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waiting for him when he arrived. That was their plan, agreed upon and etched in stone as recently as this morning in bed. But he now jolted physically as if an electrical jolt had shot through him when he heard, instead of Connie's answering machine, the disembodied, metallic, recorded telephone company voice advising him that the number he was calling had been disconnected, and that if he thought he'd dialed the number in error, he should… He disconnected, got the dial tone again and fed more coins into the pay slot, again punching up the number he had memorized since his and Connie's first night of hot sex several weeks ago… which had been the first night they'd met. He took extreme effort this time to dial the correct number and only then realized that his index finger was trembling. He cursed this sign of inner weakness. Damn nerves. The connection rang twice. Again, he got the wrong number recording. He replaced the receiver before the disembodied voice could speak the third word of its message.
    It dawned on him. Of course. She had disconnected her phone because that's the way Connie was. Her mind functioned with the same precise intensity as her sex drive.
    He turned to again survey the flow of people moving along the concourse. He could often foretell the approach of Connie's lithe, small-boned, tight figure, her flowing shoulder-length black hair, her dusky beauty that radiated both sex and intelligence… He knew when she was approaching, sometimes before he saw her, by the way men's heads would begin turning to view her approach. But not this time. Still no sign of Connie. He glanced again at his watch. Eight minutes and forty seconds to boarding. The crowd was growing by the minute in the waiting area by the loading gate. People beginning to stir. Businessmen and businesswomen organizing their work, snapping shut their laptops. Mothers gathering up their children and their luggage. Family, friends and lovers were preparing to say goodbye. A well-coifed airline employee standing by the desk was eyeing the clock too, preparing to announce the boarding.
    Watching the teeming concourse, Fraley tried hard not to show the panic that was building within him with each passing second. His heartbeat was pounding like a bass drum in his ears, almost completely blotting out the sounds around him.
    He was ready to kiss everything goodbye. His life, his career, everything… to begin a new life with the gorgeous, brilliant Japanese beauty who had come into what had been a wretched life and made it incredibly exciting… and dangerous. But that danger would diminish to nothing the instant they boarded this flight to the Caribbean. She was in love with him and they would fly away together. Connie had promised him this, and he believed her.
    It had been like something out
ol Penthouse
Forum. Night after night of the wildest sex imaginable with this single, twenty-three-year-old Japanese civilian with a law degree, who spoke several languages, whom he'd met accidentally at the restaurant he frequented near his home. From that first night of their chance encounter when she'd invited him to her apartment, when their lust had burned through the night on silken sheets cast in candlelight, the smell of incense blending with the scent of warmed oils, the moans and the gasps of pleasure mingled with the low, subtle music that caressed and provided the changing tempos of their lovemaking… Ms. Connie Yota had shown the computer scientist things about the physical act of love that he'd never imagined. He'd been her slave in every way since then. She demanded much, but his rewards were exquisite and, in addition, Connie had professed a true love for him that had touched Fraley's heart as much as his libido.
    Where is she? My God, don't let anything go wrong! He wondered with a start who he was to be imploring anything of a deity he'd never acknowledged the existence of. He self-analyzed this as an indication of