In fact, the only way he could figure it was that she must have a lover – why the hell else would she be wearing such sexy underwear when her husband was gone? Well, she'd sure had him fooled – and obviously old Verne too!

A low moan followed by a babble of incoherent words rose from the figure on the couch, and Johnson's face quickly reverted to a mask of concerned friend as the curvaceous blonde wife opened her hazel eyes and attempted to pull herself up to a sitting position.

"Verne! Wh-what h-happened to him?" she whispered. "He's not… not…" Then her voice choked in her throat as tears flooded into her fear-glazed eyes.

"Take it easy, Sandi," Larry murmured soothingly. He handed her the glass of whiskey, adding, "Drink this, it'll make you feel stronger. You sure gave me a scare when you toppled over like that on the steps."

Sandi ignored the proffered glass, instead grasping her husband's partner's other arm and imploring, "Is he all right? Larry, tell me! Tell me!"

As the half-hysterical blonde touched his arm, the dark-haired man felt his blood quicken in his veins, and the long shaft of his penis gave a sudden lurch against the tight material of his jeans.

"Calm down, honey," he reassured her, moving his arm around her quivering figure and holding the glass against her lips until she automatically gulped down the stinging alcohol. "Verne's had a little accident, but he's going to be all right. Everything's going to be all right."

Even as the words left his mouth, Larry felt a twinge of disquiet at deliberately deceiving the distraught young woman. In his mind's eye, he saw her husband flying through the air to land with a sickening crunch upon the track, his virile, leather-clad body crumpling on impact like a cricket crushed under someone's heel.