Worth the Risk_ A Contemporary - Megan Hart Page 0,155

up my after-sex cigarette just ’cause your wife’s got a nose like a bloodhound."

"Tammy, please get back inside." The man in the car poked his head out the door.

He was a handsome man with classic features and a full head of sandy hair. He looked like a polo player. He was probably one of the lawyers from next door.

"Billy!" Tammy’s voice became an annoying whine. "Just let me have my smoke."

Billy saw Tom at that moment. The man’s handsome face turned as pinched as a dried apple, and he barked at Tammy to get back in the car before he drove off without her. Turning to see what exactly had her paramour in such a state, Tammy spied Tom watching.

"Pervert." She sniffed and slid back into the Lexus, which roared into life immediately.

As the car sped from the parking lot, Tom caught another glimpse of the car’s passengers. He looked like he’d been eating sour fruit. Tammy, on the other hand, was smiling.

Shaking his head, Tom slipped behind the wheel of his Tahoe. Some people. He was glad he and Lila didn’t have to resort to that sort of behavior. Lila. At the thought, he pressed his foot to the floor and headed for home.

Chapter 9

Tom hung up the phone and cracked his knuckles nervously. Where could she be? She had left no message, not on his machine at home or at the restaurant. He knew because he had called to be sure. She had obviously not been home recently because her machine was full. He hadn’t even been able to leave a message this time.

He had called the gallery, but got no answer. Mick and Rivka’s line, too, rang on and on before their machine had picked up. They were probably all together. Maybe Lila had forgotten their plans.

He was only trying to make himself feel better. The fact was Lila had either stood him up or something had happened to prevent her from returning his call. Both scenarios made his stomach churn.

Crunching another set of antacid tablets, Tom began pacing his living room. The television was on, blaring, but he barely noticed. He had gone ahead to the video store and picked up several good horror movies. Not one of them appealed to him now. Not when he was becoming more and more fearful something bad had happened to Lila.

The thought of Lila lying white and silent in a hospital bed made him sit down suddenly. He cracked his knuckles some more, a nervous habit that drove Emma crazy. She wasn’t there to complain, however. She and Michel had decided to take the two-hour drive to visit her parents. Under other circumstances, Tom would have been quite happy for his niece, but tonight all he could think about was Lila. Where was she?

Sitting around his house wasn’t going to do anything but give him an ulcer. His stomach already felt like it was on fire, even though he’d crunched up half a roll of antacids. He decided to go to her house. Even if she wasn’t there, he could wait for her.

As soon as he’d made his decision, Tom began to feel better. Anything would be better than waiting for the phone to ring, even sitting in the cold on Lila’s front porch. At least this way, he’d be there when she got home. A sudden, chilling thought struck him. Unless she already was home.

One of the videos he’d rented seemed to scream out at him. Afraid of the Dark was a cheesy, low-budget horror flick about a young woman who lived alone, attacked by a maniac hiding in her basement. Tom had rented the movie because of its melodramatic title and cover art. Now, thinking of Lila, he flung the video onto the floor.

Heart pounding, he pulled on an extra sweatshirt. Going to the hall closet, he found heavy woolen gloves with a matching hat and scarf. It was bound to be cold while waiting, but he knew he wouldn’t mind. He’d wait until his fingers and toes fell off as long as it meant Lila was all right.

Maybe she’d been in an accident. Tom froze again, his stomach lurching ominously. He had always been cursed with an oversensitive stomach and an overactive imagination. Both were working overtime tonight. Forcing away the image of Lila’s car crushed beneath the tires of an eighteen-wheeler, he continued dressing.

He would try phoning her one last time. Perhaps she had gotten home in the half hour since he’d last called. The