In their own words, he was the perfect husband. The Dark Stallion knew how hard it was for them to find the right man, especially after a certain age. A decent father. A faithful husband. Someone to found a family. He’d heard it a million times.

He knew how to appeal to them. With their biological clock ticking, these women were easy prey. Completely obsessed by their work and nearly desperate, they were easy to spot. Many of them were incredibly active sexually. Total office whores. Easy to get close to them by staying late at work. Even easier to slide into their bed after bonding and pushing all their hot buttons. But he couldn’t care less about fulfilling someone’s else expectations. The only person who really mattered was himself. He was the exceptional one. They even talked about him in the newspapers! The Dark Stallion relived the scene with Liliane in his mind and felt an urgent need to strike again.

Patience, he thought. Charlotte is even more delicious than the other one. Don’t spoil it. Take your time. Make sure people remember this one.

The Dark Stallion asked a waiter to bring them the bill. He insisted on paying but Charlotte argued that she could get a refund at work. Business expense, she told him with a wink.

Then they walked into the cold night. Charlotte lived just a couple of streets behind the restaurant. She invited him to take one last drink. The Dark Stallion chuckled to himself. You’re right, sweetie, he thought. One last drink. Your last drink.

He made sure to keep his hands in his pockets as they got inside her building. He didn’t touch anything in her apartment either. Charlotte was about to flick the switch to turn on the light but he grabbed her wrist and pushed her against the wall. No more useless chit-chat, he thought. Let’s get down to business.

Charlotte didn’t fight back. After a second of hesitation, she jumped on him and kissed him. She pulled him near her bed, and the Dark Stallion made sure his laptop bag was nearby. There was no computer in the bag, obviously. He wasn’t going to bring work home. He was about to give her the night of her life.

They had sex. Twice. Charlotte was now totally relaxed and panting. Her guard was definitely down. She wouldn’t mind playing with him, he thought. The Dark Stallion reached for his bag and grabbed a pair of handcuffs. The metallic clattering sound surprised her.

“What are you doing?” she asked innocently.

You have no idea, he thought.

“Trust me,” he said. “Just let go. Let me take care of you. Turn around.”

“Okay,” she said, lying on her stomach.

“Wonderful,” he said as he caressed her round ass. “Now give me your hands.”

She joined her wrists behind her back and the Dark Stallion handcuffed her. Click!

What a beautiful sound, he thought. Your destiny is locked. Click!

“You’re so naughty,” she giggled.

He smiled. Bitch.

The Dark Stallion took a candle and a lighter. Then, he dropped the hot and liquid wax on her skin, making her squeal in surprise, torn between pain and pleasure.

That’s right. Here I come…

He grabbed a long, sharp razor blade from his bag and discreetly placed it next to her pillow. With her eyes closed, she didn’t see anything. The Dark Stallion went inside her one more time, making her scream. Then, he pulled her by the hair, exposing her throat. Blood shot from her neck onto her bedsheets as the sharp blade cut deeply into her jugular. He leaned forward to see her from the side; now he could see her eyes open wide in surprise and terror. He could see fear on her face. She didn’t even have time to scream for help. Her last scream had been for him. A scream of pleasure before dying.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

9

The investigation was going nowhere. After their visit to Le Club Coquin, John was filled with doubts. He wasn’t so sure anymore about Dupont’s involvement in Liliane Genet’s murder. The two of them had a history. She had dumped him so he had a motive. He was a control freak and couldn’t handle confrontation, or rejection.

On paper, it all matched. But there was his sexual personality. Not a dominant type in bed. Soft as a ballerina. What kind of woman would let a man manacle them with handcuffs and drop wax on their body, unless he was sure of himself? John didn’t really know about the subject, but he was pretty convinced that only a confident man could make this type of game arousing for a woman. He even had to be charismatic to a certain degree.

That’s where things stopped matching. The barmaid had laughed at the mention of Dupont when they suggested his being a dominant type. Her reaction had been spontaneous. Totally genuine. It was pretty revealing.

Before he knew it, John was in front of Notre-Dame Cathedral. He and Cécile had an appointment there. Or was it a date? She’d told him she just wanted to thank him for helping her the other day, but he couldn’t help wondering if there wasn’t more. A typical guy’s reaction, actually. A pretty woman wants to thank you and the first thing you imagine is that she’s into you? Really? he thought.

He couldn’t really explain it. He just liked her, and his instinct told him it was mutual. But his instinct wasn’t infallible. He’d been wrong in the past, more than once. In particular when his marriage was in peril and he was convinced everything was better than ever.

Was it just physical? Maybe. Cécile was pretty. She had style and a great body. She knew how to dress and had attitude, without acting like a brat. But there were many women like that in Paris. How come he could feel his guts twisting? Why feel nervous as a fourteen-year-old? Even if it was indeed a date, it wasn’t his first, for Christ’s sake. Why the sweaty palms and the anxiety?

The place was packed with people, mostly tourists but not entirely. In his student days, John used to hang out in the area. There were many cheap bars where young people on a budget could have fun around there. He’d had his first kiss in a small studio located in the building standing in front of him. He was sixteen at the time. Almost twenty years ago already, he thought.

“John!” Cécile called out behind him. She was wearing a white coat this time and her hair was tied in a ponytail high on her head. It emphasized her chiseled cheekbones and jaw line.

“Hey,” he said, hypnotized by her bright smile. There was a short, awkward moment. What now? Shaking hands? Or faire la bise?

She decided for them and they rubbed their cheeks together. Twice. Once on each side. She smelled good, he thought.

“You look great. No problem with your handbag today?” he asked. She had a black, no-brand-name purse.

“I don’t know who would want this one,” she said, smiling.

“You never know,” he said. “Petty crimes have increased with the economic crisis.”

“Stop being a cop for tonight, will you?” she teased him. “I’m starving.”

They ambled along the small, lively streets until they agreed to stop at a Greek restaurant. They asked the waiter for a table for two, no reservation, and ordered right away. After a brief small talk, the dishes arrived.

“So you have a daughter? You don’t look like you have a daughter,” she said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“You look like a tough guy. Mysterious. A loner.”

“That’s how you see me?”

She nodded, bringing her fork to her lips.

“Tough guys can’t have daughters?” he said, wiping his mouth with a tissue.

She smiled. “Of course they can. I’m just teasing. What happened with her mother?”

“We had different ways of seeing the world, I guess,” he said.

“How long have you been married?”

“Are you trying to be the Detective now?” he said.

She laughed and blushed. “Sorry. We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”