in wasting a bottle of champagne on her - there wasn't enough time.

On the drive over, Kyle thought of the woman in the grocery store who had reminded him of Lori. As he waited at traffic lights, his body shifted impatiently behind the wheel. He patted the bag beside him. This was his first time using a black teddy. It was identical to the one he'd bought for his wife last year. The saleslady at the boutique had been delighted to sell him six, although she had seemed puzzled at the different sizes.

Lori, you bitch, look what you make me do. Wherever you are, baby, this one's for you.

### Chapter Twenty-Four

Dana turned on the six o'clock news. Her focus was scattered at best. In her mind, she was still on the top deck of that river boat, alone with Russell under thousands of stars. Letting him kiss her.

She certainly wasn't the first student to fall for a good-looking professor, but these things never ended well, did they?

The photograph of a slightly plump woman just past her prime suddenly appeared on her TV screen. Dana froze at the image before reaching for the remote to raise the volume. She knew her!

In a somber tone, the newscaster said, "The body of Elaine Markham was discovered by her daughter early this evening in her Snowdon home. Like the eleven other victims this year, she was strangled and sexually assaulted. Once again, there were no signs of forcible entry."

There was no mistaking the woman's bright cherry lipstick and the streaked, spiked hair. Dana had interviewed her only last week. Elaine was dating men through ConneXions. Was it possible ... could the killer be on the dating site?

Of course she could have been followed home like that young woman in LaSalle. Then again, she could have met the killer somewhere else. She couldn't assume that Elaine had limited herself to one dating site.

Whatever she was doing, she didn't deserve to die.

Dana had interviewed seven women so far and couldn't remember her conversation with the deceased. She had to check the tape.

Early the next morning, she hurried to her downtown office. She found the tape with Elaine's interview and played it back.

She skipped over the earlier part and started with, "...I know Prozak has stolen my husband's libido. I don't even think of him in a sexual way anymore. We're more like roommates than man and wife."

When Elaine was asked to describe her experiences on the system, her voice became more animated.

"I met four men so far. I wasn't attracted to the first two, and the third was so nervous, he made me squirm. Then I met a man who loves cats and loves to dance. An investment broker. Kyle's quiet and intense, kind of guarded with his feelings. I can't see any woman turning him away - he has that kind of appeal - but sex doesn't seem high on his list. We had three dates so far and all we did is talk. Now he says he wants to be alone with me." She giggled. "He even gave me a bottle of perfume - _Midnight Romance_. Sounds perfect, doesn't it? He's a charmer, all right."

Dana's heart raced. Elaine had been alive and well last Friday, anticipating her first sexual encounter with a man she had met on the system. Now she was dead. Maybe someone else had done it, or maybe not. In any event the murderer was still out there, targeting his next victim.

She phoned the police and asked for the homicide squad working on the sex slayings. Finally she was transferred to a detective on the case.

Quickly she told him about her research project on women having extramarital affairs. The conclusion of her first study should be easy to prove. All the subjects so far had scored low on the self-esteem scale.

"I interviewed Elaine Markham last week; she told me she was seeing a man she met through a dating site called ConneXions. He could be the killer."

"You have this on tape?" he asked. When she said yes, he asked her to bring it down to the police station.

Dana first made a copy of the tape in a room down the hall and erased the parts that did not include her interview with Elaine.

When she returned to her desk, she decided to learn more about Kyle's psychological makeup, in case she was right about him. She reached for a book on social psychology that was almost buried on her shelf. After flipping to the section on personality disorders, she scanned through descriptions of obsessive-compulsive, paranoid and passive-dependent disorders. A passage on psychopathic personalities leapt out at her:

"The true psychopath is a self-centered, callous and remorseless person profoundly lacking in empathy and the ability to form warm emotional relationships with others, a person who functions without the restraints of conscience. Such individuals are rational and aware of what they are doing and why. They are manipulative and can lie with a smoothness and a directness that momentarily dis-arms."

A shiver ran through her. Could this be a profile of the man who had so captivated Elaine?

Further on, she read that fifty percent of serial rapists were psychopaths "acting to express sexual drives and fantasies, a desire for power and control, or to obtain sexual excitement by inflicting pain."

Now Dana couldn't wait to get to the police station in Old Montreal. A taxi transported her to Bonsecours Street and Station 1, a stone building that comprised an entire city block. She gave the security guard the detective's name.

A balding, middle-aged man finally approached her in the lobby. His sleeves were rolled up halfway and his tie hastily knotted. The stale smell of cigarette smoke clung to his shirt. "I'm Detective Lapierre. This is the tape?"

She nodded as he took it from her and then watched him head towards the elevator. Didn't this at least warrant a meeting in his office? "You are going to look into this, aren't you?" she called out as she hurried after him.

He pressed a button and waited for an elevator to arrive. "We'll check your tape out eventually. We receive dozens of tips every day on this case."

Was that supposed to reassure her? If she was right, other women on the system were in danger.

Maybe she needed to do some sleuthing on her own. It should be easy enough to see if the news reports supported her theory.

Back in her office at the university, she Googled all the reports and printed copies for herself. Then she studied them, looking for patterns.

All the victims had been strangled. No part of the city was safe, it seemed. The slayings took place in the afternoon or evening on different weekdays. Besides from Borello, the student followed from the bus stop in LaSalle, a young mother had been raped and strangled in a tunnel in Côte St. Paul only a few weeks ago. And there were a few others who couldn't possibly have invited the man to their homes. One woman was preparing dinner for her boyfriend; when he showed up, the casserole was still in the oven but she was dead. Her murder had been attributed to the Montreal strangler. He stalked women, and the randomness of his choices was the most frightening aspect of his MO.

Dana noted the facts on each murder in a notebook. Why had she believed the killer was on the system? It was quite probable that Elaine's new lover had nothing to do with her death.

In bed that night, Dana thought of her date with Russell the following evening. When she shut her eyes, though, she again saw Elaine's face brighten as she said, "Sounds perfect, doesn't it? He's a charmer, all right."

### Tuesday, May 18th

### Chapter Twenty-Five

Montreal Gazette \- **Snowdon Woman 12th Victim of Sex Killer**

Another sex slaying took place yesterday in the Montreal area. Elaine Markham's body was discovered by her daughter shortly after 5:00 p.m. She had been strangled in bed, and like the other cases, there were no signs of forcible entry. Preliminary evidence at the scene appears to link this slaying to the eleven others since February. Homicide detectives are stepping up their efforts to find the killer.

As he stirred milk into his coffee, Kyle read the news post on his tablet. Good. They still attributed his handiwork to that other guy. And he wasn't about to come forward and deny it, was he?

Yesterday had been too quick. Elaine had started screaming and he had to silence her. With the boot lace choking her windpipe, her eyes had damned him for what he was doing.

The black teddy had worked its magic, along with the perfume, reminding him of another woman lying helplessly beneath him. The time factor had added an interesting element of risk. Any minute her daughter could come home from school and discover him straddling her mother. In case he needed a fast exit, he had unlatched the back door.

In the excitement he had almost forgotten the _pièce de résistance_. Definitely not his style. But that detail about the other killings, unreported in the media and overheard in his bar, made all the difference. All the victims had been found nude from the waist down, with their own panties stuffed in their mouths.

Later he had put a match to that teddy and burned it in his backyard. Each woman deserved her own garment for those fleeting moments of glory. Five more lay in his dresser, waiting their turns.

Kyle printed out the latest report and went over to his desk to add it to its predecessors in the manila file folder. Only five of the sex slayings reported since February had been his; the stalker was ahead by two. The ratio would soon be reversed, though. Kyle had decided to step up the pace.

As he locked the desk drawer, the doorbell rang. A woman stood on his stoop with a box of cleaners, sponges and scouring pads. He could see the gray spot towards the back of her head that she'd missed with the hair dye. It was actually easier on the eyes than that horrible reddish color.

"Cindy Pierce. You called for housecleaning." She looked into his face with a weary expression. "If this isn't a good time..."

He remembered now. One of his patrons at the bar had recommended her. She cleaned a number of homes on the West Island and the man had raved about her services. Last week Kyle had finally called her.

As he ushered her inside, he said, "My needs are basic - dusting, vacuuming, floors washed. And the toilet can use a good scrubbing." He followed her into his bungalow.

She whistled at the kitchen linoleum. Months of spills and scuff marks had all but obliterated the crisscross pattern. "When was the last time you had this place cleaned?"

"It's been a while. And I have cats. I change their litter box but they still make a mess. I'll be outside working on my car. Need anything before I go?"

"Just your vacuum. This will take at least two hours," she said, rolling up her sleeves.

The sooner he was out of her hair, the sooner she'd be done. He never left anything lying around that could incriminate him and she wasn't likely to break into a locked desk. After filling a pail with sudsy water, he carried it into his driveway and washed the silver Nissan. Then he hosed it. The 350Z glinted in the sun, water dripping from its tinted windows. For a moment he stood back, admiring its sleek lines. The sports car hadn't been cheap, but was worth every cent. After drying its surface with a cloth, he lovingly applied a layer of Turtle Wax.

He should have called for housecleaning sooner. Money wasn't the issue - what was sixty bucks? He just didn't like strangers coming around. For a long time he had clung to the hope that Lori would come back and resume all the housework. But months had passed, and the dust had grown thicker, the dirt more encrusted.

When he walked into the house afterwards, a pine scent freshened the air, mingling with the acrid smell of ammonia. The kitchen floor and counters shone and the bathroom sparkled. He wondered if he'd remembered to flush. Well, that's what he was paying her for, wasn't it?

The woman turned off the vacuum in the living room. The cotton shirt clung to her back and perspiration beaded her forehead. "I'm not afraid of hard work, but I never saw anything this bad," she said.

"I'll throw in an extra twenty. And we'll make this a regular thing." He pulled the bills from his wallet and handed them over.

She stuffed the money in her pocket and started putting her cleaning materials back into the box. "Nice picture on the fridge. Your wife?"

"Ex-wife." No one had seen that photo except him.

"The one in the bedroom's even nicer." She cleared her throat, then continued. "Excuse me for being frank, but I like to say things as I see 'em. You need to dump the pictures¬. They'll stop you from getting on with your life."

"I want to remember what she was like." Why was he having this stupid conversation with a cleaning woman?

She hefted the box in her arms. "I've been down that road. Divorced four years ago. It gets easier, Mr. Sarkis, that's all I can tell you."

He held the door open, anxious for her to go. "I'll call for your next appointment."

In the kitchen he took down Lori's picture. With a fingertip he caressed the glass, tracing the outline of her sensuous lips. Maybe he didn't have his wife anymore, but he found parts of her in other women. They had her sigh, her throaty laugh or her soft, hesitant voice. He put the framed photo back on the fridge.

Kyle heard a meow outside the back door. When he opened it, the black cat sauntered in; Smoky was nowhere in sight. Luther stopped in his tracks, sniffing. The disinfectant was probably an unpleasant surprise.

Even with a cat inside, the house felt empty. He watched a little TV before getting ready for his date with _Walk on the Wild Side_. As he showered and shaved, he hoped she wasn't a dog. From experience he knew that photos were not always true-to-life.

If she didn't work out, there was Stephanie in two more days. He almost regretted making her wait a week, but he'd been preoccupied with Elaine.

Anticipating the kill was part of the pleasure.

### ***

Alexander's was quiet even for a Tuesday evening. The only other person at the bar was a man with a goatee nursing a Scotch. Don't overdo it, he told himself. Two hours and bow out; build up her longing for more.

When a woman with shoulder-length black hair approached, he almost slid off his stool. The cut of her spring coat looked stylish as well as expensive, and she walked with a sure sense of herself, balancing on impossibly high heels.

"Are you waiting for me?" she asked. "Or maybe it's that other fellow. I'll go over and introduce myself." She took a step towards the bearded man at the other end of the bar.

Kyle caught her wrist and pulled her back. "Dangerous move. I know the type; he'll talk your ear off," he said. "What'll you have?"

"Amaretto on the rocks. I'm in the mood for something sweet." She sat beside him, displaying a shapely leg encased in silk stocking. He wondered if it came with garters.

He signaled the barman and ordered her drink. After it was served, he raised his snifter to her. He drank Drambuie on special occasions and tonight was certainly one. "To intimate encounters," he said, glancing at her wedding ring. "I hope he's not expecting you for an early dinner."

She laughed then, a husky sound that teased his arousal into full throb. "We have an understanding; he doesn't mention his affairs and I don't mention mine." She glanced up at him through thick lashes. "Why do I get the feeling I'm more forward than you're used to?"

He said, "It's refreshing. Too many people play head¬ games. It gets tiring after a while." Her pretty face might stir lesser men but he reminded himself what she was. A beautiful whore.

"A man like you doesn't need a dating site to meet people." Still holding her glass, she turned to face him.

Was she even wearing a bra? It was hard to tell under that loose blouse, but he thought he could see the outline of her nipples. "You know how frustrating it is walking into a club, singling out a good-looker, and she refuses to connect? At least we both know what we want. Even if there's no chemistry, it's a start." Positioning himself on the stool, he trapped both her legs between his own. "But we don't need to worry about that, do we?"

She lowered her lashes but made no attempt to free herself. "You don't even know my name."

"You know mine. Kyle. And you're..." He used the opportunity to take her hand and squeeze it. Her fingernails were long and polished dark blue. This woman, he knew, would leave scratch marks.

"Jenny."

In a low voice, he said, "If there were no one here but you and me, Jenny, I could take you right now." Those remarkable green eyes stared into his, not shocked ... only amused. "I'm just being honest. The physical pull between us is real. When we're both ready, it'll sweep us along. Let me buy you another drink." He picked up her empty glass.

This time he withdrew a fifty dollar bill. His wallet remained open longer than needed as he flashed a few hundreds. She didn't even raise an eyebrow.

Her coat had been tossed on the adjoining stool. The blouse was buttoned almost to her neck, but as she shifted on her seat, he caught another glimpse of her breasts. Average size, but her skin was perfectly taut. When he stroked her arm, she visibly shuddered. "Do I make you nervous?"

"It isn't you. I'm just edgy without a cigarette. I'm trying to quit." She gave him a considering look. "So where do we go from here? You're divorced, you said. Do you have time for a relationship?"

"You're the one with limitations. How easily can you get away?"

She watched him over the rim of her second drink. "My husband's away this weekend."

Things were moving fast, even for him. He needed time to work on Stephanie. If he could convince her to trust him, he could do her next Monday. And Jenny could follow the next week. He had never done women in three consecutive weeks. At the idea, he felt a surge in his groin.

"How about Sunday afternoon?" he finally said. "I'll think of somewhere to take you."

Jenny frowned, then smiled. "We can follow up on ConneXions."

"You can also text me any time. Or call me at home around noon." She seemed relieved that he hadn't asked for her cell number. Maybe her husband was with her every evening when he was in town. Of course she had lied about having an open marriage; she was probably the only one cheating.

She got to her feet in one supple move. "You were right about one thing. I wasn't disappointed."

Kyle helped her with her coat, letting his hands linger on her shoulders. "'Til Sunday then."

In five quick steps, she was gone.

### Wednesday, May 19th

### Chapter Twenty-Six

Dana felt like a prized trophy. Russell had already introduced her to a half dozen people in the theater lobby during intermission, and he continued holding onto her arm as if she might escape. When an elderly man approached them, he whispered in her ear, "Here's the director."

Russell gave his best smile. "Good to see you, Allen. This is the young lady I was telling you about. I fully expect Dana to be one of Montreal's top psychologists one day."

The director warmly grasped her hand. "You, my dear, take my breath away. But then I always found youth and beauty a formidable combination. Are you enjoying the play?"

"I've never seen anyone play so many characters." The first act of _Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe_ had enchanted her.

"Copithorne's good," Russell said, "but I wish people would stop comparing her to Lily Tomlin."

"My sentiments exactly," Allen said. "Anyone who saw the original Broadway hit knows Tomlin was extraordinary."

The lounge was emptying out as people streamed back upstairs; the next act was about to begin. Russell found two seats in a back row this time because they were closer to the exit. "How's your visibility?" he asked her.

"Perfect." On the stage, a greyish blue light enveloped the actress standing on a grate in the center of the floor.

As the one-woman play continued, Russell casually stroked her arm. The contact sent a shiver to her toes; she struggled to focus on the stage.

Trudy, playing a bag lady, used her hat as an antenna to channel surf into other people's lives. Her voice and body movements changed abruptly as she went from a flower child trapped in the sixties to two hookers, and then to a socialite having a bad hair day.

"Instead of survival of the fittest," she said, "we should have survival of the wittiest. Then even if you don't survive, you can die laughing."

Russell was still chuckling when the last act ended.

Outside, the cement steps in front of the Centaur Theater were slick from a recent shower.

"Careful now." Taking her elbow, Russell steered Dana down the stairs in her stilettos. She glanced back at the old building with its Corinthian columns, a place that had once housed the Montreal Stock Exchange. She would remember this evening for a long time.

"We timed this perfectly," he said as they crossed the street to his car. "The rain must have just stopped."

"There may be more coming. Did you hear that rumble?"

"Sounds more like the clatter of horse's hooves to me," he said. "Folks say that a phantom _calèche_ drives up and down St. Paul Street during the early hours. The driver stops for passengers, but when anyone steps into the carriage, it dissolves into thin air."

Dana smiled at him as she buckled her seat belt. "Whoever made that up must have tied one on."

"Speaking of which, how about a nightcap?" he asked. "We're only a few minutes from my place."

I should ask him to drive me straight home, she thought. Stop this before it goes any further.

"I'd like that," she murmured.

As he turned in at Le Chateau, formidable stone gargoyles looked down from an upper ledge. Dana had often admired the downtown landmark but didn't know anyone who could afford to live there.

They parked in an inner courtyard and took an elevator to the fifth floor. Then Russell ushered her down a hallway with high ceilings and rows of solid mahogany doors.

"I moved here when I separated earlier this year," he said as he unlocked his door. "There's lots of space; all I'm missing is a view." The living room in his apartment included a fireplace, a wet bar and a black piano.

Dana said, "I didn't know you played."

"Nothing too complicated - just a little Bach or Mozart. What can I get you?"

"Gin and tonic."

He topped her drink off with a slice of lemon, poured himself an Irish whiskey and carried both glasses to the sofa.

Dana settled herself against a cushion, knowing that her short skirt had just become shorter. She pretended not to notice his furtive glances at her crossed legs. He cleared his throat and asked about her research project.

After sipping her drink, she said, "It's sad. Most of these women still believe in love, although their marriages have stagnated and they rely on affairs with men they don't know. They're bartering sex for intimacy." And now one of those women was dead.

"Why can't they get both?"

She shook her head. "These men are only interested in gratification. When they get bored, they move on."

He took a quick swallow of his whiskey.

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions, luv. Haven't you ever been involved with someone who touches your life in a meaningful way? However long it lasts doesn't matter; it's the honesty of communication, the layers revealed. Sometimes people relate to each other at a very deep level within hours of making their acquaintance. Or they could spend years together without even trying to understand what the other is feeling."

Russell seemed to be talking about his failed marriage. He and his wife must have grown apart over the years. Surely his sexual dalliances had made things worse. Dana thought of her mother in the arms of the mysterious Ethan and then brushed the image aside. "Affairs only complicate people's lives."

He leaned closer to brush her hair back from her face. Tonight she had let it flow past her shoulders. "I hope you aren't speaking about us. I think you're afraid, Dana, to listen to your heart."

After taking her glass from her, he set it down. Then he drew her close for a long kiss that seemed cruelly short when it ended.

"You're so beautiful," he sighed. "You have no idea how I've longed to hold you in my arms. Make sweet love to you."

She let him draw her onto the plush carpet, where they rolled into a sensuous embrace. Pieces of their clothing came away as he caressed every inch of her. An urge to feel him naked against her became overwhelming. She moaned, seared by the heat he so expertly stoked within her.

"Just a moment, luv." He reached into his trouser pocket for a condom and quickly returned to her.

Dana felt he was leading her on a journey she had never taken before. Fast, intense, wild. They both shuddered in the aftermath.

With a fingertip she traced his jawline, which carried a faint five o'clock shadow. "I didn't plan on any of this."

"Please, no analysis, luv. Let's just enjoy the moment." He picked up a strand of her blonde hair and twirled it around his finger. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

She saw hesitancy in his eyes.

"Come with me to Cannes," he said. "I leave on the 30th."

She stiffened beside him. "You know I need to work on my thesis. I'm hoping to complete the first study this summer."

"We'll only be gone two months," he said. As his hand slid over her naked thigh, her flesh tightened in anticipation. "That gives you another twelve days for interviews, then the entire month of August after we're back. Think about it, luv. How many chances do you get to suntan on the French Riviera, all expenses paid?"

It would be years before she could afford Europe. But did she really want to spend so much private time with Russell? In spite of her excitement, she doubted that she was more than a novelty to him. He'd probably date someone else before the summer was over.

Russell leaned over her now and stroked her cheek. "Why don't you sleep on it? Call me with your answer tomorrow. I should reserve your flight before the plane gets full." Abruptly he got to his feet. "I'll drive you home when you're ready. If you want to freshen up, there's a second bathroom on your left."

As he strode from the room, Dana admired his lean buttocks. Russell certainly was virile, but his finesse made her a little uncomfortable. He knew exactly where to touch her and how. His life had always been filled with beautiful women. Did he only want her because she was so much younger?

When they reached her apartment, he turned to her in the car. Solemnly he held her face in his hands and then kissed her. "I'll be waiting for your call," he said. "Sweet dreams."

Once inside, she leaned against her doorframe, trying to absorb what had happened. Her lips still tingled from his kiss.

A cultured man like Russell could travel with anyone he chose. Why her? Why now? It was all moving too fast.

A gust of wind rattled her door and the rain started up again, drumming on her windows. It was going to be a long night.

### Thursday, May 20th

### Chapter Twenty-Seven

When Stephanie went down to the kitchen, she was surprised to see the children finishing breakfast.

"We didn't want to wake you," Emma said, wiping syrup from her lips. "Dad said you were tired and needed to sleep. He left for work a few minutes ago."

"And who made the pancakes?" The wok and mixing bowl sat in the sink, smeared with batter. One blueberry pancake remained on a plate on the table; Justin reached for it now.

"Dad made 'em," he said, popping a piece into his mouth. "They're awesome. He says next time he'll try raspberry."

She handed them their lunches before they headed for school. Then she wiped the table and started on the dishes. What was going on?

Richard never cooked. Was he trying to prove that he could look after them on his own? He had stayed out every night since their argument on Sunday, probably with the woman from last weekend.

Why had she pushed for divorce? She had barely started French conversation classes and language training; it would take a year to qualify for a bilingual position. And she still wanted to keep them together as a family for a while longer. Teenage years were difficult enough without the strain and complications of divorce.

She had to cut down on the drinking. It had become a crutch. A way to mitigate the boredom and isolation of being housebound, especially as she and Richard grew further apart. She had never imagined that he would consider using it against her. After all, she wasn't an alcoholic. Two, maybe three drinks smoothed the edges of her day.

The clothes hamper upstairs was overflowing. Stephanie put a load of laundry into the washer and added detergent. When she and Richard bought this house, they had decided to install the washer and dryer on the same level as the bedrooms. It made changing linens and towels that much easier.

Waiting for the rinse cycle to be over, she thought of Kyle. Soon it would be time to phone and set up their rendezvous. As the noon hour approached, her stomach tensed. Maybe he had changed his mind. A week had passed and he could have had a number of dates since then. He was a free man, after all.

Stephanie found a flask of vodka under the towels in the linen closet and took a hefty belt. The liquor blazed a trail down her throat, then spread fingers of warmth through her body. She made her way downstairs, seated herself and counted to ten before reaching for her cell.

Kyle picked up on the second ring.

"I thought about you all week, Stephanie," he said. "If you're available, how about joining me for a walk on Mount Royal?" He referred to their largest park, a mountain in the heart of the city.

After ending the call, Stephanie felt like dancing across the room. He hadn't forgotten her after all.

### ***

She parked the SUV below Pine Avenue, then glanced around the downtown street. Richard's office was only a few blocks south and his proximity made her nervous.

Kyle waited for her at the base of the mountain. He looked good in jeans and a black leather jacket that fit snugly across his broad shoulders.

"I missed you," he said as he kissed her on the cheek. He glanced over her. "Good choice in shoes. Perfect for climbing."

His approval washed over her. Of course the runners didn't go with her skirt, but they were more appropriate than heels.

They started up _the snake_ , a gravel road that twisted and turned. A boy on a mountain bike hurtled towards them, crouched low over his handlebar for maximum speed. Kyle tucked her close to his side, making her feel protected.

At the top of the path, they stepped into a wider road surrounded by trees and cliff face. As she inhaled the pine-scented air, she heard trickling water. She traced it to a cement trough that channeled the run-off from a mountain stream.

"I used to bring my kids here for picnics when they were small," she said. "It's beautiful in the spring." A group of power walkers strode past them. The scrunching sound of shoes on gravel was soon replaced by the raucous chorus of crows, then the twitter of sparrows.

Kyle and Stephanie walked in stillness for a few moments.

"I enjoy being with you," he said, taking her hand. "Some women chatter on about nothing. Not you."

His fingers exerted a slight pressure and a delicious tingle raced up her arm. Two women passed them, chatting in French, one pushing a baby stroller.

"Do you have any children?"

A shadow crossed his face. "We were planning to when my wife got sick. Tell me about your family."

She told him about Emma and Justin, and then found herself talking about Richard and his missed promotion. "My husband's a corporate lawyer. There was an opening for a senior position in his company but they offered it to someone else. He blames me. Said I should have been more sociable with the other wives."

Kyle squeezed her arm. "Don't take it personally. It's easier to blame you than to see himself as a failure."

Beaver Lake suddenly appeared before them. As they watched dozens of swallows dip and swerve over the water, he asked if she wanted to rest. The exercise felt good; she decided to keep going.

A group of tourists preceded them to the lookout, a stone-walled precipice overlooking the city. Skyscrapers and low-rise buildings filled the panoramic view, which extended to the river and the bridges leading off-island.

"I really feel our history here," Stephanie said, reading a plaque. It said that an explorer had climbed this mountain in 1535 and given it the name Mount Royal, from which the city of Montreal took its name.

"I like to think we're making our own history," Kyle murmured beside her. As the wind blew her hair, he brushed a strand from her face. "This light catches your hair. Auburn really suits you."

"Thanks." She couldn't remember the last time Richard had given her a compliment. He never seemed to notice her anymore. As a cloud blocked the sun, she shivered in the breeze.

"Why don't we go inside?" he suggested. "We can warm up with coffee." Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he led her towards the chalet, an old stone building with an orange ridged roof.

She looked up at the poles flying flags for Canada, Quebec and the City of Montreal. In the summer, this place teemed with visitors, but today it was practically deserted.

Stephanie sat at one of the tables while Kyle got their beverages. Overhead, sparrows flew back and forth beneath the rafters. They had found their way inside the chalet and were now trapped.

"I brought extra milk." Kyle put down two steaming Styrofoam cups. "I'm so glad you were able to come out with me today."

Their eyes met over the rim of their cups.

"Me, too."

A current passed between them, electrifying as well as reassuring. He wanted her. Stephanie could feel it in her bones. Maybe, just maybe, this man would stay.

A comfortable silence lapsed between them on their way back. Stephanie wondered if he'd try to kiss her or if he'd take it slow. The anticipation made her breathless.

They had almost reached the base of the mountain when he turned to face her. "I hate saying goodbye. I know it's a little soon, but how about meeting tomorrow? I sometimes take Friday off. I'd ask for the weekend but I know that may be difficult for you."

"Tomorrow's fine." He was right about the weekend. The children needed her at home, and with Richard breezing in and out, her absence would be noticed.

After they agreed on a time and place, she headed for her car. She looked back to see Kyle blow her a kiss. As she slid behind the wheel, Stephanie felt almost giddy. In the rear-view mirror her face looked flushed.

Despite the tiny lines around her eyes, she felt sixteen again and in love for the first time.

### Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jenny couldn't shake Kyle's image from her mind. She had never been so intensely attracted to a man at first sight. And it wasn't just his looks, though she had always admired dark-haired men with his slightly muscular build.

Again she replayed the scene from Tuesday evening at Alexander's. She saw his fingers curl around the snifter, teasing the glass, and again felt the warmth of his palm as he pressed her hand. When he faced her on the bar stool, capturing her legs between his, she felt the strength in his thighs. Couldn't help imagining him as a lover. Then his eyes had lingered over her breasts, measuring. At the memory her spine tingled again.

She could tell he was trying to impress her. Why else had he flashed those hundred dollar bills? Maybe money turned other women on, but she wanted something different. Him in her bed. Preferably naked.

Men like Kyle saw married women as a challenge. The thrill of Forbidden Fruit. The nights she had worn a wedding band at the bar, they flocked around her, buying her drinks. Like them, Kyle probably just wanted uncomplicated sex with no strings.

She planned to tell him about her single status once they became intimate. Sex didn't need to be boring just because they were both available for more.

Jenny was picturing herself in Kyle's arms when someone knocked on her door. Instantly alert, she straightened in her chair.

Brad, their Accounting Manager, strode into her office. He compensated for his baldness with a full moustache and beard, always meticulously groomed. After shutting the door behind him, he sat down. "I need to talk to you about one of our employees, Lisa Moretti," he said.

Immediately she longed for a cigarette. "What about?"

"She's not keeping up. It's not only the extra workload. When it comes to new computer technology, she's a slow learner. The MODE reports were five days late this month, and that wasn't all." He glanced out the window before turning back to her. "I plan to put Helen in her place. Lisa must be terminated."

Jenny recalled her visit ten days ago. Lisa knew she wasn't handling all her responsibilities, even with overtime. That was why she'd asked for a transfer.

"Can you fit her in somewhere else in your department, even at a lower level?" Jenny asked. "She wants to stay with the company and she has two kids to support."

Brad shook his head. "We're still combining functions and we plan to cut more staff. She has to go. I want you to conduct the exit interview tomorrow, at 12:30 if that's okay. Security will be available over lunch as she cleans out her desk."

After he left, Jenny accessed the woman's employee profile in her database. She was forty-six, too young for early retirement but an awkward age for the job market. Her children were still in high school. Lisa was a dedicated employee with twelve years service; all Helen had on her was youth.

Why did she get to deliver the bad news?

A printout of data on their employee assistance program now sat on her desk. The first six visits to psychologists or psychotherapists, considered general counselling, were covered by the company. The number of employees using the program had skyrocketed in the last two years. Apart from a sharp increase in chronic fatigue and stress-related problems, they were under-going more job burnouts. Nine had recently experienced complete breakdowns and were on disability.

Here in black and white were the human consequences of downsizing. Jenny wished that her boss would be alarmed by these numbers. She knew, though, that only the rising costs would concern him.

The latest early retirement scheme was already being implemented. Another ninety-two jobs would be wiped out and more work would be distributed among the remaining employees.

By lunch time, Jenny could feel the tension in her body. The muscles between her shoulder blades had knotted, making her feel sore. Tomorrow's meeting with Lisa filled her with dread. She, as HR manager, always handled these cases.

Terminated employees were dealt with and escorted out during off-hours. Management went to great lengths to avoid a scene.

For a distraction, Jenny walked over to the high-rise complex across the street. On the plaza level, Place Ville Marie boasted a large food court. She bought a container of sushi and a diet drink and sat at a quiet table.

Upon finishing, she felt a strong urge to smoke. She pulled out her smart phone and found the right app. Eric's plan to record these moments had gone from ruled pad to phone.

She tapped out the following: _1:15 p.m. - Thursday 20 May - Feeling stressed because of Lisa's exit interview tomorrow. I'm starting to really hate this job._

Now she had to "do something else" to get her mind off smoking. Dozens of upscale boutiques on this level offered everything from leather briefcases to lingerie. Jenny browsed a few fashion spots. She found a few cute tops but nearly gagged at the price. The only time she purchased anything here was during sales. Lisa probably never even went into these boutiques; not with school expenses and a family to feed.

Damn. She still wanted a cigarette.

So far, she had managed to cut down a little every day. Tonight, though, could be her undoing. Remembering Eric's invitation, she called him and left a message. Just before quitting time, he called back.

"Why don't you come over for dinner? It's veggie stir-fry with rice. Oh, did you hear the news?" When she told him she was still at the office, he said, "They caught that stalker, the man responsible for all those murders."

"Really? It's taken long enough." Although relief flooded her at the news, she felt sorry for the woman found strangled in her own home only three days ago.

Jenny brought a bottle of Chablis to the address he had given her. Eric pulled her into a hug at the door before taking the bottle from her. "I see we have the same taste in wine. I'll let it chill."

His Verdun flat was surprisingly cheerful. The narrow rooms were painted mauve, green or yellow. Admiring the hardwood floors, she followed him to the back of his apartment. Bird feeders of different sizes hung over his balcony.

"Do you get a lot of birds?"

"Mostly _les moineaux_. Sparrows," he said. "But in the winter I also get red cardinals."

Eric's kitchen was small and tidy. No table, only barstools at a counter already set with fabric placemats. She watched him put the wine into a bucket which he filled with ice.

"It must be true that gay men are exceptional housekeepers."

He smiled as he got out the wineglasses. "You wouldn't have said that last week. I let things slide and then do a big clean up. Would you like some wine as I heat up the food?"

She helped him carry the glasses into the living room. As she settled on his overstuffed couch, he opened the cabinet housing his sound system.

"You like sax?" When she nodded, he flicked a switch and music floated in the room through invisible speakers.

She closed her eyes and listened to an instrumental rendition of _Lady in Red_ , letting the notes of the saxophone take her away.

"So what's going on with you?" he wanted to know.

"It's just work. The kind of day that makes me want to chain smoke."

"I'm glad you called. Here's to friends." They clinked glasses.

"And here's to being able to walk the streets at night again," she said, feeling lighter as they toasted a second time.

"How's it going with the dating system?"

"I met a charming man - a stockbroker. We have very good chemistry." Her neck tingled as she remembered Kyle teasing her about taking her right in the bar.

"Anyone would have good chemistry with you. You're a beautiful woman."

Not anyone, she thought as she glanced at the framed photo on a shelf. Eric stood with another equally tall man hip to hip, their arms around each other. His last lover, she assumed.

"You will see him again?"

When she told him that she would probably see Kyle over the weekend, Eric's clear hazel eyes held hers. "Be careful, Jenny. It takes time to get to know someone. Now, ready to eat?"

Dinner passed all too quickly. Between bites of his excellent stir-fry and more sips of wine, she told him that her jar of coins was filling up at home. He had told her to add a dollar every time she resisted the urge to smoke. His program was working; she felt she had more control over her addiction.

"Bon. I was up to two packs a day when I quit. You can do it, Jenny."

Before she left, Eric gave her another hug. She breathed in the faint scent of soap on his skin, feeling comforted in his arms.

"May 31st," he whispered against her hair. "Are you still on?"

"Yes."

Only eleven days stretched between now and international No Tobacco day. A sudden chill made her shiver as she walked to her car. Her premonition told her that she might not reach her goal, though she had no idea why.

### Friday, May 21st

### Chapter Twenty-Nine

Montreal Gazette \- **Police Nab Strangler: Verdun Woman Spared**

Marie-Claude Bergerac, a 33-year-old mother, will be alive to celebrate her son's first birthday, thanks to a perceptive neighbor. Yesterday Bergerac returned to her cottage on Crawford Bridge Avenue shortly after 4:00 p.m.

Bergerac opened her front door, leaving the baby carriage while she brought her 7-month-old inside. Aline Vachon, a retired nurse living across the street, noticed a man walk up to Bergerac's door and let himself in. He fit the description of the suspect in the news.

Police have received a lot of false leads since the composite drawing of Carla Borello's attacker was released. Fortunately they immediately dispatched two officers to Bergerac's residence. Jules Gratton, 29, had both hands around her neck when he was apprehended.

Bergerac was rushed to the Verdun General Hospital, where her condition is now stable. Gratton, a resident of Pointe aux Trembles, is being charged with attempted murder and sexual assault. He is also a prime suspect in the 12 sex slayings earlier this year.

Stephanie forced herself to look away from her screen. Quickly she poured more hot water in her cup and dipped the herbal tea bag a few more times before again reading the report, line by line.

It was true, then. The strangler would be put behind bars and she could go back to walking in the park without fear.

When she placed her cup in the sink, the sight of Richard's striped coffee mug jarred her. Earlier this morning she had seen him stand there as he brushed a stray hair from his jacket. A long, silky hair - too light to be hers. This wasn't a marriage; it was a joke.

Only one thing prevented her from sinking into despair. Today she would see Kyle again. Adrenalin started to pump through her at the thought. How could she feel like this again, after her despondency over George? Her life was certainly filled with twists and turns.

She thought of the psychology student who'd left a message for her. Later on, she would give Dana a call and set up a private interview. Talking to someone might help her get a grip on things. She was tired of riding an emotional rollercoaster.

Although she had never been obsessed with fashion, deciding what to wear for her date with Kyle had her in knots. How a woman dressed often set the mood; she needed something casual yet dressy. Feminine but not too suggestive. She chose a peach silk blouse that flattered her complexion, worn with a slim-cut jacket by Mondi and a straight skirt.

Kyle had suggested a restaurant on the Main, far enough from the downtown area where she could run into someone she knew.

When she arrived at the Thai Grill, he waved to her from a table at the window. A fitted white shirt emphasized his dark good looks.

"What a pretty setting," she said as she seated herself. She had passed decorations of temple carvings in teak and cast terra-cotta. "How did you know I like spicy food?"

He flashed a smile. "Male intuition. The chef's authentic - straight from Thailand." He nudged the table to give her more room before reaching for her hand. "I couldn't wait to see you again."

"It's only been one day," she laughed. Still she was pleased when he continued to hold her hand. "Things are a little shaky at home."

"How so?"

"Richard and I \- we're not really talking anymore. I don't know how long we can go on avoiding each other."

"Every relationship has its ups and downs," he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Lately all I have are the downs." She glanced at the menu and frowned. "Can you recommend something here?"

"Let me start us off. Do you like seafood?" He ordered their entrées - fish cakes in red curry paste and a salad of dried shrimp with green papaya.

As they lifted their forks, they held each other's gaze.

"This is very tangy," Stephanie said. "I didn't expect to be this hungry." She had wondered if she'd even be able to eat. Could this be real? A good-looking man at her elbow, watching her with an intensity she'd only seen in movies?

Kyle barely seemed to notice the stream of young women parading past the window in fashions that showed their assets to good advantage.

"They say people with strong appetites make the best lovers," he said. "Why don't we sample each other's meals? I want to taste whatever you're eating."

He gave her some of his grilled fish and welcomed a portion of her vegetarian curry on his plate. She never saw him actually eat it, but when she returned from the restroom, it was gone.

The dessert was just as enticing: coconut ice cream with shards of mango.

"That was incredible," she finally said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. She knew most of her lipstick was still intact: she had freshened it after the main course.

After the waiter cleared their plates, Kyle leaned closer. "I have something for you, Stephanie." He withdrew a small bottle from his trouser pocket and handed it to her.

She read the label - _Midnight Romance_ , _Eau de Parfum_. How sweet. He was already buying her gifts. She removed the cap and inhaled the subtle fragrance.

"It's perfect."

"Seductive, isn't it? I'm hoping you'll wear it for me the next time we meet."

"I'd be happy to." Under the table, the pressure of his leg against hers spoke more than words. Thinking of their next encounter brought a shiver of anticipation.

"I want to love you like you deserve to be loved," he said, echoing her thoughts.

George's image flashed in her mind, reminding her of all the positions they had tried. She brushed the memories aside. That was just sex; Kyle cared about her feelings.

His fingers toyed with the edge of the tablecloth. "I'd invite you to my place, but it doesn't feel right. Too soon, I guess."

She thought of his wife dying of cancer in his bed. "Where then?"

He reflected. "How about a discreet hotel? I'll make all the arrangements. For our first time, could you get away in the evening? I was thinking Monday."

Richard might decide to stay home that night - but so what? He had always come and gone as he pleased. She could say she was visiting a girlfriend. With the current rift between them, he wasn't likely to question her.

"Maybe after the children have gone to bed," she said. "I couldn't stay the night, though." Those few hours after darkness fell could be magical. Why not spend them with a man who really wanted her?

"I understand, Stephanie. Our first time together will be special, I can promise you that." He raised her right hand to his lips. Her skin seemed to burn where his mouth had touched it.

All too soon they were standing next to her car. As she fumbled for her key, he moved closer. His kiss took her by surprise. It was slow and tender, with a hint of repressed passion.

He said, "We don't have to chance being seen together on Monday night. I'll leave the address of the hotel and my room number on the system once I book in. That way you can come straight up." He traced her cheek with an index finger. "I'll be thinking of you all weekend."

She smiled to herself as she drove home. Why had she worried about appearing overeager? Again she felt the soft pressure of his mouth on hers. It felt like ages since a man had made love to her, although her last time with George had been only two weeks ago. What a mistake he had been. And Richard, when he performed, was perfunctory at best.

At the stoplight, she opened her purse to glance at the pink perfume bottle. Ralph Lauren was classic and the delicate fragrance was something she would enjoy. Not cheap, either. At last she had found someone who truly appreciated her.

### Chapter Thirty

Several claps of thunder roused Jenny from a sound sleep. When she heard music and drunken laughter, she realized her upstairs neighbors were dancing. One of them kept thudding into the wall. At 3 a.m., she just wanted to get back to sleep. Tomorrow she would call Management. _Le Regency_ had a good reputation; they would not tolerate a disturbance, especially if tenants complained.

Closing her eyes again, she recalled her last dreams.

She was again at that art gallery on the Main, checking out the vernissage _Le Chemin du zodiaque_. Finding herself drawn to a particular painting: the man symbolizing Scorpio. He caught her in a hypnotic gaze and whispered her name. When she came within inches of the painting, he became third dimensional and stepped out of the canvas. He clasped her to him. Looking down, she was shocked to see the scorpion on his shirt raise its deadly tail. Was this a warning of some kind?

In the next dream, people huddled in rowboats in the middle of a river. All the boats were missing oars. She recognized Lisa as well as others who had recently been let go from Miller. They frantically waved at her, pointing to the opposite shore where dozens of oars were stockpiled. Short of swimming to the other bank, though, she saw no way of helping them.

Thanks to her noisy neighbors and the prospect of more unpleasant dreams, she slept only fitfully until dawn. Bad enough that she had that exit interview today; now she had to go to work feeling tired.

At noon, Lisa Moretti showed up as scheduled at her office. She stood stiffly near the door. "You wanted to see me?"

"Why don't you sit down?" Jenny suggested. She took a deep breath, then told her what she'd said to countless employees before. The company was still reducing their workforce and her services were no longer required. Silently she handed her a standard termination letter.

"I'm sorry. We're offering the services of a placement agency to help you find a new job."

Lisa put the letter on her lap and swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "I planned to save up for a time like this. For emergencies. Without child support, it just hasn't been possible."

Jenny longed to put her arms around her and tell her things would be all right. Instead, she repeated words she'd used so many times before. "I need you to surrender your magnetic entry card and office keys. Security will stand by as you clear your desk and locker."

The other woman blinked. "I know this is how you do things, but can't I at least say goodbye to the people I work with?"

Jenny's stomach plummeted at the stricken look in Lisa's eyes.

She forced herself to say, "No. You'll be escorted to the door when you're through. Standard procedure." Management had always asked her to conduct these exit interviews at the beginning of the lunch hour, when most employees were away from their desks. No point in upsetting staff left behind.

Jenny watched the man waiting outside her door lead Lisa down the hallway. Had she ever felt so lousy?

She went for a long stroll along St. Catherine Street, staring unseeingly at the shops as she smoked one cigarette after another. It was drizzling, and she had no umbrella. When she returned to the office, half the afternoon had disappeared.

On an impulse, she called Eric. "Can I treat you to dinner? I know a great pizza place." It was nothing fancy, but the food and service kept her coming back. She had never taken a man there; Colin had preferred Italian restaurants with wine cellars and maître d's.

Later on, Eric waited for her under a black umbrella at Al Fourno Pizzeria. Jenny's hair was still damp and tangled. She hadn't bothered combing it since her afternoon walk and neither had she retouched her lipstick.

"You look terrible," he said. "What happened?"

"I had a horrible day. I'll tell you all about it."

Eric agreed to split a pizza with her - Sicilian, complete with anchovies and black olives. They sat outside on the terrace, where people still sometimes smoked. He frowned as he watched her light a cigarette.

"I had to terminate someone today," she said. "You'd think I'd be used to it by now." She dragged deeply on the cigarette and blew the smoke away from him. "Lisa is intelligent and hard-working. She's also a single mother. She was combining two jobs and couldn't keep up. I'm sick of all the downsizing." She gave him a crooked smile. "And now I can't stop smoking. I really thought I could quit by the 31st."

"That isn't all you should quit, _ma cher_. Your job is making you miserable."

"I got into human resources because I wanted to work with people. Lately all I do is hand out termination notices or refer them to our employee assistance program."

"Oh, what do they handle?" Of course he would want to know, being a social worker.

"Alcoholism, job burnout, problems at home, you name it. They're swamped these days. To make matters worse, their program administrator left and they're desperate for a replacement. They even asked if I'd be interested."

Eric leaned towards her. "Wouldn't that be more satisfying? Helping people turn their lives around?"

She thought of her rowboat dream, where she felt powerless to help anyone because she was on the wrong side of the river.

A server brought their order and placed a piece of pizza on each of their plates. After thanking him, she turned to Eric. "It would mean a lot less money. I couldn't afford my apartment, for one thing."

"You can find something cheaper out of the downtown core." He popped an olive into his mouth before picking up his utensils. "Think of the bigger picture, Jenny. You're letting your lifestyle dictate your choices."

"It isn't that simple." The idea of losing the job and benefits she had worked so hard for made no sense to her. She could check into the package Life Management Systems offered their employees but knew it wouldn't come close.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then he told her about a new man he had met at a gay bar. He had a good feeling about him but wanted to take things slow. Jenny's thoughts returned to Kyle, wondering where their next date might lead.

After finishing the last slice on his plate, Eric said, "I can see why you like this place. They make great pizza."

When he dropped her off at her apartment building, he kissed her on the cheek. "No more smoking tonight, okay? _Bonsoir_ , Jenny."

She found it incredible that she'd met him only last week. He would never be a romantic prospect but Eric made a terrific friend. No matter who she slept with, she hoped to keep him in her life for a long, long time.

### Chapter Thirty-One

Sitting in the familiar beige-and-peach kitchen of her family home, Dana felt her tension slip away. Yesterday she had given Russell her answer, only to wake up this morning with a sense of unease.

Her mother withdrew a Pyrex container from the fridge. "I baked this last night. I was about to take some over when you called." She put two pieces of apple strudel in the microwave for heating.

"Good timing then." Dana got out dessert plates, then helped her with their mugs of coffee. "I'm seeing someone, Mom."

"Oh. Another student from university?" She used a spatula to lift the dessert into each of their plates.

"Russell's a professor of psychology and my thesis supervisor."

The spatula clattered on the table. "He sounds a lot older."

Dana had expected a few questions, but it would have been worse if Dad were here instead of at the dentist's. "He's in his forties. Divorced earlier this year."

Her mother finally sat down. "Do you know what went wrong with his marriage?"

"They just grew apart." Dana tried not to think of Russell's extramarital affairs. After all, rumors were not always true.

"Any children?" she asked.

"A boy and a girl. They're already in university."

"So around your age, then." Her brows knitted into a frown. "Sweetie, please be careful. This man is much older than you and just coming out of a divorce. You still have your whole life ahead of you."

The reason Dana had come was to share her news in person. "I'm going to Cannes with him. Two months with all expenses paid. We leave in nine days." She recalled Russell's enthusiasm when she told him to go ahead and book her flight.

Her mother's eyes widened. "This is sudden, isn't it? Your father and I want to meet your boyfriend before you leave. We can invite him over for dinner."

"It's too soon. Russell only started asking me out the last couple of weeks," Dana said. Since she had only slept with him once, she still wondered if this could be a summer fling.

"Too soon for us to meet him but not too soon for you to travel with him overseas for two months? If this man loves you, he won't pressure you into taking such a big step before you're ready."

Dana played around with a piece of pie crust on her plate. She had little appetite, even for her favorite dessert. "Guys my age are so immature. They're still bar hopping or pulling all-nighters with their friends. Russell took me to the symphony and the Centaur Theater. And he supports my career."

Her mother reached out to clasp her hand. "There's a difference between falling in love with someone and wanting what he offers you. You're still so young, sweetie. And ... you've never been away from home that long."

"I'll let you know where I am," Dana promised.

"Did you hear the news on the Montreal strangler?" her mother asked.

"Yeah, thank God for neighbors. I'm so relieved they finally caught him; I guess the whole city is." Dana decided not to mention that she had interviewed Elaine Markham, the woman murdered on Monday.

Yesterday she had called back that detective at Station 1. He told her that they were checking out forensic evidence now that the suspect had been apprehended.

"I guess I was wrong. He stalked random women, didn't he?" she said. "One of them just happened to be meeting someone through a dating site."

"We had a lot of dead ends. But we'll keep your tape on file," he said before hanging up.

With the killer behind bars, Dana could re-focus on her thesis and plan for her trip with Russell. Because no matter how reckless it seemed to her parents, she was going.

### Sunday, May 23rd

### Chapter Thirty-Two

Montreal Gazette \- **Stalker Linked to Sex Slayings**

Det.-Lt. Claude Robillard, spokesman for the Montreal Urban Community police homicide squad, confirms that forensic evidence gathered in the murders of 12 Montreal women since February indicates a definite connection to Jules Gratton. "But it's too early to tell if he's our only man," he cautioned.

Police have obtained a blood sample from Gratton for DNA testing. Preliminary results should be available in two weeks.

A cigarette burned in the ashtray as Jenny re-read the post on her tablet. They could perform all the tests they wanted, but she was already convinced of the man's culpability. The police had caught him with his hands around a woman's throat, for God's sake.

She took a last puff before extinguishing the cigarette. Then she finished reading the report:

Gratton was arrested last Thursday, 20 May, as he tried to strangle a Verdun woman in her Crawford Bridge Avenue home. The 29-year-old man, a technician for a ventilation cleaning company, often finished work early in the afternoon. It is believed that he then roamed Montreal streets in his car and followed women returning home alone from shopping centers or bus stops. Gratton is married, with a 3-year-old daughter.

Carla Borello, the LaSalle woman who was sexually assaulted and partially strangled on 11 May, made a positive ID on Gratton in a police line-up last night. Her mother, who also saw the attacker, made the same ID in a separate lineup.

The man's online photo resembled the previous composite. He had regular features - small, undistinguished eyes, a muscular neck - nothing to identify him as a killer. She shivered. A few crazies still roamed the city and it wasn't always possible to tell.

Quitting the bar scene had been a smart move on her part. She wondered, though, if she would have done it without ConneXions. The dating site made it easy to meet men. Surprisingly good-looking men like Kyle.

Yesterday, reaching into her closet for a comfortable pair of shoes, she had come across a man's pair of plaid slippers. She bought them last year for Colin, for those occasions when he slept over. For a moment she held them in her hands, remembering how passionate he'd been in bed. With all the stress in her life, she needed a lover. Someone to help her get through the days ... and nights.

It was an ideal summer's day: sunny and hot. When she phoned Kyle, he asked where he could take her.

"Away from here," she said. "I want to forget this week ever happened." She needed a distraction to break her smoking habit and distance from a job that had grown increasingly distasteful.

"I know just the place. Wait for me on René Levesque, corner of Peel. I'll pick you up."

She was glad he hadn't asked for her home address. They were still strangers who had met one evening for drinks in a bar.

That afternoon, Kyle zoomed over in a Nissan 350Z. The sports car was low to the ground, forcing her to stoop as she climbed in. "Where are we going?"

He shrugged. "You'll find out soon enough. Fasten your seat belt."

As they weaved in and out of traffic on the downtown boulevard, Jenny found it hard to breathe. He was a skilled driver but an impatient one. When they crossed the Jacques Cartier Bridge and took the exit for La Ronde, she knew where he was taking her.

After paying for their admission to the amusement park on Ile Sainte-Hélène, he said, "I figured this might be what you need."

She hadn't been to La Ronde in years. Surrounded by water, the treed park was perfect for today's heat.

Kyle brought her to a ride called Aqua Twist. As they joined the lineup of kids and families, he cautioned her to put her sandals in her bag. Once they got into a boat, the floors filled with water. Then the boats rotated like teacups. At the same time, passengers squirted each other with water guns. Kyle and Jenny took turns cranking up their gun in defense.

"Gotcha!" she cried, only to get splashed by a volley of water from another boat.

In the tight space, she kept bumping into Kyle, feeling the hard lines of his body. He appeared not to notice. When they finally disembarked, they were both laughing.

"We're still kids at heart, aren't we?" he said. "Ready for a serious ride?"

Screams filled the air, coming mostly from Le Boomerang and Le Condor, a ride that rotated faster and faster as it rose. She felt dizzy just watching it. Jenny was relieved when they kept walking.

At _Le Monstre_ , Kyle helped her into a car that had just shuddered to a halt. "This is the largest wood coaster in the country," he said. "Hope you aren't afraid of a little speed."

"No." Her heart hammered in her chest as it had years ago when the roller coaster slowly climbed the track. Then it hurtled down, twisting at the same time. Flinging a patch of blue sky into her face only to tear it away. She let out a thin, piercing scream.

When the ride abruptly ended, she used Kyle's strength to get out of the car. Her legs refused to cooperate.

"You have a good set of lungs," he laughed. "And a strong grip too." He showed her the welts where she had squeezed his forearm during the scariest moments.

"I'm not as brave as I used to be." When he offered his arm, she accepted it gratefully.

"Time for a little refreshment." He led her to a concession booth, where he bought them frozen lemonades and a caramel apple for her. "Having fun?"

She nodded as she bit into the candied fruit. They now sat at a picnic table in the shade. Families around them were eating hot dogs and fries, speaking in different languages. French. Spanish. Arabic. Portuguese.

"Your husband must have rocks in his head," he said. "How can any man prefer sitting on a dock with a bunch of guys to being with you?"

Her spouse, she had told him, was fishing at a friend's cottage. Self-consciously she touched her fake wedding band. "He knows I'll be waiting when he gets back."

Kyle picked up a strand of her black hair. "His loss. My gain."

After they sat in silence, admiring the river, Kyle got to his feet again. "One more stop and then we can go. We saved the best for last."

Once again, he led her across the park grounds. The gondolas were loading up when they reached the Ferris wheel.

As the giant wheel lifted them higher, she watched the throngs of people grow smaller and smaller below. At the same time, she was conscious of his muscular thigh against hers.

"Spectacular view, isn't it?" he murmured against her ear. He tightened his arm around her. "Though the best part is having you next to me."

When their gondola reached the very top, it stayed there, swaying. Kyle threaded his fingers through her hair and then kissed her. The pressure of his lips and the skillfulness of his tongue in her mouth sent shock waves of pleasure through her. As the wheel moved forward again, she struggled to catch her breath.

"I couldn't help myself, Jenny," he said, reaching for her hand. "Don't ask me to take things slow."

Afterwards, he asked if she had enjoyed her afternoon. She nodded. After their time together, she felt more relaxed with him. Enough to ask when he wanted to get together again.

"Tuesday evening, if you're free."

"I am. Jacques doesn't get back 'til Wednesday." She watched his expression to see if there was any change at the mention of her husband's name. Not even a twitch.

"Good," he said. "I'll take you to dinner. Call me Tuesday when you're home from work." He stroked her cheek with an index finger. Then his mouth descended on hers for a moment. "Until then."

She checked into the system after letting herself into her apartment. A message waited for her on ConneXions, surprisingly from a woman.

Dana claimed to be writing a thesis for her doctorate in psychology. She was interviewing women having affairs and invited Jenny to call her back. Anonymously of course.

She thought about Kyle. All she wanted was an uncomplicated relationship, but what if the compromises were more than she could handle? A realization hit her.

I'm afraid of getting too close to anyone. That's why the men I choose are emotionally unavailable. I really should talk to someone about my compulsions.

The young woman who had left her a message sounded intelligent, and she was studying psychology. Dana wouldn't be judgmental or even ask who she was. She could explain about her marital status later.

Jenny took down her number.

### Monday, May 24th

### Chapter Thirty-Three

Stephanie hesitated before pushing the elevator button. Fortunately, that shot of vodka had worked its magic, loosening the tautness in her back and shoulders and smoothing the edges of her mind. This morning, though, a thread of tension remained. Did she really want a stranger - a student at that - probing into her life? Making her rethink her choices?

Finding McGill's Biology Building and a parking spot had been easy. The difficult part was facing the interview. Should she cancel? Remembering Dana's enthusiasm, she reluctantly rode the elevator to the Department of Psychology.

"I'm so glad you made it. Most people want to be with their families on Victoria Day." The woman who greeted her on the eighth floor looked incredibly young. She wore tight jeans and had her hair tied back. Yet in her clear, unwavering blue eyes, Stephanie glimpsed a maturity beyond her years.

"Actually the holiday helped me get away," she said. "My husband's home with our children." It had been a relief to leave. She and Richard were barely civil to each other these days.

They followed a long corridor to the cubicle that served as Dana's office.

What a difference between this campus environment and the corporate world, thought Stephanie. Richard's carpeted office had picture windows and paintings by prominent Canadian artists. Here she stood on a shiny linoleum floor. The tight space was filled with bookshelves, a small desk and two wood chairs.

The header on the questionnaires on Dana's desk read _Subject 18_. "Have you interviewed many women?" she asked.

"Seventeen before you, and I need at least fifty for this study," Dana said. "Don't worry. I won't even use your first name, and everything you say will be handled in confidence."

Stephanie noticed the small device on her desk. "Are you planning to record this?"

"Only if you feel comfortable." Dana handed her the questionnaires. "You can sit here as you complete these. I'll come back in thirty minutes to see how you're doing."

Alone in the room, Stephanie stared at the top sheet. The first part covered hard data - how many children she had, family income, education, whether or not she worked outside the home. Under occupation, she wrote "housewife." The word made her cringe. Then she realized how accurately it described her situation - she was married to a house. The mindless chores, the picking up and putting away, it was all hers.

More personal questions followed in the next section. How often was she bored or lonely, how frequently did she see her friends? Her responses painted a bleak picture; was she really that isolated?

Then she was asked when she had started her affairs and how long each had lasted. She realized only five weeks had elapsed since she joined ConneXions and met George.

Soon Dana returned and took the papers from her. "Shall we do the rest on tape?" With Stephanie's agreement, she pressed a button to start recording. "Tell me why you started your affairs. What was happening in your life?"

Stephanie told her about Richard, careful not to use his name. "When we first married, we were fine together. Then the children came and the house in Westmount. I worked as a receptionist in a dental office. It was like doing a double shift when I got home. My husband worked long hours and I had no outside help."

"Go on." Dana crossed her legs and settled back.

"When my office closed down two years ago, I was out of a job. I decided to collect unemployment for a while and enjoy my children before they grew up." Stephanie swallowed, then continued. "I noticed the changes in my husband this past year. He started going out after dinner, sometimes not coming home."

"Did you talk to him about it?"

Stephanie nodded. "He...he told me that he wanted an open marriage. That he needed his freedom. Oh, he planned to stay, but he made it clear that he'd have affairs."

Dana's eyes were sympathetic. "You must have been devastated."

She shifted in her seat. "At first I thought he'd tire of his outside life. Or that if I lost a few pounds and dressed up a little more, I could win him back." The pain of Richard's rejection hurt even now; she had always felt she wasn't good enough. Absently she glanced over the information on upcoming symposia plastered on the wall. Dana lived in academia. Could she relate to any of this?

"You mustn't blame yourself for his shortcomings. You're a very striking woman," Dana said. She looked down at the paper. "According to this, your first affair was in April. Is that when you began using the system?"

"Yes. I met a married man. He gave me the kind of attention I longed for. I fell in love with George. For a while I believed the two of us would form our own family one day."

"How did it end?"

Stephanie bit her lower lip. "When I didn't hear from him, I called his office and left several urgent messages. He was furious. Then he said he had already started seeing other women."

"Sounds brutal, especially in your vulnerable state." Dana reached over to pat her arm. That act of sympathy brought tears to Stephanie's eyes, which she brushed back.

"I didn't think I'd trust the system again," she said. "But there were too many problems at home and I needed to talk to someone."

"How about girlfriends?"

Staring out the narrow window, Stephanie said, "My life centers around my family. I don't like people knowing what's going on at home. That's probably why I use the system. It's anonymous. And now I met someone interesting, a stockbroker." She told Dana about her three dates with Kyle. "He gave me a bottle of perfume on our last date. He wants me to wear it for him tonight, which will be the first time we're really alone together."

Dana winced. "You think this affair might last?"

"I hope so," Stephanie said. "If I go for a divorce now, my husband will fight for custody. He's well connected as a corporate lawyer, and will say anything to get what he wants. In a couple of years, when the children are older, I'll be willing to risk it."

Dana turned off the recorder. "That should do it," she said. "Thanks for seeing me. Your story will make my case study that much more authentic."

Stephanie shook her hand. "I needed this discussion. I've been unhappy for a long time and no one knows how empty my marriage has become."

"Maybe you'll make some positive changes in your life. Everyone deserves to be happy," Dana said.

"Good luck with your research project."

As Stephanie left the building, her step felt lighter, as if a burden had been lifted from her. Maybe Dana had not completely understood the reasons for her behavior, but she had listened. And validated her experience.

Richard didn't deserve her, and one day she would leave him. It was only a question of when.

### Chapter Thirty-Four

Kyle stood in his bedroom, fingering the black lace teddy, size thirty-six. He had been right about the fit. Stephanie was bustier than Elaine. Taller, too. And tonight he'd finally do her. Who would have guessed that Monday, a day which he had loathed after Lori left, would now highlight his week?

Dating two very different women had required all his skill. Instinctively he had played one slow and tender, the other a fast tease. After one more date, Jenny would be ripe for an intimate encounter. Her heated response when he kissed her on the Ferris wheel had been unmistakable.

Both she and Stephanie were exceptionally good-looking. It was too bad that he had to dispose of them so quickly. Apart from the added thrill, though, there was another reason for targeting them on consecutive weeks.

Over the weekend a man had come into the bar, selling hot cards for fifty bucks a piece, two for eighty. His buddy Bert had sent him to Ryan's.

"They're renewals," he told Kyle. "People are waiting for them in the mail. You've got an easy two weeks before they're reported missing."

His pudgy fingers dipped into his pocket and pulled out a stack of credit cards. Each bore a different name. "I have a friend who knows how to hack chip technology. The current PINs are written on the back."

Kyle realized this was just what he needed to reserve and pay for his hotel rooms. Now that the strangler had been arrested, he no longer had to follow his lead and use these women's homes.

"I'll take two," he said, "but I want to pick 'em." He chose English male cardholder names, nothing difficult to pronounce. He tested the cards and their PINs on his card reader at the counter without registering a sale. They worked. Then he handed over the money, which the other man promptly shoved into his wallet.

"Should I try the bar?" he asked as he glanced around warily. Someone was celebrating a promotion and right now yuppies, in their suits and ties, dominated the scene.

Kyle leaned closer. "I wouldn't chance it with this crowd. Too straight. But come back in another few weeks and I'll buy more."

### ***

The gray cat rubbed against Kyle's pant leg, purring. He bent to stroke his thick fur.

"You know how to act affectionate, don't you, Smoky? You must be hungry." An hour ago, he had let both cats in. They had rushed to their bowls for the dry food he always left there. Of course they preferred the canned stuff, and they had repeatedly come into the bedroom to let him know.

Animals' needs are so straightforward, Kyle thought as he watched them eat. A warm, dry place to sleep, a few pats and food in the belly, and they're satisfied. _I wish it were that simple for me_.

After licking his whiskers, Luther sauntered over to the counter and jumped on the windowsill over the sink. From this vantage point, the black cat watched the sparrows and wrens in the backyard.

"Better than TV," Kyle said, seeing Luther shift¬ his glassy eyes. "Remember to plan your strategy. Next time you're out, I expect you to catch one of those stupid birds." He left the inside window in the kitchen open now for his cats. The temperature rarely dipped below freezing anymore.

At five o'clock, Kyle called the Europa Hotel and reserved a room, using the name on one of the stolen credit cards. A guaranteed reservation probably wasn't necessary - the place was never full - but he wanted everything to run smoothly tonight.

Then he left a message for Stephanie on ConneXions.

_I'm checking into the Europa Hotel at 7:30 p.m., he wrote, giving the address. I'll leave you another message with my room number. I can't wait to be with you. Oh, and don't forget my little gift_.

He could still see her expression when he handed her that box. Stunned. You'd think no one had given her a gift in ages. Who was she trying to kid? A woman with her looks received all kinds of favors.

By 6:00 p.m., Kyle felt his blood pump. Tonight, for the first time, he did not have to follow anyone's lead. The so-called Montreal strangler had an ass for a brain; he had deserved to get caught. With Gratton behind bars, the city was wide open to him. Using a hotel room was more his style. Kyle could take his time. Doing these women in their homes had always meant rushing.

He had already decided on his disguise. Tinted glasses, a brimmed hat to cover his hair, and a belted trench coat, frayed at the cuffs, which he never wore anymore.

At the appointed time, he checked into the hotel.

"Smoking or non-smoking room?" the clerk asked, chewing a wad of gum. She took the stolen card, ran it through her system and handed it back.

"Non-smoking," he said, glancing at the middle-aged couple approaching the counter. Good. Now he wouldn't have to make conversation with the twit. He took the key for his room, thanked her, and headed for the elevator with his briefcase.

Apart from the assumed name and his disguise, he'd adopted a distinct slouch. When questioned later, the girl would describe someone who bore little resemblance to him.

Once in the room, he put the TV on low and used an app on his smart phone to log into the dating site again. As promised, he left his room number for Stephanie. Then he used a back exit to trace his way to his parked car.

After unloading the briefcase, he picked up the bag containing the champagne, black teddy and leather boot laces. Back in the room, he reached for the plastic bucket.

The hallway was deserted as he made his way to the ice dispenser around the corner. Most of the hotel guests were still out to dinner - something he had counted on. Upon filling the bucket, he strode back to his room and put the bottle of Dom Pérignon on ice. The tinted glasses, trench coat and Borselino hat went into the closet.

Sitting on the queen-size bed, he removed the plastic wrapping from the leather boot laces. They felt smooth and supple as he ran his fingers along their squared-off edges. Kyle played with them, twisting them around his hand and then pulling them taut. Perfect. He hid both laces under the pillow. Even if he only needed one, he liked to know that another was at hand.

He smoothed out the teddy on the bed, admiring the lace pattern. The black would contrast well against Stephanie's fair skin. She was conservative; he'd probably have to ply her with champagne before convincing her to put it on.

By 9:20 p.m., he was pacing the room. If he were to believe her, she had always limited her rendezvous with men to afternoon hours. Maybe it hadn't been possible for her to get away this evening. What if he'd planned all this for nothing?

He was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, when a timid knock came at the door.

"Kyle? It's me."

Relieved, he opened the door and stood aside to let her pass. He reached out a hand to steady her as she stumbled on the carpet in her high heels.

"I must be nervous," she said. "Have you done this before? I mean, rent a room?"

"I haven't met anyone I wanted to get close to since ... you know. Why don't you make yourself comfortable? Let me help."

She wore a short, fashionable blazer. As he helped her out of it, he caught a whiff of booze. Why had she needed to drink? Maybe part of her had resisted coming here tonight and, regrettably for her, lost. Now she was his.

A magenta angora sweater clung to her breasts, and a tight skirt outlined her shapely legs. Had a whore ever looked this good?

She walked, a little unsteadily, to the coffee table holding the ice bucket. "Champagne? How romantic."

"I want tonight to be memorable. We were meant to be together. I knew from the moment I first saw you." It was trite, but in her condition, the words would sound sincere. And the bottle was free of charge, taken from a party of nine who had ordered more champagne than they could handle at Ryan's.

"Oh, Kyle, I feel the same way. I wasn't sure about you ..." She stood at his elbow while he uncorked the champagne and poured it. Looking into his eyes, she downed the bubbly in her glass, then held it out for a refill. After emptying the second glass, more slowly this time, she wet her lips. She held onto an armchair for balance.

Stepping closer, Kyle put his arms around her. He felt her tremble as he slid a hand up her spine. "Did you have any trouble getting away?"

Stephanie giggled. "Funny thing - nobody noticed. The children were in their rooms ... and Richard fell asleep early. We had another arbu - argument." She took a deep breath. "I couldn't wait to be with you."

The vanilla fragrance of _Midnight Romance_ lingered on her skin. He kissed the hollow of her neck, inhaling his _Eau de Parfum_ like an aphrodisiac. She moaned softly and he felt himself straining against his trousers. This was going to be easy.

Reluctantly he pulled away and reached for the bag holding the teddy. "I bought you something sexy to wear. I hope you like it."

"You think of everything, don't you? I can see right through this thing, but it's awfully pretty. I'll go put it on." Blowing him a kiss, she retired to the bathroom.

A few minutes later she emerged in the filmy garment, her auburn hair sweeping to her shoulders. She hesitated at the edge of the bed, weaving slightly on her bare feet.

"Come. I want to feel you next to me," Kyle whispered, holding out an arm to her. While she was out of the room, he had hurriedly undressed. This was his first time using a hotel room and he was eager to see the difference in his performance.

They shared a steamy kiss as his hands explored her generous curves. Her breath quickened and she pressed closer. Good. He needed her to want him, to want this.

Through her dark eyelashes he caught a glimpse of green irises, a color that reminded him of Lori. That lying bitch had cheated on her husband, too. On him.

The teddy was pushed up to Stephanie's waist and her legs wound around him. He guided himself inside her, then reached under the pillow for a dark brown leather boot lace.

Now... Her throat was exposed beneath him and her eyes closed.

He was about to loop the lace around her neck when she spoke. "Hurry, George," she gasped. "Please. I want you so bad."

Kyle stared down at her, then said coldly, "Who's George?"

Stephanie blinked, struggling to focus. "Oh, you're not ... I thought you were ... someone else."

His erection had already deflated. This only worked when the woman saw the power he had over her. When she realized too late how misguided she had been in choosing him. Stephanie didn't even know who he was!

Swearing, he whisked the teddy over her head and tossed her clothes at her. "Get dressed. We're leaving."

After fumbling with the hooks on her bra, she left it unfastened. She pulled her sweater on, mumbling, "I'm - sorry, Kyle."

"I know you are. Let's get going." He was already fully clothed. When she had turned her back, he shoved the boot laces into a bag with his hat and glasses. Not that she'd notice in her condition. The champagne would remain. The cleaning staff could help themselves for all he cared.

He drove past the speed limit on the expressway, his hands rigid on the steering wheel. Stephanie was already fast asleep in the passenger seat. Maybe he should just dump her. No, he still wanted her. Sober. Maybe after a week in his basement she'd remember his name. He needed to see fear in those big green eyes and hear her whimper for her life.

At 11:05 p.m., a brisk northerly wind had chilled the air. There were no pedestrians on his street in Dorval. As he parked his car in the driveway, a BMW zipped by. All his neighbors were indoors. From the darkness shrouding the houses, he knew some folks had already retired for the night. He roused Ste¬hanie to get her out of the car. As he fitted his key into the front door, she leaned heavily on him.

"Where are - we?" she asked. "I'm thirsty."

Not bothering to answer, he shoved her inside. Luther and Smoky stood to one side of the hallway, staring at her curiously, their noses twitching. No wonder - you could smell the booze clear across the room.

Firmly gripping her arm, he dragged her to the basement, her heels clattering all the way down the stairs. If he could have, he would have squeezed her into the storage closet where he'd put Red.

He brought her over to the toilet and said, "Go now. I won't be cleaning up your mess later." Arms folded, he waited until she sat on the seat and a stream of urine tinkled into the bowl. Last year he had installed that toilet when he and Lori planned to finish the basement. At least now there'd be some use for it.

From a spool of blue nylon cord on his work bench, he cut several pieces. Then he grabbed the drop-cloth he used when painting and spread it over a corner of the cement floor.

"Wh-what are you doing? Why am I here?" Alarm cut through the stupor in Stephanie's voice. She tottered beside him now, her nails digging into his arm.

"You're staying here. And don't even try to move. I'll be right upstairs and I don't want to be disturbed." Kyle toppled her onto the drop-cloth. Then he forced her arms behind her back and tied her wrists securely with the cord. Her ankles followed.

"No! Let ... me ... up," she sputtered.

Frowning, he gagged her with a rag from his storage closet. No one would hear her scream.

She was a mess: mascara smudged under her eyes, a lipstick smear on her sweater and her hair hopelessly tangled. Trussed up on the floor with her skirt riding up to her thighs, she looked touchingly vulnerable. A faint tingling below his belt alerted him to his arousal but he ignored it. As an afterthought, he threw her blazer over her.

A few minutes later, back in his kitchen, he realized he was famished. He picked up the phone and ordered a large pizza.

Later he tossed the uneaten crusts into a bowl for Stephanie. Tomorrow he'd give these to her with some water. He needed her to stay alive another week. After finishing her off, he could dump her body into the river; it would float downstream.

The pattern had been set in March and there was no question of changing it. Monday was the only day he wanted to spill his seed. The day Lori left deserved to be recognized.

Then he had an idea. How much more powerful would that recognition be if he did two women the same day? Keeping to his original plan, he could still set Jenny up for next Monday.

Something was missing. Something to commemorate the occasion. He wandered to his bedroom, not sure what he sought.

Next to the framed photograph of Lori on his dresser, he saw it. A pendant of his astrological sign dangling from a 14K gold necklace, a present from Lori years ago. Since then, he had worn the pendant whenever he needed things to go well, like a good luck charm. Not that he believed in luck. From an early age he'd learned to take matters into his own hands.

He would wear the necklace and pendant next Monday. The only decision remaining was which woman to do first.

### Tuesday, May 25th

### Chapter Thirty-Five

For their third date, Kyle invited Jenny to dinner. He made reservations at Le Petit Logis, a French restaurant on the eastern fringe of downtown Montreal.

The place was a maze of small, interconnected rooms with polished mahogany doors. As she made her way down the hallway, Jenny admired the Impressionist paintings on the walls and the slim vases of dried flowers. Kyle waited for her in a private room at the back of the establishment.

"I never heard of this place. It's charming," she said as he helped her get seated. "Why are we sitting so far back? There's plenty of space."

"For privacy," he said, taking her hand across the table. "We both know you need to be discreet."

She was about to tell him the truth about her marital status when a sommelier showed up for their order. Kyle asked for a bottle of Chardonnay.

"About my husband - " Jenny began.

"No need to explain. Why don't we just enjoy ourselves?" The man was already back with their wine. Kyle sniffed the liquid in his glass and took a small sip before nodding to him. He turned to Jenny. "Let's decide on our meals, shall we?"

They both chose the _bisque de légumes aux herbes_ for their entrée. Jenny ordered _filet de sole_ for her main course; Kyle asked for the leg of lamb.

He reached for her hand again as they sipped their wine. "I enjoyed the amusement park. But I was looking forward to this evening, to having you to myself." A few notes of jazz floated into their space, along with a whiff of roasted meat.

She felt the intensity in his eyes. As she remembered their embrace on the Ferris wheel, a tremor traveled down her spine. He was right about the physical pull between them; it was only getting stronger.

"Kyle, I need to explain something before we go any further." She played with the ring on her finger. "This isn't a wedding band. It isn't even real gold."

"What are you trying to say?" he said as their appetizers arrived.

She lifted a spoon to sample the soup. The bisque was delicious. "That I'm not married."

He shrugged. "So what if you didn't make it legal? You did the right thing. Now you won't have to go through a messy divorce."

Was he implying that he expected her to free herself from the man she had supposedly married and commit herself to him? She thought of her failed relationships with Neil and Colin. Both men had demanded a lot of her.

An irony struck her. Colin had lied about being a bachelor; she was pretending to be attached.

Her longing for disclosure vanished, replaced by a need for self-protection. Falling in love made her feel vulnerable. Not that she was in love with Kyle, at least not yet.

Soon she would be able to sort through her ambiguities with that psychology student. She had told Dana about her fear of emotional intimacy and the woman had agreed to meet with her.

As a bus boy whisked away their empty bowls, she said, "I'd do anything for a cigarette right now, but I'm trying to quit."

"You look tense. Anything I can help you with?" He stroked her forearm as it lay across the table. All her senses sprang to life as he continued to caress her.

Jenny shook her head. But as she relaxed over dinner, she told him about her job. The pink slips were far from over. Considering the downsizing still to come, she realized she didn't want to be part of it. She still felt bad about letting Lisa go.

"One of my friends says I should make a career change," she said, thinking of Eric. "There's an opening in the company handling our employee assistance program."

Kyle put down his fork. "Go for it, Jenny. I'm sure you'll be successful at whatever you do."

His encouragement warmed her, just as he seemed to be getting bored with their conversation.

Darkness had fallen when they left the restaurant. She decided to let him drive her home. When they parked in front of her building, he leaned across the front seat to kiss her good night. "I won't get out to open your door. I don't want to complicate your life, Jenny. Only to enhance it. Speaking of which - "

He pulled out a gift-wrapped box. "I want you to wear this the next time we meet. I hope it's ALL you wear."

She guessed it was some kind of fragrance. A sweet gesture, even a little old-fashioned. Too bad she couldn't invite him up. He would quickly realize that she lived alone and she still needed more time before making that clear.

"Thanks, Kyle."

He reached for her hand. "I want to get to know you better. I'll find a quiet place for us. How about Monday evening?"

His gaze captured hers in the dim light. How could she say no? She was ready for more physical intimacy, no matter how long their relationship lasted.

"I'll call you after work," she promised.

The next day, she called the general manager at Life Management Systems and applied for the job.

He apologized about the salary, which was lower than what she was making. "But we need you, Jenny. I know you'll do a super job." He asked her to email her c.v. so he could run it past their board of directors. "It's only a formality. I should be able to get back to you early next week."

When Jenny closed the lights that night, she lay in the darkness for a few moments, absorbing the changes in her life. She looked towards the pretty bottle of _Eau de Parfum_ sitting on her night table.

In one more week, she could very well land herself a new job and a new lover.

### Chapter Thirty-Six

Stephanie's first awareness was pain - a sharp ache between her shoulder blades and a cramp in one of her legs. Slowly she opened her eyes. Her lashes, still caked with mascara, came apart in degrees. A paint-splattered tarp covered the cement floor where she lay. Where was she?

A prickly red cloth pulled against her mouth, knotting at the back of her head. It had absorbed most of the saliva in her mouth and she was parched with thirst. She wanted to reach for the gag but her hands were securely fastened. Looking down at her legs, she saw the thick rope around her ankles.

She started to panic. Breathe, she needed to breathe. Stephanie pulled more air into her lungs, then coughed. Why was she here?

Pushing past the fog in her mind, she tried to remember what happened. Richard and the children had retired for the night. She saw herself pour one drink after another in the kitchen. Hard to know how much vodka she had consumed, but she recalled tossing out an empty container of pineapple juice.

Insecurities had flooded her. What if Kyle found her lousy in bed? She had been with only three men in her life, including Richard. And she certainly hadn't been able to satisfy him. George, too, must have gotten bored with her.

The liquor had helped to relax her. On slightly unsteady feet, she slipped out of the house unnoticed. On the drive to Kyle's hotel, she applied and re-applied her lipstick, trying not to feel nervous.

In the hotel room, Kyle had offered her champagne. The label had impressed her. Dom Pérignon. Anticipating the intimate moments ahead, she drank quickly. After that, her memory blurred.

Sunshine now filtered through the barred windows at the other end of the room. How long had she been here? Overhead she heard the sound of a door slamming and footsteps. For some reason Kyle had brought her to his home.

Determined to take action, she sidled over to the wall and used it for leverage. Inch by inch, she forced herself into an upright position. Her knees threatened to buckle. After tottering forward, she finally stood, breathing heavily.

Stephanie saw a toilet in a small enclosure near the stairs. She realized that her bladder was full. Couldn't wait to be emptied. With the bindings on her ankles, she could only hobble forward. She froze. With her hands tied, she couldn't sit down without help, never mind raise her skirt. She had to get Kyle's attention.

Beyond the toilet was a stack of plywood and a rusty bicycle. She turned around so her fingers could grip the handlebars. Then she toppled the bike over. It crashed on the cement floor.

A door opened and a man's black shoes descended the wooden steps.

"I'm only going to say this once. I don't want to be disturbed." Kyle was all the way down now, staring at her. The iciness in his eyes frightened her. This couldn't be the same man who had wined and dined her.

Was he after money? That had to be it. He knew that Richard was a lawyer and that she lived in Westmount. Maybe he was already waiting for a payoff.

She protested through the gag, shaking her head wildly.

He untied the red cloth. "Yeah?"

"I - need to go \- to the bathroom," she sputtered.

"Women. Just a minute." When he returned, he tossed half a roll of white one-ply beside the toilet and freed her hands. Then he turned slightly as she hopped forward.

Obviously this was all the privacy she would get. Trembling, she squatted on the seat. She glanced around for anything she could use as a weapon. All she saw was the roll of toilet paper; no sense in wasting it on him.

"You have to let me go," she said afterwards. "We don't have much liquid cash; most of our money's in the house." Maybe Richard was stalling. Why pay for her safe return, when he didn't really want her back?

Kyle threw back his head; his laughter echoed in the near-empty space. "You think that's what I'm after? I doubt your husband would give me fifty cents. Especially if he knew what you've been doing."

"What then? Why am I here?" she asked frantically as he retied her wrists, yanking the cord tight.

He said nothing.

Before he could refasten the gag, she demanded water. He went upstairs and returned with a plastic bowl.

"Just a little. I don't want you peeing all over the goddam floor." Then he lifted it to her lips and let her drink.

She swallowed greedily. Some water trickled down her chin and over her angora sweater, leaving a dark stain. Before she could quench her thirst, though, he snatched the bowl away.

"You'll have to hold that until tonight," he warned. "Any more noise down here, and you'll be sorry." He shook a fist at her in case she hadn't gotten the message.

After gagging her, Kyle dragged her to the corner of the room where she had lain and dropped her on the tarp like a sack of potatoes.

Her basic needs met, her mind started to drift. None of this made any sense. She closed her eyes. Any minute now she'd wake up in her bedroom in Westmount and find this had only been a bad dream.

### Thursday, May 27th

### Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jenny savored another spoonful of mocha yogurt as she sat in her kitchen. Food tasted so much better without a fuzzy coating on her tongue; flavors were sharper. Only four days remained before her deadline to quit smoking. She didn't know if she could do it. Even cutting back would have been difficult without Eric's help.

Last night, after reaching her cigarette quota for the day, she had struggled with a strong craving for nicotine. Unwilling to cave into it, she phoned Eric.

"Take a few deep breaths," he said. "When you're more relaxed, pour yourself a glass of water. Add lemon juice if you wish. Drink it all. And if you still want to smoke, pour another glass."

"And then what?"

He chuckled. "And then you will need to pee. It's only a distraction but it works."

"I'll try it," she said. "I hope I didn't call too late."

She could almost see him shrug. " _Pas du tout_. I've hardly slept the last two days. Bad case of the stomach flu."

"Anything I can do to help?

"No," he said. "Alain brought me some soup and crackers. I just had my first bowl."

"Who's Alain?"

"The guy I told you about when we met for pizza." Eric sounded happy. "We really hit it off."

Jenny felt glad for him. Maybe she and Kyle would become an item, too.

"I hope you go ahead with Monday," he said. At first Jenny thought he was referring to her plans with Kyle; that bottle of perfume had made his intentions clear. Then she realized that Monday was May 31st, her deadline.

"I'm down to five cigarettes a day. I should be able to cut back to two by Sunday night, and then it's cold turkey."

"Good. We'll celebrate later," he said before hanging up. By then, she also hoped to have news about her new job.

As she got dressed, she was grateful that she had taken today off. The less time she spent at Miller Paper, the better. With any luck, she could hand in her resignation next week.

Her jeans stretched snugly across her abdomen. Every indulgence had its price. No doubt, this was the result of that slice of chocolate layer cake with whipped cream she'd ordered after the main course on Tuesday evening. Kyle's choice of restaurant had been excellent.

Traffic on the downtown expressway flowed smoothly outside rush hour. Dana was busy preparing for a trip and had invited her to her apartment for a private discussion. The drive to LaSalle took only twenty minutes. Jenny found a parking spot on one of the side streets. The entire neighborhood seemed to be made up of duplexes, row upon row.

When she buzzed a basement apartment, a young woman answered, her dark blonde hair pulled into a ponytail.

"You must be Jenny." She ushered her into the small living room and offered her a cup of coffee.

"I understand married women pretending to be single, but why do you want men to think you're attached?" Dana asked as they balanced their cups on their laps.

"That's what I ask myself. My last two relationships ended badly. But it's been months and I'm still afraid of getting close with someone new." Jenny bit into one of the oatmeal cookies Dana had set out on a platter. It crumbled in her mouth. "This must be fresh baked. It's delicious."

"My Mom lives around the corner. She worries that I'll forget to eat," she said, smiling. As her mouth stretched, her high cheekbones became more prominent. Dana had a model's facial features, if not the height.

Jenny envied the warmth in her voice as she spoke of her mother. "My parents moved to a retirement community in Florida. As long as I phone them every now and then, I doubt they give me another thought." She explained that they were an older, childless couple who had adopted her as an infant.

"I see." Dana set down her cup. "What do you know about your biological mother?"

"Only that she couldn't look after me and brought me to an adoption agency. I found out when I was ten."

"You probably have abandonment issues," she said. "Your failed relationships don't help, but deep down, I think that's why you're afraid to be vulnerable. How do you find the dating site?"

"ConneXions? I met only two men off the system. The last one, Kyle, is very magnetic." The thought of their next rendezvous in an intimate setting made her flush with anticipation.

Dana's eyes were as clear and steady as her voice. "I think you should let Kyle know you're unmarried and available. Take an emotional risk. It may feel uncomfortable, but it's better to be honest. And if you lose him, you'll survive. We're more resilient than we realize."

"I was thinking of telling him when I see him Monday evening," Jenny said. As she finished her coffee, she ignored the urge to light up.

"Do you plan to stay on the dating site?"

"No. There are too many men looking for hook ups. I don't know if Kyle wants something more. After all, he found me in the "attached" category. But if it doesn't work out with him, I'll try something off line."

"Whatever you do, be careful," Dana said. "On the news this morning, an investigator said another strangler is responsible for some of the recent murders. Possibly a copy-cat killer."

"I thought it was all wrapped up when they caught that guy," Jenny said as she got to her feet. "Thanks for seeing me."

Dana gave her a quick hug. "I know it's hard to talk about your personal life. I'm off to Europe in three days but if you want, we can chat again in August."

Jenny glanced at the luggage in the hallway as she stepped closer to the door. "Where are you going?

"My friend is housesitting in Cannes and asked me to join him."

"Enjoy your trip," she said. "Maybe you don't have the degree yet, but you're in the right profession. You helped me to understand myself a little better."

When she got home, Jenny opened her laptop to check her messages. She also logged onto a local news site to read the latest development which Dana had mentioned.

Montreal Gazette \- **Second Man Sought in Montreal Sex Slayings**

Results of preliminary DNA testing of semen samples recovered from the bodies of four Montreal women murdered in March and April do not match previous samples.

"There is another killer out there," warns Detective-Lieutenant Robillard, spokesman for the MUC police homicide squad. "We believe he strangles his victims with some kind of cord and he may be using a cover-up to gain access to private homes."

Police urge women to check out credentials of any servicemen or strangers who come to their door.

It wasn't over then. Whoever the second killer was, he sounded cold-blooded and methodical. She hoped he would be caught soon.

Thank God for doormen. It gave _Le Regency_ a little more security. Jenny headed for the elevator and the ground floor. Someone needed to warn them not to let in delivery men unless they could be met in the lobby. In a large apartment complex like this, it was dangerous to have strangers wandering around.

### Friday, May 28th

### Chapter Thirty-Eight

Dana folded a denim skirt into her almost-full suitcase. She couldn't wait to see the French Riviera or sip something cold on an outdoor _terrasse_ in Cannes. Most of all, she wanted to spend time with Russell.

Tomorrow night she'd sleep over at his place; they would leave together for the airport on Sunday.

So far, she had interviewed twenty-four women - half the required number for her study. Yesterday afternoon, she had printed out her notes and added them to the completed questionnaires and tapes for preliminary sorting before her departure.

She was considering how well her research had gone when she heard a newscaster on the radio. "A Westmount woman, Stephanie Garon, is still missing after her disappearance on Monday. For more details, go to cjad.com."

Could this be the same woman she had seen earlier in the week? With a flutter in her chest, Dana opened her tablet and Googled the news item.

Montreal Gazette \- **Westmount Woman Still Missing**

Stephanie Garon, a 35-year-old mother and housewife, has been reported missing since Monday night, May 24th. At the time of her disappearance, she and her husband were having marital difficulties. Yesterday her car was discovered, abandoned, in a downtown parking lot. Investigators believe she may have attempted suicide but are not ruling out foul play.

The missing woman stands 5 feet 7 inches and weighs 140 pounds. Her eyes are hazel and she has medium length auburn hair. Anyone with information on her is asked to call the police at 284-5597.

Dana stared at the online photo. Stephanie had disappeared only hours after an interview in her campus office. It couldn't have been suicide. She hadn't been happy with her marriage, but she had been looking forward to seeing someone that evening. A man she had met on the system. Why did women pin so much hope on their romantic relationships?

The words "foul play" glared on the screen. Her instincts told her that Stephanie had unknowingly put herself in danger. How well did you know someone after a few dates?

Breathlessly she flipped through her tapes and found the one labelled _Subject 18_. As she replayed it, she again heard Stephanie's soft voice. She claimed to be dating a stockbroker named Kyle.

"He gave me a bottle of perfume on our last date," she said. "He wants me to wear it for him tonight, which will be the first time we're really alone together."

Kyle - a fairly unusual name. But only yesterday Jenny had mentioned someone with that name.

Dana turned off the tape recorder, her mind working furiously. Elaine Markham had also received perfume from an investment broker before her murder.

Her earlier suspicion, then, had been correct. There WAS a killer on the system.

She found the news clippings she had collected last week. Maybe she had missed something in her analysis. After adding the information on Stephanie, she scanned the data. Interesting. Elaine had been killed on the same day of the week that Stephanie disappeared. A total of five women had been murdered on Monday since February. They were all married and in their thirties.

Why hadn't she noticed this before?

Maybe this killer targeted the same women she interviewed - those who were _attached_ , and looking for _intimate encounters_ on the system.

Desperately she searched for the slip of paper with the number of the detective she had spoken to earlier, and found it folded in her notebook. Things had changed since their last conversation. Police now confirmed that there was a second killer.

A woman at the homicide desk picked up Detective Lapierre's line after the third ring.

"I must speak to him urgently," Dana said. "I believe I know something about the strangler. I spoke to the detective ten days ago."

"I'm sorry. Detective Lapierre is off the case while he's in hospital," the woman said. "He should be back from his operation next week. Can I leave him a message?"

Of all the rotten luck, Dana thought. "Transfer me to someone else in homicide. This can't wait."

A man's deep voice came on the line moments later. "Detective O'Reilly here. How can I help you?"

Dana explained who she was and her hypothesis about the killer being on ConneXions. "Stephanie was on the system," she said. "You know, the woman missing from Westmount."

"We aren't sure that's a homicide. She's only missing at this point," he answered her. "Can I have your name again?"

She spelled out her name. Beyond the sound of tapping on a keyboard, she heard another phone ring. "Detective," she began again, "Elaine Markham was on the system, too, and she was murdered. I called Detective Lapierre after I realized that - "

"I have to put you on hold."

At least four minutes passed before he came back on the line. Dana frowned. Somehow she had to convince him to take her seriously.

"You said you spoke to Detective Lapierre?" he asked, picking up where they had left off.

"Yes, but I understand he's in hospital."

He cleared his throat. "He'll be back on Thursday. I'm going to ask him to phone you as soon as he returns. It'll be easier for you to explain everything to him."

"Can't someone else check out the dating site? This man is extremely dangerous."

"We're working on the case, Miss Brault, that's all I can say. I wish I had more time, but we're short-handed. I'll give Detective Lapierre your message." The line clicked in her ear.

Dana groaned. She had no choice but to wait six days for Lapierre's return. She hadn't had a chance to explain that she would be in France then, but she could always call his office from overseas.

Then she remembered what Jenny had said. She was planning to see Kyle on Monday evening. Another Monday!

She had to warn Jenny somehow. But how, without her number or last name? Referring to her notes, Dana found Jenny's handle, _Walk on the Wild Side_ , on ConneXions. She logged into the system as a first-time male user and did a search. Nothing came up for that name. Damn! Jenny had mentioned getting off the dating site. Maybe their heart-to-heart yesterday had prompted her to do it sooner.

Kyle must have deliberately followed Gratton's lead in the stranglings, she realized. Only when the DNA tests came back had it become clear that there was a second killer.

Maybe it was too late for Stephanie, but Kyle would be meeting Jenny in three days. If she was right about him, Dana had to stop him from killing her, too.

She logged into ConneXions again, using the short profile she had created to contact the women for interviews. Then she went through a few men's ads. What was she looking for?

This was a cunning man. He wouldn't publish his photo or his name.

Elaine had said he loved cats and loved to dance. She skimmed over a few hundred profiles of Montreal men in their thirties, feeling discouraged. Then she saw it. The headliner read _Loves Cats, Loves to Dance_. Could it be? The man also claimed to work in Finance.

No public photo, no first name. His user name was _Searching4U_. Sweet. And his profile read,

_I like soft jazz, dim lighting and the scent of my lover's skin. The tangible things_.

Life is not a fairy tale and I cannot be your Prince Charming. But if you're willing to take a chance, I will love you like you've never been loved before.

What do you have to lose?

Dana felt a distinct chill as she read his last sentence. These women were losing their lives. All her instincts said this was the man.

Not knowing what to do, she paced up and down her narrow hallway. Jenny's image swam into her mind: intelligent features and jet black hair, a well-toned body. She was a striking woman, assured of her good looks, but maybe not the best judge of character.

Struck by an idea, she stopped in her tracks. Why not send Kyle a message, seemingly by mistake? Get him to respond. He had to be constantly looking for new victims. Why not make it easy for him?

First Dana uploaded the most provocative photo of herself she could find, one where she was stretched across the sofa, smiling up at Colin. They had just gone for drinks and she wore lots of makeup. She composed a sassy profile to go with the picture, saying her husband had never satisfied her in bed and she was an insatiable lover.

She knew Kyle would check out her profile once he read her email.

Then she composed an intriguing email for him at _Loves Cats, Loves to Dance_.

About last night, Matthew. It's hard to say this in person, which is why I'm writing you now. I'm just not attracted to you.

_I need someone with more charisma, more oomph. If all I wanted was conversation, I'd stay home with my husband. It was a lovely dinner. But don't contact me again, okay? I'm looking for a lover, not a friend. Melissa_.

Dana pressed SEND and then logged off. Had she been convincing? And, more importantly, had she managed to pique Kyle's interest?

That night she stared for a long time at the ceiling before falling asleep. She couldn't even focus on her trip, and she was supposed to leave for France in two days. Maybe I'm wrong, she told herself. Maybe Stephanie ran off with this Kyle, and left her family behind.

And maybe I'll ditch Russell, forget about my PhD, and join the circus.

_It doesn't add up_.

### Saturday, May 29th

### Chapter Thirty-Nine

Dana logged into ConneXions first thing in the morning. No messages. Either Kyle hadn't checked the system or he had ignored her provocative email. A third possibility rattled her mind. That _Loves Cats, Loves to Dance_ wasn't even his profile.

A light drizzle fell outside her window. Too restless to stay indoors with her disturbing thoughts, she slipped into her jeans and hoodie and headed for the riverside park. The distant roar of the rapids, joined by dozens of bird calls, soothed her senses as she jogged in the rain. She had to let this go. What made her think she could deal with a dangerous psychopath?

When she got back, she fried the remaining eggs in her fridge and ate them with toast. Then she tossed out her perishables. Her luggage was packed. Russell would pick her up in a couple of hours and she'd put this place behind her. She would call Detective Lapierre on Thursday, tell him what she believed, and let him deal with matters.

Just before noon, she checked the system once more. This time a message waited in her inbox; it was from _Loves Cats, Loves to Dance_. She clicked on it with a thudding heart.

Hi Melissa. You left a message for me yesterday by mistake. I almost feel sorry for the guy you dumped, but there will always be more Matthews in this world. If you want the REAL DEAL, you can email me again. But I really hope you'll phone me at home instead.

He left his number, presumably for his cell. No first name.

She tried a reverse look-up on the Net for his number, but nothing came up.

On this rainy Saturday morning, he was probably still home. She wished she could drop this. Focus on her trip to France. Again she saw Stephanie's hesitant smile. Now the woman was missing, maybe dead. And Jenny was next. Dana's fingers seemed to have a mind of their own; they punched out his number.

"I'm Melissa," she said. "You left me your number on ConneXions. I had too much to drink and must have gotten confused when I sent that message off to Matthew." All she needed was his name. Then she could tell the detective about his profile on ConneXions.

"You have a sexy voice, Melissa. Tell me, are you as cute as you sound?"

"I - uh - have blond hair and blue eyes," she said, caught off guard by his forwardness. Oh, no. Stephanie and Jenny were both dark-haired; maybe he didn't like blondes. Then she remembered Elaine and relaxed slightly.

"Nice. And you're modest, too. What are you looking for on the system?"

She wet her lips. Maybe he was just a horny guy, not a killer. If she played along a little longer, she could find out. "A little excitement. I was only twenty when I got married. Things have gotten so predictable ... you know?"

"You must be young. How old are you?"

Dana thought quickly. Her real age could turn him off. For whatever reason, Kyle targeted women in their thirties. If this man was Kyle.

"Almost thirty." That would be the case in another four years. What if he didn't agree to see her?

At what point had she gone from wanting his name to wanting to meet him? Her gut told her that the detective would only file the information she gave him. And if she didn't act now, more women would die.

"The big 3-0." The man gave a low whistle. "A lot of women have trouble with that number."

"I feel like I've been married forever. I just want to have a good time," she said. She tried to sound wistful. "I'm never satisfied, though, with anyone I meet."

"And what would you do if you met someone that satisfied you?" His voice was low, intimate.

"I would stop looking," she forced herself to say. Slowly she expelled the air in her lungs. So far, so good.

"I've been told I'm a good lover. Sometimes I think that's what I do best. Aren't you the least bit curious, Melissa?"

She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. He had seduction down to a fine art; her name rolled off his tongue as if he were tasting it. "Yes."

"So am I." After a moment of silence, he spoke again. "Let's start with coffee. How about tomorrow afternoon?"

She had to leave for the airport with Russell in the evening. Going downtown would take too much time. "I know a good spot off LaSalle Boulevard, corner of Bishop Power. It has a view of the river and they offer lunch as well as coffee. Crème et Café."

"I may have driven past it. In the middle of nowhere, isn't it?"

"Exactly," she said. "The perfect place for an intimate conversation." This was safe, she reassured herself. He didn't have her real name or her number; she had blocked her caller ID.

"All right," he agreed. "Two o'clock. I'll get us a table on the _terrasse_. Look for a man in a brown leather jacket."

"Wait. I don't even know your name."

"Kyle." The line clicked in her ear.

### ***

From the wet bar, Dana poured herself a second gin and tonic. Then she settled next to Russell again on his sectional sofa.

"You seem edgy tonight. Having second thoughts, love?" He pulled her closer and stroked her hair.

"About what?" All she could think of was her rendezvous with Kyle tomorrow afternoon. She had to get some solid information on him, even a license plate number. And what could be safer than meeting in a public place?

Russell traced the lines of her face with an index finger. "Being with me for two whole months. Does that scare you?"

"Of course not. I'm looking forward to spending more time together."

He leaned forward to caress her calf with a slow hand. His sense of timing was impeccable, especially in bed. He always made sure of her satisfaction before his own; she supposed that was the charm of an older man. But even at the height of their lovemaking, she sensed that he was withholding part of himself. Dana hoped that he would truly open up to her on this trip.

"Are you sure you can't stay with me tomorrow, love? I hoped we'd spend our last day in Montreal together. Maybe take in a movie."

Ignoring the waves of pleasure his touch evoked, she shook her head. "I haven't finished packing. And I want to spend time with my parents before I go. After that, you'll have me all to yourself."

As she lay next to him later in his king-size bed, she thought of Kyle again. Goosebumps travelled down her spine. No matter how civilized he appeared to be, he was a cunning, cold-blooded killer. She felt it in her bones.

If Russell knew what she was planning, he'd tell her to let the police handle it. Why put herself at risk?

Dana stared into the darkness, seeing a face she would never forget. Marie. They had studied together, laughed together, and shared their dreams. She could have made a difference that night, though she hadn't known how distraught her friend had become or that she was popping pills. Three years later, she still felt the shock of her suicide.

It was too late to save Marie, but maybe she could stop these women from being killed.

### Chapter Forty

Stephanie dozed on and off, as days blurred into nights. Dampness from the cement floor seeped through the canvas drop cloth which she lay upon. When she was conscious, hot and cold chills ran through her. Her stomach cramped from lack of food and her muscles ached. Bound and gagged, she felt helpless and scared.

What she wouldn't do for a shot of vodka! But that was part of the problem, wasn't it? If she had been completely sober, she would surely have seen through Kyle or at least sensed something was wrong.

Every so often, he came into the basement and prodded her awake with the toe of his shoe. He forced her to use the toilet. Or tossed a soapy washcloth at her after liberating her wrists, and told her to clean herself up. Other times he brought food: stale crusts of bread or pizza and rotting fruit. All of it barely edible. The water, though, she always drank gratefully.

"Can't let you starve, now can I?" he said once. "Have to keep you healthy for next Monday."

"What's Monday?" she asked warily, stuffing a piece of bread into her mouth. Whenever she begged to be released, he just ignored her. Maybe a little conversation would help.

His eyes narrowed at her, dark and unflinching. "The day you meet your maker. This time we'll do it right. You won't be calling me George and you'll be focused on me." He fastened the cloth around her face again and jerked it tight.

So she had blurted George's name at a crucial moment. Good thing, though: it had saved her life.

As she huddled on the floor that afternoon, she heard raindrops splatter against the window. She watched them hit the pane before sliding to the ground. Her head felt clearer now, even if her body had gotten weak. She figured she had been here four or five days.

Under the gag, her bottom teeth ground into the soft flesh of her inside lip. Emma and Justin must be worried sick. Maybe they assumed she was dead. Even if the police found her car in that parking lot, the trail stopped there. Kyle had never stepped into the SUV. Nor had she left any sign of where she had gone.

My babies, she thought. All I ever wanted was to give you what I never had - a secure home and parents who loved you. But it didn't work; I was too miserable. If I get through this alive, I'll leave Richard. And I'll dump those useless bottles. I don't want to drink again.

Emma, she realized, had it right. She believed in her own ability and had the courage to follow her dream of acting. Maybe she would be disappointed, but not for lack of trying. Safety was a trap. Along with complacency, it stopped you from growing and from taking charge of your life.

Even if Richard fought for custody, it was his son he really wanted. Justin seemed to take after his father. When was the last time he'd listened to her without smirking? Painful as it was, she might have to let him live with Richard. Providing, of course, she got out of here in one piece.

Overhead, one of Kyle's cats meowed. They probably dined on liver and fish patties while she grew faint with hunger. Damn Kyle and his sick game. And damn Richard for making her so unhappy that she couldn't think straight.

Listening to the rain outside, she dozed off again.

Stephanie woke up in the darkness, shivering. When she sat up, a wave of dizziness overtook her. Good God. He was planning to kill her. There was no logic to it; she didn't even think it was personal.

The house had fallen silent but she could sense Kyle's presence, like a bad smell, somewhere overhead. All the basement windows had security bars, six vertical pieces of metal attached to a grill outside the pane. Bars to keep intruders out - or prisoners in.

She needed to escape before Monday came around - but how?

### Sunday, May 30th

### Chapter Forty-One

It was mid-morning when Dana and Russell pulled up at her parents' house in LaSalle.

"Why don't you come inside?" she said. "I'd like to introduce you."

A lock of grayish brown hair fell across his forehead as he shook his head. "I'm not very good with parents."

"You don't have to say anything - just shake hands. Here I am going off to Europe with someone I just started seeing. It makes them nervous."

"Sorry, love. Maybe another time." He leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Enjoy your lunch, finish your packing and call me when you're done. We can leave for the airport from your place."

Dana slammed the passenger door behind her. Russell always did what suited him. What would it have taken, five minutes of his time?

The "For Sale" sign was still firmly planted on the front lawn; she was starting to think of it as a permanent fixture.

Her father met her at the door. "Was that your professor in the BMW?"

She nodded, embarrassed by Russell's rudeness. Fortunately her father changed the subject.

"You just missed the real estate agent. She was here with clients looking to buy. Same story. They trampled through the house, looked around, and left. We heard them talking about another property they had their eyes on; it comes with a swimming pool."

Dana shrugged. "I'm sure yours will sell soon. I'll probably find moving boxes piled to the ceiling when I get back from Europe." The thought of strangers taking over her childhood home disconcerted her. Also, the area they wanted to move to was farther away. She wouldn't be able to drop over on an impulse anymore.

"Your mother's been cooking all morning," he said. "She made your favorite pasta sauce."

"With zucchini?" Dana wondered if she could find her appetite. Everything felt so precariously on the edge.

Over lunch, her mother asked if she could let them know once she got to Cannes.

Dana promised to phone. "These are my flight numbers," she said, handing her a folded piece of paper. She had never been away from home for longer than a few weeks. Russell's refusal to meet them still rankled her. What other kinds of situations would she find herself in during the next two months?

"You can call us collect any time," her father said. "We want to hear from you."

"I love you guys." Dana held out her arms and they all embraced, forming a tight circle in the dining room. Knowing where she was heading in another hour made the contact all the more reassuring.

What if her assumptions were wrong? Maybe Kyle was harmless. And those links to the murders were only coincidence.

Dana needed wheels. Telling her Mom that she wanted to pick up a few things for her trip, she asked to borrow their car.

Her mother glanced at her father, who shrugged. "We have no plans this afternoon apart from seeing you, sweetie. Take your time."

Dana smiled her thanks as she took the keys to the Honda Civic. She had counted on this. "I'll be careful with the car."

As she headed home to get ready for her date with Kyle, one thought rolled through her head: _I'll be careful, period_.

### Chapter Forty-Two

Dana carefully backed the Civic hatchback into a parking spot near the restaurant. She considered herself a good driver, cautious but relaxed. This afternoon, though, her nerves were wound as tautly as a spool of thread.

A question nagged at her. _If he killed all those women, what makes me think I'll outsmart him_?

She was leaving for Europe in a few hours; she didn't need this kind of complication.

The temperature had risen to the mid-80s with barely a breeze. The tables on the _terrasse_ at Crème et Café were almost all full. Patrons were shielded by a canopied roof and the area was bordered by potted plants and flowers. Although the indoor space of the establishment was tiny, they also offered an ice cream bar. On a day like this, people were lined up outside.

In spite of the heat, Dana felt a distinct chill as she stepped under the striped awning of the _terrasse_ to look for a man with a brown leather jacket.

"Melissa - over here." A dark-haired man waved from a table at the far end of the room. He pulled out a chair for her, then stood waiting.

The first thing she noticed were his blue jeans. They fit snugly on the kind of legs that only came with a tight butt.

"You're younger than I expected," he said. "Prettier, too."

His warmth and the intensity in his eyes took her aback for a few seconds. No wonder women were drawn to him. "I'm not very good at first meetings," she said.

"Then I'll do my best to put you at ease." As they both seated themselves, he reached for her hand. The contact was electric.

She saw the server hovering at her elbow.

"I already had lunch. I'll just have a diet Coke," she said, glancing at Kyle's half-empty coffee cup. The aroma of garlic and melted cheese from orders of pizza wafted around them. Other plates were filled with burgers, fries or salad. The sight and smell of all that food made her feel nauseous.

"And two orders of chocolate mousse," he put in before turning back to her. "Humor me; I hate eating alone." He finally released her hand.

Surely she was safe here. She glanced at the people surrounding them and tried to feel reassured. The _terrasse_ was a popular spot in the summertime because of the stunning river view.

Talk. She needed to sound normal. "I'm surprised you're on the system. I mean \- I'm sure you don't have any problem meeting women."

A slightly crooked front tooth lent regularity to his features. He had a well-defined jaw and a perfectly straight nose. His dark eyes held her prisoner, like a deer in headlights.

"I like the convenience," he said. "Isn't that why you use it?" He nodded at the server, who had returned with their dessert and her drink.

"I have to be discreet." She poked at her chocolate mousse with her spoon.

He swallowed a mouthful of his. "Are wedding rings getting obsolete? I see you haven't worn yours for some time."

Self-consciously she rubbed the bare fingers on her left hand. Damn his powers of observation! She thought quickly. "A wedding band is a symbol of ownership, and I can't be owned."

Kyle brushed one of his legs against hers. Had to be deliberate. "There's ownership, and then there's possession. Have you ever been so driven by desire that you can't get enough?" His voice dropped an octave. "That's how it can be when the chemistry's right, Melissa. And I feel it's right between us."

"Shouldn't we take this a little slower?" she said breathlessly. "I don't even know what you do for a living." When she put down her spoon, she realized that she had eaten half her mousse.

"I invest other people's money. But I don't think that really matters, does it? The only thing that counts, Melissa, is what you feel when you're with me."

Had she ever witnessed such overwhelming self-confidence? A stockbroker: that was what Elaine, Stephanie and Jenny had mentioned. At least his story was consistent. Her insides quaked as a busboy cleared their table. How should she end this? The server had already left them a bill.

Kyle pulled out a wallet and then grabbed the bill. The idea of owing this man anything made Dana uncomfortable.

Before he could go to the cash, she said, "Let me pay my share."

"I never understood why women want to be so independent." He waited as she rummaged through her purse for change. A plasticized card fell to the floor.

Before she could react, Kyle bent over to pick it up. He glanced at it before handing it to her. "Dana Brault. I like the sound of that. Melissa never did sit well on you. It was too soft; you're obviously someone who likes to take the initiative." He frowned. "Something puzzles me, though. With all your extracurricular activities, how do you find time to do a PhD at McGill?"

Chagrined, she took back her student ID and handed him a few coins. Now he knew who she was and where she studied.

"It's only possible when you don't have to work for a living." She worked part-time as a teaching assistant and her parents helped out. He was right about the lack of time. The doctorate program made it difficult for students to have normal relationships, never mind affairs. As he paid the bill, she snapped her purse shut. What a mistake that had been.

"I enjoyed meeting you," she said. "You can leave a message for me on the system if you want to take this further."

With a hand on her elbow, he steered her outside. "When my schedule clears, I'll be in touch, Dana. I look forward to really getting to know you."

When he drew her close and lowered his mouth to hers, her mind went blank. The bruising kiss pulled something, unwillingly, from her inner depths.

"And don't worry," he said. "I'll know how to find you."

Her senses still reeled as she slid into her parents' car and started it. His sports car, with its tinted windows, was already leaving. She couldn't make out the license plate number.

Careful to keep at least two cars between them, she followed him west on LaSalle Boulevard. Soon the second car turned off the boulevard, leaving only one car between her and Kyle. She planned to drop back when the blue sedan separating them put on its blinker. It disappeared down the next avenue.

Dana slowed down to put more distance between them. Had he seen her? There was no way of knowing; he kept driving at the same speed. She continued following him but stayed as far back as she could without losing him. He must have had time to kill; why else choose the scenic route along the water?

In Dorval, he turned right on Martin. A couple of blocks later he swung left on de l'Eglise and parked in a driveway on a treed lot. Once he disappeared inside the bungalow, she drove close enough to note his address and license plate number.

As she headed back to her parents' house, she couldn't help shivering. Kyle knew her name and where she studied, and he intended to see her again. When she came back from Europe, he'd be waiting.

What should she do? Call back that detective, voice her fears about Jenny and give him Kyle's address and license plate number? Why would O'Reilly listen to her now? She couldn't prove that Kyle was a suspect in the murders.

She had to speak to Russell. Maybe he could help her decide on a course of action. She stopped the car and pulled out her cell. As briefly as she could, she explained the situation to him.

"You've carried this much too far," he said, sounding alarmed. "What happened to your objectivity, love? Meeting someone on the system isn't part of your research. If these women truly are in danger, which I doubt, the police will handle it."

"I already spoke to them a few times. They haven't bought my story and I need them to check Kyle out."

Russell said, "They won't go into his house without a search warrant. Giving women bottles of perfume doesn't exactly make him a criminal." His voice softened. "I want you to drop this nonsense, Dana, and get ready for our trip. I'm coming to collect you, remember?"

Dana ran a hand over the steering wheel. Again she thought of Stephanie, still missing from her home. And of Jenny, who was probably next on Kyle's hit list. Could she really put a vacation before life and death? What she couldn't tell Russell was that Kyle now had designs on her, too.

"I can't go with you tonight," she heard herself say.

"Bloody hell." He paused, obviously taken aback. "Leave it alone, I tell you!"

"I'm sorry, Russell. I need more time to figure this out."

"You have ninety minutes to think this over and call me back," he said in a clipped voice. "If you don't reach me by five-thirty, I'm getting on that plane without you."

She had to be crazy to throw away two months on the French Riviera. "Maybe I can catch a later plane."

"Frankly, Dana, my patience has worn thin. Call me if you come to your senses." The line went dead.

In one respect he was right. The police wouldn't enter Kyle's house without a search warrant and she didn't have any concrete evidence. All she could do was drive back to Kyle's house and see what she could find.

She phoned her mother and told her she needed one more day to tie up loose ends for her thesis. "I'll meet Russell in Europe. Can I return the car tomorrow?"

"Of course, sweetie. Is everything all right?"

Her mother would only worry. And Dana didn't want to be dissuaded from driving back to that house in Dorval. No matter how it scared her, she had to go.

"Everything's fine." The lie curled on her tongue, but she told herself that it was for the best.

That night she lay sleepless in her narrow bed, picturing Russell on his way to Paris with an empty passenger seat beside him. Or worse, sitting next to an attractive woman who was happy to make conversation, and available for more.

### Monday, May 31st

### Chapter Forty-Three

The alarm on Dana's clock radio startled her awake. Terrific - she had overslept. As she brushed her teeth, a wall calendar which her father had given her reminded her that this was the last day of the month - the 31st. It was Monday, too.

Kyle's favorite day.

She gulped some coffee, ran a comb through her hair, and then slid into her parents' car.

As she drove past Kyle's house in Dorval, she was surprised to see the silver sports car still in his driveway. Had he not gone to work, then? Maybe he didn't keep regular hours.

Several times that day, she cruised down his street, keeping her head down as she passed his bungalow. His car did not budge. It was pointless; she could do nothing until he left.

By late afternoon, her hopes of achieving anything had been dashed. Discouraged, she ran herself a bath and added bubbles. Sitting in a tub always lifted her spirits, but as she stepped into the foaming water, she doubted it would help now.

This was crazy. She should have left with Russell last night. Let the police handle things, like he said.

Dana shut her eyes, letting the constant drip from her faucet lull her into a more relaxed state. A memory slowly swam into focus. She was in a funeral home, weeping before Marie's coffin. Wishing she had done something to stop her friend from taking her own life.

Her eyes flew open. Whether or not she was successful, she had to try to prevent Jenny's murder tonight.

Before darkness fell, she would go by Kyle's place one last time.

### Chapter Forty-Four

From the edges of her consciousness, Stephanie sensed someone hovering over her. She also smelled cooked food. As she roused herself, she saw Kyle standing over her with a foam container. The fading light streaming through the windows behind him signaled the ending to another day.

"I brought you some leftovers," he said in a conversational tone. "I'm sure you don't want to leave this world hungry."

He placed the tray of limp chow mein beside her with a fork and untied her hands. A series of angry red welts remained on her wrists, part of her flesh now.

She wanted to fling it all back at him. Unfortunately she needed the nourishment for whatever lay ahead. Sullenly she pushed bitefuls of the soggy veggies and bits of chicken into her mouth and chewed. Then she reached for the bowl of water he had left out.

"Look Kyle, you won't get away with this. I'm not worth a jail sentence, am I? Let me go now and I won't tell anyone. I swear."

Crouching beside her, he stared into her eyes. "No one will know, Stephanie, because I'll find a nice deserted spot. Lucky for us it's gonna be a warm night. I'll come for you when it's time."

Before straightening, he reached over to squeeze one of her breasts under the angora sweater. Laughing at her muttered curse, he refastened her bindings. "I've never done two in one night before. Who knows, I may really like it."

After he left, all hope deserted her. Hot tears zigzagged down her cheeks and soaked into the cloth over her face. So he planned to kill her tonight. Only a few hours of her life remained. Even if she could climb the stairs, which seemed impossible the way her limbs were bound, the door at the top was locked from the outside. A number of times she had heard him draw the bolt.

Right now it was still wide open. He probably listened for her movements while he was home. She was leaning against the wall, her legs painfully stretched out in front of her, when she heard his phone ring. It wasn't usually this clear; he must have left it near the doorway.

By hobbling closer to the stairs and stretching her neck, she caught part of his conversation.

"How's eight o'clock?" he said. "The Cantlie Hotel. Know where that is? I'll be in Room 2502. Just come right up. And if you really want to drive me wild, wear a few drops of that perfume. Not that I need it with you. I had a hard-on from the first moment I saw you."

Stephanie stared at the barred window, trying to choke back her fear. His intentions were clear. He was preparing to murder this other woman first. And then come back here and get her.

### Chapter Forty-Five

"Sorry, we don't have any openings," Jenny said for the third time that afternoon.

"Not even for someone with an MBA and fifteen years' experience?" The woman on the line sounded frustrated. "Miller Paper is a big company. There must be _something_ available."

Making cold calls wasn't easy; Jenny tried to soften her reply. "Afraid not. We cut staff recently. Maybe you should try a placement agency." Normally she would let her calls go to voicemail and then sort through them. Not today. She hoped to hear back from Life Management Systems on the new job ... but the day was almost done.

Maybe she wouldn't get the position after all. The thought of having to stay here indefinitely made her conscious of her stress, right now felt in her aching back and a slight pounding at her temples. She gazed longingly at her half-full package of du Maurier in the wastepaper basket, discarded just this morning. Surely one more cigarette wouldn't hurt.

The flyer covered one corner of her desk. Below the headline of **May 31st, World No-Tobacco Day** , it read: _Kick your habit and adopt a healthier lifestyle_.

The real reason for the notice, of course, was to increase productivity. Management wanted to eliminate smoking breaks and time off for smoke-related illness.

As she deliberated, the bright warning on the package caught her eye. _Cigarettes are addictive_. Yeah? So was chocolate. Then she remembered the neighbor who had just died from lung cancer.

She shuffled a few papers on her desk. Over ninety people would soon be let go. Those left behind would struggle with the extra work; asking for assistance and not getting it. And what was she asked to do? Organize a time management course.

She rapped her knuckles on the desk, tired of feeling powerless. Then the phone rang again: a request for references on a former employee. Five o'clock was fast approaching and she had done nothing but take calls.

Her thoughts shifted to this evening and Kyle. She kept replaying those intimate moments at the top of the Ferris wheel with him. Any man who kissed like that had to be a great lover.

She had removed herself from the system for now. ConneXions had accomplished its purpose: finding someone she was strongly attracted to.

Back in her apartment, she called Kyle after a quick shower. This time she didn't block her caller ID. She wanted him to know she trusted him.

He answered after two rings. "Jack's dry-cleaning service."

"I didn't know you had a sideline," she said, laughing. "Maybe I should try you. Downtown cleaners charge a fortune."

"I specialize in women's clothing. Especially undergarments. And especially yours."

She could feel her neck grow warm. "Are we still on for tonight?"

He asked if she could make eight o'clock. That way, they would have a few hours together. "Make up a story. Your husband should be able to swallow anything as long as you're back before midnight."

"No worries. He's ... entertaining a client tonight. They're going out for drinks after dinner." Again she sensed that Kyle got a kick out of dating an "attached" woman. After all, he had found her in that category on the system. But once they made love, she would tell him the truth.

After giving her the name of a hotel and his room number, he said he wanted her to wear the perfume he had given her for their rendezvous.

Maybe it triggered an erotic response for him and he couldn't perform without it. Before getting dressed, she uncapped the bottle of _Midnight Romance_ and dabbed a few drops of the _Eau de Parfum_ at the base of her throat, then behind her ears and knees. The fragrance was subtle, a cross between vanilla and a floral scent. Kyle had excellent taste.

What to wear? After scanning her wardrobe, she put together a simple but elegant ensemble: a gold lace halter top by Liz Claiborne with black jersey trousers that hugged her narrow hips. A linen jacket and heels completed the outfit. She decided to pin her dark hair up; let him work at taking it down.

At ten minutes after eight, Jenny stood outside the Cantlie Hotel on a prominent downtown street. How many times had she passed this building without going inside? The hotel had a green awning out front and close to thirty floors straight up.

The lobby was small but inviting. The sitting area consisted of four plush white sofas around a glass-topped table. This was where lovers should meet, but Kyle believed they had to be discreet. How many trysts with married women had he arranged? She dismissed the thought. None of his affairs had lasted, and this was their fourth date.

Her pulse skipped a beat as she realized he was waiting for her upstairs, probably as excited about tonight as she was. She quickly crossed the veined marble floor to the elevators. The front desk clerk, who was busy on her computer, didn't even look up.

When she reached Kyle's room on the 25th floor, she hesitated outside his door. Its dark green paneling perfectly matched the walls and carpeting in the hallway. The décor in this hotel was understated but stylish. Feeling reassured by the setting he had chosen and looking forward to what lay ahead, she confidently knocked.

### Chapter Forty-Six

Jenny's breath caught in her throat as the door swung open. Kyle stood in the entrance, his shirt casually unbuttoned at the top, and a thin gold chain around his neck. She had always been attracted to his lean physique, and the glimpse of his muscular chest heightened her feeling of anticipation. It had been so long since she had been intimate with a man.

He, too, just stared for a moment.

She peered past him into the room. In the glow from a brass lamp, it looked cozy and warm. "Nice. Aren't you going to let me in?"

"Of course. I'm glad you made it."

Jenny walked into the room. Facing the leather sofa was a king-size bed, its covers suggestively turned down. She headed over to the floor-to-ceiling windows which overlooked rows of bright city lights all the way down to the river. "Great view."

She stood perfectly still as he came up behind her. A shiver went down her spine. Soon, she knew, she would feel his hands on her, but she wanted to make the moment last.

He pointed out the moon. "Mysterious, yet beautiful. Just like you," he whispered against her ear.

She thought of all the things she had not yet revealed about herself, starting with her marital status. Maybe he wanted a challenge and would be disappointed to learn she was fully available. "A little mystery's a good thing when we're getting to know someone, don't you think?"

Instead of answering, he stepped around her. "Here, let me take your jacket." As his fingers brushed her bare shoulders, a tingling sensation rushed to her toes. "You've done something different with your hair. I like it."

The sexual tension between them was palpable. She glanced at the ice bucket on the mahogany table. "Champagne?"

He followed her to the coffee table. "I want this to be special for both of us." After uncorking the bottle, he poured the Dom Pérignon and handed her a glass. "A toast. To finally being alone together. I've looked forward to this for some time."

"So have I."

His smile matched the intensity in his eyes. "I've been trying to be patient. It's been hard in more ways than one."

Should she tell him now? No. Let him continue to believe she was a delectable, forbidden fruit. At least for a few more minutes. The urge for a smoke suddenly overpowered her. It was definitely the wrong day to quit.

She said, "You like the anticipation, Kyle. The chase. Did you wonder if I'd come?"

"No. You want this as much as I do. I know you aren't satisfied at home."

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions, but I will agree on one thing. I'm glad to be here now. To a night we'll always remember." She clinked her glass against his and raised it to her lips. The champagne tickled her throat as it went down, cool and delicious. A fizzy taste remained on her tongue.

Kyle put his glass down. When he lowered his head, she turned to meet his mouth. They kissed slowly, sensuously, as if for the first time. She lightly ran her hands over his back, appreciating the firmness of his flesh through the cotton shirt. Every sensation was magnified; she could even feel his body heat through his trousers.

"I have something for you," he said, breaking away with obvious reluctance. "I hope you don't mind my guessing your size." When he reached into a corded bag, a lace teddy spilled out.

"You really like rituals, don't you? Perfume, now this." He had gone to great lengths in setting the scene, probably to make everything go his way. _I should feel flattered. He really wants this evening to be memorable_.

In the bathroom, she removed the pins from her hair and brushed it out. Then she reapplied her lipstick and put on the teddy. An almost perfect fit. It floated over her body on gossamer wings, touching and not touching. She rummaged in her purse for the box of latex condoms. These were the best: ultra-thin.

When she returned to the room, she saw that he had switched off the lamp next to the bed and was already under the sheet. Presumably naked; his clothes were piled on the chair. Carefully she set the box of condoms on the night table, within easy reach. Then she twirled around a few times in the teddy to give him an eyeful.

"You're making me incredibly hard," he said. "Come closer and I'll tell you what I want to do to you."

She lifted the sheet and slipped in beside him. "Why don't you show me instead?"

As she stroked his chest, her fingers closed on his gold chain. She let it go when his mouth descended on hers, firm and demanding. Against her thigh she felt his sizeable erection. So she'd been right.

In a few moments she reached for the box of condoms.

"Forget it," he said. "We're doing this my way."

She'd heard of men like him. Guys who refused to wear protection, claiming it ruined their pleasure. Too bad. She wasn't about to get pregnant or find herself with some sexually transmitted disease.

"I'm not doing anything without protection." A sense of alarm broke through her languor. She struggled to get up, but he pushed her back on the mattress and positioned himself over her. Somehow he forced himself between her legs and managed to gain entrance. Ignoring her protests, he began to move inside her like an oversized piston.

At the same time, something cut across her throat. A leather cord squeezing her windpipe. Jenny clawed at it but he only pulled it tighter.

"Are you crazy? You don't have - to do this," she gasped. This was no game. Instinctively she knew that if she didn't fight back, she'd die. She raked her nails down his back. Then she grabbed the necklace around his neck with her remaining strength. The gold chain broke free and something hard pressed into her hand.

Dully she gazed at the pendant, a symbol of his astrological sign: a gold-plated scorpion.

"Whore."

The single word bounced around in her mind, unfathomable yet undeniably filled with hatred. Then the leather cord jerked again and spots danced before her eyes.

Her limbs grew impossibly heavy. The need to resist deserted her. For an instant she saw Eric's concerned face. He had been right when he first cautioned her about using a dating site. Encounters with strangers always carried risk. The thought blurred as she slipped into the darkness.

She barely felt Kyle stiffen inside her as he prepared to release his load.

### Chapter Forty-Seven

Just after 7:30 p.m., Dana found an empty driveway as she approached Kyle's house. Great \- he had finally left! She reminded herself how precarious it was. _He may have only gone to a corner store to pick something up_.

She parked the Civic a safe distance down the street and then headed back to his place on foot. Grateful for the cover of mature trees and hedges, she darted into the yard and followed the side of his bungalow. The barred basement windows gave her a chill; she was definitely trespassing.

From here, she glimpsed a fair-sized shed in his backyard. She couldn't very well break into his house but she could check out the shed. Maybe he had stashed some incriminating evidence there.

As she crept along, she searched the ground for clues: dropped items like earrings or a woman's scarf. Nada. Evidently she had been watching too many detective programs.

When she passed the second basement window, she caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Peering through the metal grill, she stared at the far end of the empty room, where a huddled shape changed position. The sight of a woman's legs startled her. She appeared to be tied up. Dana looked again just to be sure.

A dog suddenly barked, making her jump. A boy's voice, coming from a near-by house, scolded the animal and the barking ceased.

Dana now moved swiftly towards the back of the house. A lilac bush partly shielded her as she found the door. Locked.

A gray cat stared at her from the kitchen window. Surprisingly, Kyle had left it open. It was too high for her to access from the ground. Thinking quickly, she grabbed an empty garbage bin in the yard, flipped it over and climbed on top. Perfect. As a child, she had sometimes locked herself out and knew what to do.

The screen was old and a little loose in its frame. One strong push toppled it inside. Then she wiggled through the open space, landing over an aluminum sink and granite counter.

As she sprang to her feet in Kyle's kitchen, her skin prickled. Maybe it was a trap. He could be home after all. She had broken into his house; even the police would be on his side.

The floor creaked as she stepped out of the room and she stifled a scream. The gray cat stared up at her; the black patch around one eye gave him a distinctive look. Another feline sat on its haunches a few feet away. The way they both watched her made her nervous.

She stood for a moment, listening. Silence. Then she heard a thud that seemed to come from downstairs. A door in the hallway was bolted. After unlocking it, she felt her way down the wooden stairs in the dim light. At the bottom, a string dangled beneath a naked light bulb. Dana yanked on it.

In the corner of the room sat a woman on a paint-splattered tarp. Her hair was matted and the bottom half of her face obscured by a gag, but she immediately recognized her.

"Stephanie?" Dana rushed over and worked at the stubborn knots in the bulky red cloth. Until now, part of her had hoped she was wrong. The truth about Kyle's motives was glaringly apparent.

At last, the cloth came undone.

"I - thought you were him. Coming back for me." Stephanie forced the words out between cracked lips.

"Hold on. I'll get something to cut through those cords." Dana scanned the room. Nothing but an old bicycle, a stack of plywood and a barbecue. Then she saw a latched door to a storage closet. In it, she found a pair of garden shears. She used it to slice through the nylon cord around Stephanie's wrists and ankles. Her arms had been twisted behind her back, presumably to prevent her from escaping.

Both women froze at the sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside. Dana realized, too late, that their only exit was the upstairs door, the same door Kyle would burst through in a moment.

A woman's welcoming voice outside told them that the car belonged to people next door. Stephanie's shoulders slumped in relief. "It's not him. Water - " She pointed to the plastic bowl on the floor.

Dana helped her drink from the bowl, shocked at her gaunt appearance. "What happened?"

"He's crazy," she said, wiping her mouth. "Kyle's meeting someone ... at a hotel. I heard them talking. We have to ... stop him."

"I'll drive you to a police station," Dana said. "Think you can make it to my car? It's just up the street. Lean on me. I'm stronger than I look."

Not knowing where the local police station was located, Dana drove her to Station 13 in LaSalle. There she helped bring Stephanie to the front desk, where she rubbed her wrists as they waited.

"This woman needs medical attention," Dana said. "But first she has to tell you something."

The sergeant's eyes narrowed at Stephanie. "Your face looks familiar." Then, "Garon, right? You were reported missing."

She nodded, her head moving with difficulty. "The same man - who kept me in his basement - is planning to kill someone tonight. In a hotel room ... downtown. The Cantlie - Room 2502. Hurry."

The sergeant immediately called the district commander for the downtown sector, who in turn would contact dispatch for available officers in the area. "Possible homicide at the Cantlie Hotel," he barked into his speaker phone. "One man holding a woman. He may be armed." He gave the room number which Stephanie had supplied.

Then he called for an ambulance.

Stephanie sank onto a bench, her face still pale, and drank more water from a paper cup. "I hope it isn't too late for that other woman."

Dana considered Jenny. What if the police didn't get there in time? The night was far from over as far as she was concerned.

"You're going to be all right, Stephanie. They'll check you out at the hospital and then take you home," she said, pressing her hand. "I need to go downtown. I know the woman he's with."

On her way to the Cantlie, she drove through a few red lights. What if Jenny had been strangled? She saw her image again - silky black hair to her shoulders, a pretty smile and intelligent, questioning eyes. And she had just convinced Jenny to take an emotional risk. To be open with Kyle.

Damn.

The downtown area was less congested at this hour. Most office workers had gone home to the suburbs. Dana easily found a parking spot on a side street near her destination.

An ambulance was parked in front of the hotel, its lights flashing. Two men carried a woman out on a stretcher and a small crowd had gathered.

"Attempted murder," she heard someone say. "The perv's in handcuffs. I saw them take him away."

"Wait - I know that woman." Dana rushed up to the ambulance attendant. "Can I ride with her?"

Inside the moving vehicle, she held Jenny's hand as she prayed for her recovery.

Jenny's body trembled as she gasped for air under the oxygen mask. Her face was suffused with color, from angry pink to purple. And a thin red line lacerated the flesh around her neck, making an almost perfect circle.

As they pulled up at the hospital, her eyelids fluttered open and she recognized Dana.

"You - saved me. How did you know?" she asked.

Dana felt her throat constrict. "It's a long story, Jenny. I'm just glad you're alive to hear it."

###  EPILOGUE

### One Year Later

### Tuesday, May 31st

Montreal Gazette \- **Copycat Serial Killer Gets Life Sentence**

Kyle Sarkis, who pleaded guilty to first-degree murder in the serial killings of five Montreal women from March to May last year, was sentenced yesterday.

Sarkis, age 32, seemed calm and resigned as Quebec Superior Court Judge Stephane Joncas announced a sentence of life in prison with no chance of release for 25 years.

Sarkis' modus operandi imitated that of "Montreal strangler" Jules Gratton, who was convicted of committing seven murders starting in February.

All three women had clipped the report from the weekend paper.

As she glanced at the article now, Jenny shuddered. "I can't believe I actually dated that man. What a creep."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Stephanie said. "He was very convincing. From the first moment we met, he made me feel I was someone special. I didn't question it until I ended up in his basement." Her eyes clouded at the memory.

Jenny nodded. "I still have nightmares about that night. We're lucky we survived. And now he's behind bars. Calls for a toast, don't you think?"

They turned towards Dana and raised their glasses. The bottle on the counter contained only sparkling wine, but they savored it as if it were the finest champagne. Today was the anniversary of their brush with death.

"I was never able to really thank you," Jenny told her. "You risked your life to save us."

"I knew that if I didn't act, someone else would die," Dana said simply. And if she had to do it over again, she would not have done anything differently. She glanced at the news clip and the accompanying photo of a dark-haired man with an enigmatic smile; a face that, even now, gave her goosebumps.

Jenny asked, "Did you ever make it to France? I remember you had plans - "

"No, but it was for the best. It wouldn't have worked out with Russell."

This reunion was her idea. She had often wondered about the aftermath of such a harrowing experience and how these women felt now. They had immediately agreed to meet, and Jenny had suggested her own apartment at _Le Regency_.

Stephanie had already mentioned her drinking problem and the support from Alcoholics Anonymous.

"You've come a long way in one year," Dana told her. "Do you feel more in control of your life now?"

The other woman stretched her legs out in front of her. Stephanie had worn one of her new pantsuits and loved the ease of movement it offered. "I'm still taking it one day at a time, but AA has helped me to take responsibility for everything I do."

"Bravo," said Dana. "I admire people who carry through."

There was a feeling of intimacy in this room, of being among friends. The frightening experience with Kyle had brought the three of them closer together.

Stephanie continued. "I also filed for divorce. Richard and I have been separated four months. The children were always my main concern." She took another sip of wine. "Although we agreed on joint custody, he leaves my daughter's full-time care to me. What surprised me was our eleven-year-old son. Justin used to be a smart aleck with me. Now he wants to spend time together, and gives me a real hug whenever we say goodbye." She wiped a tear from her eye. "He even likes my new place."

Jenny asked, "Where did you move?"

"NDG. It's a tight squeeze for me and Emma, but it's okay for now. I found an office job that pays most of our bills. The less I depend on Richard, the better."

"And I thought my life had gone 360." Jenny indicated the cardboard boxes lining the perimeter of the room, half of them already packed. "I'm moving. It isn't just the noisy neighbors. I want to live on a sunny street in a quiet neighborhood. A friend of helped me see things differently. And to face my problems."

"Problems?" Dana shrugged. "Occupational hazard, I guess. I'm always interested in personal issues."

"I was trying to quit smoking," Jenny explained. "I had two relapses, but Eric didn't let me give up. He also convinced me to leave a job that stressed me out. I'm much happier now in a firm that offers employee assistance programs."

"Eric sounds wonderful," Stephanie said with a touch of envy.

Jenny raised an eyebrow. Her eyes were brown now; she had removed the color contacts. "He is ... and he also happens to be gay."

Dana asked, "By the way, did either of you go back to the system?"

"No," the other women said in unison.

"How's your thesis going?" asked Stephanie.

"I finished my study on why women have affairs. But it's made me question my assumptions."

"So what did you conclude?" Jenny wanted to know.

"That we're tempted to look elsewhere when our relationships sag, but affairs seldom give us what we need." Dana paused. "We must feel good about ourselves first; a satisfying love life is only part of the equation."

Stephanie said, "But there's more to it, isn't there?"

Dana stared out the window at another high-rise building. She hadn't shared this with anyone yet, and it felt good to talk about it. "I chose this topic because of my mother's affair; I wanted to understand why it happened. I thought my parents had the perfect marriage. Recently Mom told me more about Ethan, the man she became involved with when I was a child." She turned her head to see if they were following her story.

Both women waited to hear more.

"Apparently she and Ethan connected at a deep level. She said they could practically read each other's thoughts, and always knew what the other was feeling. Even now she says he was the great love of her life. And the reason she broke it off wasn't just because of me and my father. She was scared."

Jenny leaned forward. "Of getting hurt?"

Shaking her head, Dana said, "Of loving him too much. And losing herself in the relationship. It felt safer to stay married to my Dad." She glanced out the window just as a seagull flew past. "When I started my thesis, everything looked black or white. I believed affairs were damaging. Now I think that in my mother's case, she should have taken a chance and made a life with Ethan."

Stephanie poured the bottle of Chardonnay and refilled all their glasses. "You're saying you believe in affairs?"

"I'm saying it depends on the people involved, and how it's handled. You still have to consider the consequences of your actions."

"You sound like a lawyer," Stephanie laughed. "You've got all the angles covered." She lifted a hand to smooth back her auburn hair. It was shorter now, cut in a flattering style that perfectly framed her hazel eyes. "I may be dreaming, but I still want what your mother had with this Ethan. Someone who makes me feel deeply connected. Next time around, I'll ask lots of questions and pay attention to my intuition. If Kyle taught me anything, it was that."

Again she laughed, a throaty sound she made more often these days. "In the meantime, though, I'm enjoying my life just as it is."

"To life," Dana said.

They all raised their glasses once more.

### \- THE END -

Dear Reader,

If you enjoyed this book, please take a moment to leave a Customer Review where you purchased it. Thanks!

Thelma Mariano

### Acknowledgments

Included in my research was the work of Dr. Robert D. Hare, one of the world's foremost experts in the area of psychopathy. In particular, I wish to acknowledge the helpfulness of his book, Without Conscience, based on 25 years of study.

I also want to thank all the men who met me on coffee dates as I learned the in's and out's of a dating system and the kinds of situations that are likely to occur.

### About the Author

Thelma Mariano is the author of two other novels - _SeaStruck_ , a paranormal romance (mermaid story) published in 2016, and _Night Cries_ , a psychological suspense to be released soon. Over the years, she also sold over 40 short stories to women's magazines such as True Story, True Confessions and True Experience. These magazines, produced by NYC publishers including Sterling/Macfadden and Dorchester Media, attracted a mass readership of 150,000 to 200,000.

For 10 years, she worked as a life coach and motivational speaker to help people overcome limiting beliefs and go after their dreams. She is now working on a series called _New Life Stories._

Thelma likes teamwork and enjoys working with other writers to help them strengthen and improve their stories. It's natural for her to inspire and motivate others. She recently launched a website to offer her services as a Freelance Editor of women's contemporary fiction.

You can visit her at http://thelmamariano.com.
