Free Mercy by Julie Garwood

publicly humiliate him in the process, and from the way things were going, it looked as though she would succeed.
    John was having dinner with a young woman in the next room. The blond looked vaguely familiar. Her head was bent down, and she was diligently writing in her Day-Timer.
    Cameron couldn’t remember where he’d seen the woman before, but he was pleased to see his friend out for the evening, even if it was business. John’s moods had been so volatile since his wife’s death. One minute he was overjoyed, almost euphoric, and the next, he was wallowing in self-pity and depression.
    The blond lifted her head, and Cameron got a good look at her face. She was quite pretty. He still couldn’t place her. He decided to interrupt the couple to say hello. He ordered a double scotch neat as fortification to get through the ordeal ahead of him with his attorney, then started winding his way through the tables into the next dining room.
    Had he not dropped his pen, he never would have known the truth. He bent down to scoop it up, and that was when he saw John put his hand on the blond’s thigh under the white linen tablecloth. Her legs spread, and she shifted ever so slightly until she was leaning into his hand, which was now moving upward under her dress.
    Cameron was so shocked by the intimacy he almost lost his balance. He quickly caught himself and stood. Neither John nor the woman noticed him. She had turned her head and was staring off into space, her eyes half-closed in obvious bliss.
    Cameron couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but that instant of disbelief swiftly turned into confusion.
    He suddenly remembered who the blond was, though he couldn’t recall her name. She was the insipid female who called herself an interior decorator. Cameron had met her in John’s office. Oh, yes, it was all coming back to him now. She didn’t have taste or talent. She had turned his friend’s office into a bordello parlor by painting the beautiful walnut-paneled walls a deep, garish mustard yellow.
    She obviously had talent in another area though. The way John was all but licking his lips as he greedily stared at her pouting mouth indicated she was real talented in the bedroom. Cameron continued to stand near the doorway, staring at his friend’s back while the truth settled in his mind.
    The son of a bitch had duped them all.
    Incredulous, and at the same time overwhelmed with anger, Cameron turned and walked back to his table. He tried to convince himself that he was jumping to the wrong conclusions. He had known John for years and trusted him completely.
    Until now. Damn it, what had John done to them? White-collar crime was one thing; murder was quite another. The club had never gone this far before, and what made it all the more chilling was that they had convinced themselves that they were actually doing a good deed. Tell that to a jury of their peers and watch them laugh.
    Dear God, had Catherine really been terminal? Had she been dying a slow, agonizing death? Or had John simply been lying to them to get them to do his dirty work?
    No, not possible. John wouldn’t have lied about his wife. He’d loved her, damn it.
    Cameron was sick to his stomach. He didn’t know what to think, but he did know it would be wrong to condemn his friend without knowing all the facts. Then it occurred to him that the affair, if that was what this was, could have begun after Catherine’s death. He latched onto the idea. Yes, of course. John had known the decorator before his wife’s death. The blond had been hired by Catherine to redecorate her bedroom. But so what if he had known her? After his wife died, John was grieving and lonely, and the young woman was available. Hell, she probably pounced on his vulnerability right after the funeral.
    A nagging doubt remained. If this was innocent, then why hadn’t John told his friends about her? Why was he hiding it?
    Maybe because his wife’s ashes hadn’t even had time to cool off yet.