Chapter 2
Benjamin Johnson stood beside the Miller's white imitation-leather sofa, a bottle of
Johnny Walker in one hand and a towel filled with ice cubes in the other. His usually self-assured, darkly handsome face was twisted into an uncharacteristic caricature of confusion as he gazed down at the lifeless form of his best friend's unconscious wife, and though he made a brief effort to concentrate on his injured partner who lay paralyzed from the waist down in a Kansas hospital, his granite- grey eyes gradually began to shoot out sparks of lust.
When he'd lifted Cindy Miller's limp body in his arms and carried her in from the doorstep to the living room couch, her transparent orange nightgown had bunched up around her slender waist. Now, as she lay sprawled on her side, her ripely rou
