Азбука в стихах. Ангелина Дроскова
Читать онлайн книгу.
teased; Boots spoke to God as if he were a poker buddy sometimes, making what he called “suggestions,” most of which of late seemed to involve the salvation of one Ryder Colton. And no matter how much Ryder tried to talk the old man out of it, Boots never gave up on him.
More than I can say for my brother, he thought as Boots ignored the jibe.
“More the other way around. Just a feeling, Ryder. Be watchful.”
With that Boots’s phone time was up, and the call ended.
That was what drove him craziest about Boots and his beliefs, Ryder thought; no matter what happened later, the man would nod wisely and say, “I told you.” If what happened was something good, it was straight from his God. If it was something bad, God’s intervention had lessened the blow.
Yet, Ryder thought as he pulled the thankfully room-darkening curtains of the small motel room closed, he couldn’t deny that the man’s pure, shining faith had had an effect on him. He’d fought it, resisted fiercely, but Boots’s quiet determination to save him from himself had made inroads.
He’d finally decided that the principles underlying Boots’s beliefs were good no matter what the foundation. And when Boots had laughed and told him he didn’t have to believe to live by them, the result was the same—Ryder had felt a sudden sense of relief he’d never known before. And in that moment he’d determined to give it a shot, for the sake of the man who had seen something in him worth saving, a man who would never see the outside again, but still found hope.
To his surprise he slept well, for nearly seven hours. More than enough to keep going. He got up, dressed, grabbed his last box of Little Travis cigars and headed out. He wasn’t hungry yet; Mrs. Sanchez’s hearty breakfast was still holding. So he headed instead to the local library branch.
It wasn’t as foreign territory to him as he supposed many might think, given his capacity for trouble. There had been times when he’d wanted information, and had wanted to get it without his big brother hanging over his shoulder. Esperanza’s tiny library was just that, tiny, and his presence would be noticed—and reported on to Clay within hours—so he’d avoided that. But there were other towns, other libraries, and he spread it around.
His official cell phone rang as he pulled into the parking lot of the library.
“You didn’t check in,” a stern voice said.
“I did,” Ryder countered. “I left a message. Not my fault you didn’t answer. I needed sleep.”
His alternate handler—an agent named Gibson—apparently decided to let it go. “Developments?”
I’m about out of cigars and my ass is tired of sitting all night in the dark, waiting for nothing, he thought. But he knew better than to bitch, at this guy in particular. He was a little more human, and sometimes even unbent enough to commiserate with the frustration Ryder felt. Ryder didn’t want to blow that.
“Nothing. No movement, no sign of movement, and nobody who shouldn’t be around. They go lights out around here early, and it stays that way.”
Work started very early on a ranch, and Clay Colton was serious about work. Ryder had chosen to ignore his brother’s work ethic and this had always been the biggest bone of contention between the two brothers.
That, and the fact that Ryder had been born for trouble.
“The biggest thing that’s happened around here is people keep getting married,” Ryder said. “The sheriff, his brother…”
Ryder clammed up before he let slip something that gave him away. It wouldn’t do to mention that he knew his ex-sister-in-law was back on the ranch, or the even bigger shock of learning that his little sister had married some overtense suit.
As far as his handlers knew, he had no family. None of them really wanted to claim him, so he’d done the same. On anything that had required listing next of kin, he’d put “None.” And that’s how it would stay. For all he knew, that’s why they’d picked him for this job. Maybe Boots was right, and this was more potentially dangerous than he’d realized.
Not that it mattered. He could get blown away tomorrow, and it would barely cause a ripple. Boots might shake his head sadly, but that was the truth. No one else would really care. Not that he expected them to; there was something inherently wrong with him. If even his own father and brother wanted nothing to do with him, why would anyone else?
“We need to get this wrapped up,” Gibson said. “The Colton campaign is on its way to San Antonio soon, and we do not want to try and run this operation with all that going on.”
The casual reference gave Ryder a jolt. He’d been so focused on his little bit of work here, the bigger happenings in the world hadn’t even registered. Not that he ever paid much attention to politics, not even presidential politics.
He wondered what that cool, commanding voice on the other end of the phone would think if he realized that he was speaking to a man who was, technically if not officially, the nephew of the man who could well become president of the United States.
Wasn’t there some branch of the feds who investigated all the family members of people who aspired to the highest office? It only made sense. And the fact that Joe Colton’s ne’er-do-well brother had fathered a crop of kids outside his marriage wasn’t exactly a secret.
For the first time, it hit Ryder that he was, by blood, connected to a very famous family. Not that they would claim him any more than his own father had, but still, if he were mercenary enough…
He could almost see Boots’s frown. Could hear the old man’s stern warning that that way lay hellfire. Could even hear himself answering, “Don’t worry, Boots. That’d mean I’d have to claim Graham Colton as my father, and that ain’t ever going to happen.”
That much was the truth. No amount of money or famous family would make him do that. He might feel a bit of wistful sadness about losing his brother and sister—they’d once been a tight-knit group—but his father meant less than nothing to him.
As he meant less than nothing to his father.
“Don’t forget to check in when you’re in place tonight.”
“Yeah,” Ryder said absently, locking the truck as he headed for the library. He could have asked how much money they were talking about here, but caution won out; he didn’t want them thinking he was pondering going over to the other side.
He didn’t think his recruiters had believed him when he’d told them, just as he had told the court at his trial, that he’d never intended to smuggle illegals into the country. That he’d merely been paid to drive a truck, that as far as he knew was full of computer equipment. No one had believed him back then.
In fact, it had barely bothered him that he’d ended up in prison for something he hadn’t intended to do. As he’d told Boots later, when the man had begun to talk to him about his future, he’d done enough intentionally to land him here anyway.
“It’s just karma catching up with me,” he’d said. “No big deal.”
“But a big chance,” Boots had said, already launching into his crusade to salvage Ryder’s life.
Ryder hadn’t been listening to the older man, though. Not then. This situation wasn’t going to change anything, not really. To his way of thinking, it was just a speed bump on his racetrack, and he’d be back at full tilt as soon as he got out. Older and wiser, maybe. Hopefully wise enough to keep from getting caught next time trouble irresistibly called his name.
Once he’d spent a couple of hours in the library researching, he was a little stunned at what he’d found. At how much people would pay for a child they knew nothing about. At how long this had been going on, seemingly forever. At how many ways it happened, from the simple theft straight out of a hospital nursery, to unethical doctors who arranged black market adoptions, to unscrupulous lawyers who facilitated all of it.
He