Cameron laughed harshly. "You arrogant ass. You've got the balls to be outraged that I spied on you and your little Barbie doll?" Glancing at Dallas, whose complexion was rapidly turning green, he asked, "Want to hear something else really funny? You'll get

a kick out of this news. I know I did."

Dallas picked up the folder and asked, "What?" John lunged to grab the file, but Dallas was quicker.

"Catherine introduced this woman, Iindsey, to John. She hired the bitch to redecorate her bedroom. Isn't that right, John? The affair started almost immediately after you met her, didn't it? But you had already decided to kill your wife."

"I don't think it's a good idea to talk about this here," Preston said with a worried glance around the bar to see if anyone was watching them.

"Of course we should talk about this here," Cameron said. "This is, after all, where we planned the mercy killing."

"Cam, you've got it all wrong," John said. He looked earnest now, sincere. "I've only had one date with Iindsey, and it wasn't really even a date. It was a business meeting."

Eager to believe John was telling the truth, Preston vigorously nodded. "If he says it was business, then that's what it was."

"Bullshit. He's lying. I followed him home. I saw Iindsey's car parked in his garage, and she was there waiting for him. They were all over each other. She's living with you now, isn't she, John? And you're hiding it from everyone, especially the three of us." Cameron began to rub his temples. He'd had a pounding, relentless headache off and on for the past week, ever since he discovered John's nasty little secret. "Don't bother to answer. I've got all the facts right here," he said, pointing to the folder

Dallas had just opened. "Did you know Lindsey thinks you're going to marry her? I got that bit of information from her mother. She's already planning the wedding."

"You talked to Lindsey's mother? All that alcohol has gotten to you, Cameron. It's made you delusional… paranoid."

"You pompous ass," he scoffed.

"Lower your voice," Preston pleaded. His brow was covered with perspiration, and he wiped it away with the bar napkin. Fear made his throat dry.

"Shall we discuss Catherine's little trust fund that John was so worried would run out?"

"What about it?" Preston asked. "Was there any left?"

"Oh, yes," Cameron drawled. "About four million dollars."

"Three million, nine hundred seventy-eight thousand to be exact," Dallas read from die folder.

"Dear God… this can't be happening," Preston said. "He told us… He told us he took her to Mayo, and they couldn't do

anything for her. Remember, Cameron? He told us…"

"He lied. He lied about everything, and we were so damned trusting we believed him. Think about it, Preston. When was the last time any of us saw her? A couple of years ago? It was right before she went to Mayo, wasn't it? We all saw how bad she looked. Then when she got back, John said she didn't want to see anyone. And so we respected her wishes. For two years, it was John who told us how her condition was deteriorating and how much she was suffering. All that time, he was lying."

They all stared at John, waiting for him to explain.

John lifted his hands, palms up in mock surrender, and smiled. "I guess the game's over," he said.

Stunned silence followed the announcement.

"You admit it?" Preston asked.

"Yeah, I guess I do," he said. "It's kind of a relief, really, not to have to sneak around you guys any longer. Cameron's right. I've been planning this for a long time. Over four years," he boasted. "Did I ever love Catherine? Maybe, in the beginning, before she turned into an obsessive, demanding pig. It's funny how love can turn into hate so quickly. Then again, I might not have loved her at all. It could have been her trust fund. I did love the money."

Dallas dropped a glass. It landed with a thud on the carpet. "What have you done to us?" The question came out in a choked whisper.

"I did what I had to do," John defended. "And I don't have any regrets. Well, no, that isn't exactly true. I regret inviting Lindsey

to move in. I mean, I've loved every minute I've had her. She'll do anything in bed, anything at all that I ask, and she so wants to please me. She's getting clingy, though, and I'm sure as hell not going to get tied down again."

"You son of a bitch," Cameron snarled.

"Yes, I am that," John agreed smoothly. "Want to know the best part, besides the pig's trust fund? It was so damned easy."

"You murdered her." Dallas closed the folder.

John shifted in his chair. "No, that's not exacdy true, I didn't murder her. We did."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Dallas stammered, and then bolted for the bathroom.

John seemed amused by the reaction. He motioned to the waiter to bring another round of drinks.

They sat stiffly together, like strangers now, each lost in his own thoughts. After the waiter had placed fresh drinks on the table and left, John said, "I bet you'd like to kill me with your bare hands, wouldn't you, Cameron?"

"I'd sure as hell like to," Preston said.

John shook his head. "You're a hothead, Preston. Always have been. And with your muscle-building regime, you could break every bone in my body. But," he added, "if it weren't for me, you'd already be in prison. You don't think things through. You don't have what it takes. I guess you just don't have a calculating mind. We've had to push you into every financial decision. And we had to pressure you into agreeing with us to pay Monk to kill Catherine.'' He paused. "Cameron, on the other hand, does have what it takes."

Cameron inwardly cringed. "I knew you didn't have much of a conscience, but I never figured you'd screw us. We're all you've got, John. Without us, you're… nothing."

"We were friends and I trusted you," Preston said.

"We're still friends," John argued. "Nothing's changed."

"The hell it hasn't," Cameron shot back.

John was completely unruffled. "You'll get past it," he promised. "Especially when you remember how much money I've made

for you."

Cameron propped his elbows on the table and stared into John's eyes. "I want my cut now."

"It's out of the question."

"I say we dissolve the club. We each take our share and go our separate ways."

"Absolutely not," John said. "You know the rules. None of us touches a dime for five more years."

Dallas came back to the table and sat down. "What did I miss?"

Preston, who now looked as though he was going to be sick, answered, "Cameron wants to dissolve the club and split the assets now."

"No way," Dallas said, appalled. "You make a withdrawal, and it can be traced by the IRS. It's out of the question."

"He can't touch the money unless we all go with him to the bank, remember? We all have to sign before we're given access. That's how we set it up," John reminded them.

"You're a real bastard, John."

"Yeah, so you said. Face it, Cameron. You aren't angry because I lied to you. You're pissed off because your life's miserable

right now. I know you better than you know yourself. I know what you're thinking."

"Yeah? Enlighten me."

"You think I didn't have it all that bad. Right?"

"Yes," Cameron admitted. "That's exactly what I'm thinking."

John's voice was calm as he said, "But you didn't have the courage to do more than whine. I did. It's as simple as that."

He turned to Dallas. "You know, you'd never have asked Monk to kill Catherine if I hadn't lied."

"But, John, if you wanted out, why didn't you just divorce her?" Dallas asked.

"The money," he answered. "I wanted every dollar she had. By God, I deserved it for putting up with her. She was a controlling bitch," he added, and for the first time there was bitterness and hatred in his voice. "Unlike Cameron, I didn't mask my misery