ConneXions

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