a dead sardine with the other office dwellers.

Dear God, why hadn't he thought about his claustrophobia before he agreed to this lunacy?

He knew the answer and was drunk enough to admit it. Greed. Fucking greed. John was the motivator, the planner, the man with the vision… and the money connections. With the fervor of a southern evangelist, he'd promised he could make them all rich. Hell, he already had. But he had also played them for the greedy fools he knew they were. When he started talking about killing himself, he knew they'd all panic. They couldn't lose John, and they would do anything to keep him happy.

And that was exactly what the bastard had counted on.

Bleary-eyed from drink, Cameron finished the bottle of scotch and went to bed. The following morning, Sunday, he battled a hangover until noon. Then, when he was clearheaded, he came up with a plan. He needed absolute proof for Preston and Dallas to see, and once they realized how John had manipulated them, Cameron would demand that they split the profits in the Sowing Club now and go their separate ways. He wasn't about to wait five more years to collect his share. After what John had done,

all Cameron could think about was running away before they got caught.

Cameron had a few connections of his own, and there were a couple of calls he needed to make. He had five working days before the confrontation he planned on Friday. Five days to nail the son of a bitch.

He didn't tell anyone what he was doing. Friday rolled around, and he arrived at Dooley's late, around six-thirty in the evening.

He made his way to their table and took the seat across from John. The waiter had spotted him and brought him his usual drink before Cameron had taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie.

"You look like hell," Preston said in his customary blunt way. Of the four, he was the health nut and made it dear at every opportunity that he didn't approve of Cameron's lifestyle. Built like an Olympic weightlifter, Preston was obsessive about working out five nights a week at a posh health club. In his opinion, any man who didn't have steely upper arms and a stomach you could bounce a quarter off of was a weakling, and men with beer guts were to be pitied.

"I've put in some long hours at work this week. I'm tired, that's all."

"You've got to start taking care of yourself before it's too late," Preston said. "Come with me to the club and start lifting weights and running the track. And lay off the booze, for Christ's sake. It's killing your liver."

"Since when did you become my mother?" Dallas, a die-hard peacemaker, couldn't stand discord, no matter how minor. "Preston's just concerned about you. We both know you've been under a lot of stress lately with the divorce and all. We just don't want you to get sick. Preston and I depend on you and John."

"Preston's right," John said. He swirled his swizzle stick in the amber liquid as he added, "You do look bad."

"I'm fine," he muttered. "Now enough about me."

"Yeah, sure," Preston said, offended by the censure in Cameron's voice.

Cameron gulped down his drink and then motioned for the waiter to bring him another. "Anything new happen this week?"

he asked.

"It's been dull for me." Preston shrugged. "But I guess in our business that's good. Right, Dallas?"

"Right. It's been pretty dull for me too."

"What about you, John? Anything new going on with you?" Cameron asked mildly.

John shrugged. "I'm hanging in there, taking it a day at a time."

He sounded pathetic. Cameron thought John's performance was a bit overdone, but Preston and Dallas bought it and were sympathetic.

"It will get easier," Preston promised. Since he had absolutely no experience with losing anyone he cared about, he couldn't possibly know if John's life would get easier or not, but he felt he should give his friend some sort of encouragement.

"With time," he added lamely.

"That's right. You just need some time," Dallas said.

"How long has it been since Catherine died?"

Cameron asked.

John raised an eyebrow. "You know how long it's been." He stood, removed his suit jacket and carefully folded it, then draped

it over the back of the chair. "I'm going to go get some Beer Nuts."

"Yeah, bring some pretzels too," Preston said. He waited until John had walked away before turning on Cameron.

"Did you have to bring Catherine's name up now?"

John told the waitress what he wanted and was walking back to the table when he heard Dallas say, "John was just starting

to relax. Give the guy a break."

"You don't need to coddle me," John said as he dragged his chair out and sat down. "I haven't kept count of the hours and

minutes my wife has been gone," he said. "Some nights it seems like only yesterday."

"It's been almost a month." Cameron studied his friend as he made the comment. He picked up his glass and saluted John.

"I think you ought to start dating. I really do."

"Are you crazy?" Dallas whispered. "It's way too soon."

Preston vehemently nodded. "People will talk if he starts dating this soon, and talk leads to speculation. We don't want that.

Don't you agree, Dallas?"

"Hell, yes, I agree. I can't believe you suggested it, Cam."

John leaned back in his chair. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly and his expression looked pained. "I couldn't do it, not yet anyway. Maybe never. I can't imagine being with another woman. I loved Catherine, and the thought of replacing her makes

me sick to my stomach. You know how I felt about my wife."

Cameron gripped his hands together in his lap to keep himself from reaching across the table and grabbing the lying bastard by

the throat.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I was being insensitive." He reached down into his open briefcase and pulled out a thick manila file folder. Pushing his drink aside, he carefully placed it in the center of the table.

"What's that?" Dallas wanted to know.

"Another investment opportunity?" Preston guessed.

Cameron stared at John as he dropped his bomb. "Lots of notes and figures," he said. "And…" "And what?" John asked. "Catherine's medical records." John was reaching for the folder. When Cameron announced what was inside, John reacted

as though a rattlesnake had just landed on his hand. He jerked back and then came up halfway out of his chair. The shock was quickly replaced by anger. "What the hell are you doing with my wife's medical records?" he demanded. John's face was so red he looked as if he was about to have a stroke. Cameron began to hope that he would and that it would be massive and debilitating. The prick should suffer as much and as long as possible.

"You son of a bitch," Cameron hissed. "I saw you Saturday night with the blond. I couldn't figure out why you hadn't told us about her, and so I decided to do a little investigative work on my own."

"You didn't trust me?" John was genuinely outraged.

"No, I didn't."

Turning to Preston and Dallas, Cameron said, "Guess what? Good old Catherine wasn't dying. John just wanted to get rid of her. Isn't that right, John? You played us for fools, and, damn, we were that. We believed every word you told us. You knew Monk wouldn't kill her unless we all agreed. That was the deal when we hired him. He works for the club, and you didn't have the guts to kill her yourself. You wanted to involve us, didn't you?"

Dallas whispered, "I don't believe it."

Preston was too stunned to speak. He stared at the file folder as he asked, "Is Cameron right or wrong? Catherine was terminal, wasn't she? You told us it was her heart, a congenital defect…" He stopped and turned helplessly to Cameron. Then he whispered, "My God."

John's lips were pinched together. His eyes blazed with fury, his gaze fully directed on Cameron. "What gave you the right to spy on me?"