Raising The Stakes. Sandra MartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
he said carefully, “you haven’t.”
“Not since Samantha married that Dee-mee-tree-ose guy,” Jonas said, turning the Greek name of his stepdaughter’s husband into pure Texas.
Forget senile. The old man still had a mind like a steel trap. “So?”
“So…” More silence, then the sound of Jonas clearing his throat. “So, I wondered if you might be in the mood to pop down for a visit.”
“Let me get this straight,” Gray said carefully. “You phoned in the middle of the night to invite me to Espada?”
The old man chuckled. “You don’t buy that, huh?”
“No.” Gray walked through his dark apartment to the kitchen, tucked the phone against his shoulder and opened the refrigerator. He took out a bottle of mineral water, unscrewed the top and lifted it to his lips. “Hell, no,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did you really think I would?”
“That’s what I like about you, boy. You ain’t like some people. You don’t believe in treatin’ me like I was God.”
Gray laughed. What his uncle meant was that he didn’t like the old man and he’d never pretended otherwise. He’d never toadied up to the Baron money the way his father did. Jonas whistled; Leighton came running. It had always been like that, all the years Gray was growing up. Sometimes he’d been hard-pressed to know which of the men he despised more, his father for sucking up or Jonas for wallowing in the pleasure of it. After a while, he hadn’t bothered giving it much thought. All that mattered was that he hadn’t done the same thing. He’d thumbed his nose at both of them and at a system that should have died out in the middle ages, and made his own way in the world.
“No,” he said bluntly, “I don’t.” He put the bottle on the counter and made his way back toward the bedroom. “Look, Jonas, let’s cut the crap, okay? It’s the middle of the night. This is the first time you’ve ever phoned me. Come to think of it, this might just be the first time you’ve said more than three words in a row to me.”
“Or you to me, boy.”
“Absolutely. So, why would you expect me to buy into the idea that you called to invite me down for the weekend? Get to the bottom line. What’s the deal?”
Another of those pauses hummed over the phone. Gray could hear the rasp of the old man’s breath.
“You’re some kinda hotshot lawyer up there in New York, ain’t you?”
Was he? He was a partner in a prestigious firm, but did hotshot lawyers spend their days putting the scum of the earth back on the streets?
“I’m a lawyer, licensed to practice in the state of New York,” Gray said brusquely.
“Well, I got a legal matter needs tendin’.”
“A legal matter?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why come to me? For starters, I’m not licensed to practice in Texas.”
“Don’t need you to practice. Maybe I should have said what I need is legal advice.”
“You have people to give it to you. Your son, for one.”
“Travis is a lawyer, all right. But he lives in California.”
“Yeah, and as we both just agreed, I live in New York.”
“I don’t want to involve Travis in this.”
Did the old man know the effect that remark would have? Gray squelched the sudden rush of curiosity that shot through him.
“Well,” he said, “you’ve probably got a powerhouse law firm on retainer in Austin.”
“Damned right.” A touch of pride crept into his uncle’s voice. “The best.”
“Exactly. Whatever legal advice you need, you’d be better off turning to them than to—”
“This here’s a private matter. I want you to handle it, not my son or a passel of lawyers who got no more interest in the Baron name than when they see it on checks.”
Another little flare of curiosity went through his blood but Gray ignored it. “That’s very flattering,” he said politely, “but—”
“Bull patties,” Jonas said curtly. “I ain’t tryin’ to flatter you, an’ you wouldn’t give a tinker’s damn if I was.”
Gray sat down on the edge of the bed. The old man was good at this. He played people like a virtuoso played a Stradivarius, but Gray wasn’t going to let himself be drawn in.
“You’re right,” he said, “I wouldn’t. Look, whatever this is about, I’m not interested. I’m in the middle of a case.”
“You could fly down in the mornin’, fly back by nightfall.”
“I’m afraid I can’t. Besides—”
“Besides, you’d sooner work for a no-account horse thief than me.”
The only good thing about Jonas was that he was always direct. Gray often thought it was the single quality he and his uncle had in common.
“Yeah.” He smiled into the darkness. “That about sums it up.”
“You know, boy, it ain’t my fault your father’s spent his life suckin’ up to my money.”
Gray rose to his feet. “It’s late,” he said coldly, “and I’ve had a long day. Good night, Jonas.”
“Wait!” The old man huffed audibly. “I need your help.”
Jonas Baron needed help? His help? Gray paused with his finger on the disconnect button. “In what way?”
“You fly down to Espada and I’ll explain.”
“I have no intention of flying down to Espada. Tell me the problem now.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Jesus, I don’t believe this! You get me up in the middle of the night, you mutter some crap about legal advice, and I’m supposed to drop everything and head for Texas?”
“Yes,” the old man said sharply, and Gray suddenly realized his uncle’s just-folks accent had disappeared. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.”
“Here’s a news flash for you, Uncle. I’ve never done what I was supposed to do and I’m not going to start now.”
“You might find this interesting.”
“I doubt it.”
“Gray.” Another exhalation of breath, this one slightly ragged. “I’m an old man.”
Ah, hell. Gray sat down again. “Look,” he said, “it’s true, you and I never really got along, but—”
“We’d have gotten along fine if we hadn’t based our judgment of each other on your father.”
Gray laughed. Definitely, direct and to the point. And maybe even dead-on correct. “I guess that’s possible. But we did, and it’s too late to go back and change things.” His voice softened. “Jonas, I wish I could help you. But I really am in the middle of a case, and—”
“I’m getting old, boy. Real old.” Jonas cleared his throat. “And—and I did something, a long time ago, that I need to atone for, before my time comes.”
“Hell, I’m no clergyman.”
“Dammit, are you listening to me? I don’t want some candy-assed preacher to hear me confess my sins. What I need is a man I can trust.”
“And you think that’s me? Why? You and I hardly know each other.”
“There’s