Mercy

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The Sowing Club had gathered in John's motel room in St. Claire.John was going through the papers, making certain the entire printout was there, while Dallas, Cameron, and Preston silently waited. He finally finished, looked up, and laughed.

"The bitch even included a copy of the letter she wrote to me," he said.

"I'm still making a protest," Preston said. "The way we got those papers back was too risky."

"Does that matter now? We're in the clear."

Dallas disagreed. "Not until we've gotten rid of Buchanan and the doctor. And we've got to do it tonight, thanks to yet another

one of Cameron's screwups."

"Look, I panicked. Okay? I saw Buchanan looking out the window, and I thought I could get him, so I shot at him."

"We had decided to go in easy," Preston reminded him.

"I was desperate to get him… for the good of the club," Cameron stammered. "Besides, Buchanan doesn't know I shot at him,

and it stands to reason that he would assume someone's after him. Dallas, you did the background check. You're the one who

told us the guy has gotten death threats."

Preston nodded. "No time to waste. We have to kill them tonight."

"I wonder if the doctor has remembered where she's seen Cameron," Dallas said.

None of them looked at Cameron as they thought about that.

"I told you I was sick of waiting," Cameron said.

"You had no right…" Preston began.

John put his hand up. "Let it go," he said. "It's done and Cameron regrets his mistakes. Isn't that right?" he asked.

It wasn't what he said but how he said it, with such feigned kindness, that made Cameron see what was happening.

"John's right," Dallas said. "Cameron has been our friend for too many years to let a couple of mistakes ruin anything. Forgive

and forget. Right, Preston?"

Preston smiled. "Yeah, okay. Want a drink, Cam?"

He shook his head. He could feel the bile rising in his throat. "I should pack up and head back to New Orleans… unless you've changed your mind, John, and want me to stay and help."

"Help with what?"

"Buchanan and the doctor. You're going to go after them tonight, aren't you?"

"Yes," John said. "But both of them have seen your face, so you can't stay around. We've gone over this, Cameron. Go home

and wait. I'll call you after it's finished, and we'll go out and celebrate."

"The doctor saw you at the funeral too. How come you're staying here?"

"To coordinate," he said.

Cameron stood. "Where's Monk?" he asked, squelching the mounting fear inside him.

"Out buying some equipment. Why do you want to know?"

Cameron shrugged. "Is he going to help you get Buchanan?"

"Yes," Dallas answered.

"What about the FBI agent, the man named Clayborne."

"Let us worry about him," John said smoothly. "You better get going now."

"Don't worry," Dallas said. "Everything's going to be fine."

Cameron went outside and pulled the door closed. Because he thought one of them might be watching him through the crack in the drapes, he strolled to the corner as though he wasn't in any particular hurry. He turned toward his room and then started running. When he reached the door, he pulled out his gun, cocked it, and rushed inside.

He half expected to find Monk waiting for him, but the room was empty. He gagged, so great was his relief. He threw his

clothes into his overnight bag, grabbed his car keys, and ran to his car. Desperate to get away, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The car fishtailed out of the parking lot.

John had told him to go home and wait. That's where it was going to happen, he decided. Would his dear friends come after him, or would they send Monk to kill him? Either way, Cameron knew he was a dead man. He pulled onto the highway, checking the rearview mirror every other second to make sure he wasn't being followed by Monk now. There were no cars behind him. Cameron finally allowed himself to exhale, letting out a long, loud breath. His hands were clammy and shaking. He struggled to hold them steady on the steering wheel, and then he began to cry.

He had to go to his apartment because he had money stashed under one of the floorboards, and he would need it when he left town. He had time, he told himself. They would need Monk to help them with Buchanan. Yes, he had time.

Cameron was quivering so badly now he knew the only thing that would calm him down and help him think was a drink. He

pulled off the highway at the next exit and started looking for a bar.