Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7) Read Online Free Page B

streaming out from under the hull. I sat back and stretched my legs out. The feeling was incredible. We’d dreamed this up nearly a year ago, sketching and drawing for months. Some parts had had to be built off island, but every single rib, spar, plank, and dowel we’d installed ourselves.
    Reaching Bahia Honda Channel, Carl continued south and turned left just before the bridge crossing from Scout Key to Bahia Honda. We followed deep water around the north side of the island, Carl keeping the boat about fifty yards off the Seven Mile Bridge.
    Charlie pointed up to the cars on the bridge and shouted, “They have a speed limit. We don’t.”
    Carl looked back and I nodded. Bringing the speed up until we were passing the cars in the northbound lane, I could tell by the tone of the engines that we weren’t quite up to top speed, but I guessed we were going at least sixty.

“ W hat do you mean you lost it?” the voice on the phone shouted.
    Lenny Walcza had put off the call as long as he could. The man on the other end of the phone he was now holding away from his ear was former Steelers linebacker GT Bradley, known for his quick temper and vicious punishment of anyone he considered to have crossed him, both on and off the field.
    “I only turned my back for a second, GT,” Lenny confessed. The fact was, when he went to the john, he was so high he’d tripped over the dirty laundry strewn about the floor and hit his head on the toilet bowl, passed out and pissed himself.
    It wasn’t until after he came to and cleaned himself up that he noticed Grabowski and the key of coke were gone. Thinking Grabowski was just pranking him, Lenny tried calling, but the call went straight to voicemail. Lenny had left Grabowski a message, telling him the joke wasn’t funny.
    Lenny had considered taking off after Grabowski himself. However, Lenny lacked the funds and didn’t know where to start. He’d already gone to the guy’s place and the landlord had told him that Grabowski had turned in his keys the night before, leaving with nothing more than a backpack as far as the old man could tell.
    “What’s his name? Where’s he live?” GT growled over the phone.
    “I already checked there, GT. Landlord said he skipped out last night with nothing but a backpack and driving his beat-up old Corolla. He’s not answering his phone, either. Name’s Michal Grabowski.”
    “Grabowski?” GT muttered, with obvious distaste. “He’s a damned worm. You stay put, shithead. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
    Lenny stared at the phone, the call now disconnected. It was nearly nine o’clock and Grabowski had at least a six-hour head start. Knowing the old Corolla was near the end of its life and had four bald tires, Lenny doubted he could have made it very far. Especially if he was driving fast.
    GT had a network that covered the whole Three Rivers area and contacts throughout southwestern Pennsylvania. If anyone could find Grabowski, it’d be GT.
    Minutes later, Lenny heard the sound of tires squealing as a car suddenly stopped in front of his house. Looking out through the front window, he immediately recognized GT’s white Escalade, with the dark-tinted windows. A large black man with a shaved head climbed out of the driver’s seat, as GT himself came around the hood in a hurry. Lenny knew the other man from his deliveries. Erik something or other. Looking like bookends, the two men hurried toward the front door, each wearing a gray sports coat.
    Lenny met them at the door, motioning them inside and then put on a show of looking up and down the street before closing and locking the door. GT stopped in the foyer, as the other man went on into the house. Lenny could hear him going room to room opening and closing doors.
    “We went by the bus station,” GT said, turning and walking into Lenny’s living room. “Grabowski’s piece-a-shit car was there, keys still in the ignition. Even in this neighborhood, nobody stole it. You’re