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 some of my blood in your veins, boy, even if you wish there wasn’t. My brother was your grandfather.”
Gray pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Jonas. Listen, if you need advice, I can recommend someone. One of my partners clerked for a Federal judge—”
“So did you.”
That the old man would know so much about him took him by surprise. Still, he didn’t want to get drawn into this, whatever “this” might be. Over the years, he’d kept his distance from his father, from his uncle, from Texas. He went back for weddings and big family parties but only because he liked his cousins. Other than that, he’d never felt part of the Baron clan, never wanted to be part of it.
“Graham?”
“Yes. I’m still here.”
“I’m tellin’ you again, boy. I need your help.”
“And I’m telling you, Uncle. I can’t give it.”
The old man’s patience slipped. “Damnation,” he’d roared, “you fly down here and I swear, it’ll take less time to tell you my problem than it’s takin’ you to tell me you ain’t interested in hearin’ it!”
Gray had known that was probably the truth. Besides, he couldn’t quite repress that unwanted curiosity. After another few minutes he’d said okay, he’d take the first flight out of La Guardia in the morning.
“Good,” his uncle had said briskly. “You’re on TransAmerica flight 1157, leavin’ at 6:05 in the a.m.”
The phone had gone dead and Gray knew he’d been had. He’d cursed, then laughed, finally climbed back into bed and when the woman in it rolled into his arms he’d made love to her. But part of him had remained at a distance while he’d tried to come up with a reason his uncle would go to such lengths to arrange for this command performance. At four-thirty, he’d risen from the bed, showered, dressed, left a note for his still-sleeping lover asking her to please let herself out and that he’d phone her in a day or two. Then he’d taken a taxi to the airport.
Yes indeed, he thought, as the Jeep pulled through the wrought iron gates that marked the entrance to Espada, curiosity killed the cat—but he was, just as Jonas said, a hotshot New York attorney, too smart to be drawn into anything against his will. He’d hear his uncle’s story, offer some legal mumbo jumbo to soothe whatever twinge of conscience could plague a man at the end of such a long, powerful life and be back in New York by suppertime.
For all he knew, this little break in routine might just clear his head, make him feel better about the way he earned his living, twisting Justice’s arm just enough to keep his next rich client from serving a stretch in prison.
The Jeep came to a stop in a cloud of dust. Gray nodded to Abel, grabbed his briefcase and headed for the house. When he was a kid, it had reminded him of Tara. It still did, he thought, and he was smiling when his uncle’s wife opened the door. Gray was taken aback. He hadn’t given it any thought but now that he did, he
