Fallen Hunter (Jesse McDermitt Series) Read Online Free Page A

whistled loudly and stepped aboard the Grady, starting the big Mercury 300 horse engine. The engine used to be on Alex’s skiff. She’d wanted more power for tournament fishing. It was way more than I would ever think of having on a flats skiff. It was only slightly bigger than recommended for the Grady. The engine raced for a second, then settled into a nice quiet burble.
    Pescador bounded down the steps and leaped aboard, as I put the boat in gear. I slowly idled out from under the house and once I was clear, I used the key fob that started the electric motor that pulled the door closed. Everything in my house is run off of ten deep cycle marine batteries, kept charged by a solar panel and wind turbine. Another button on the fob released the catch and the door opened by a large tension spring. As we idled through the tunnel created by the mangroves, I looked back at the house, as I always do. I’d built the place myself over two years ago with Alex in mind, even though she was 3000 miles away at the time. We’d only been friends, and occasional workout and swimming partners the first time she was here. That changed really fast when she came back. We were married within a week. I guess the turmoil of Hurricane Wilma speeded things along. Looking back at the house, I suddenly felt very lonely.
    I’d been alone before, many times. In fact, I’d been alone most of my life. Deployments to the Middle East, Grenada, Panama, Japan, and several other places, had cost me two prior marriages. I’d never really felt lonely, though. Not like this. There was still a huge hole in my heart that would probably never heal. The big dog up on the bow was now my constant companion. The man who’d killed my wife nearly killed me with a switchblade hidden in his shirt sleeve. He missed my heart by less than an inch, the doctor said. Pescador had leaped past me and tore the man’s throat right out of his neck. The dog had saved my life and best of all, he loved to fish as much as I did. Good thing, too. Because we ate fish for just about every meal. Right now, I wanted a ham and egg sandwich.
    Once I cleared my channel, I headed east toward Big Spanish Key, then into Big Spanish Channel and south into Bogie Channel. That would take me along the eastern side of Big Pine Key all the way down to the lodge. I knew the water really well and wasn’t worried about anything, except an early morning boater. The channels are well marked and I’d mounted a powerful spotlight to the bow, to light the way. I’m pretty sure that Pescador would alert me to anything before I could see it, anyway. The first sign of civilization was the bridge from Big Pine to No Name Key. We crossed under it and never saw a car on it. Of course, it was still well before sunrise and most of the folks on No Name live according to the sun, not the clock. Ten minutes later, we slowed as we neared the Old Seven Mile Bridge. The channel into Big Pine Key Fishing Lodge runs west between the old bridge and the new one, then turns south right where the bridges make landfall, then west again into the canal.
    I tied up at the gas dock and went ahead and topped off the tanks, before walking up to the ship’s store to eat and get my big Marine Recon coffee mug filled. I told Pescador to wait by the door while I went inside to get us both a breakfast sandwich and fill my mug. I also bought a boaters guide book for the Florida Keys, that had GPS coordinates for lots of marinas. I walked outside and around the corner where the store had a couple of large picnic tables under an awning. I sat down with a couple fishermen I'd seen around and unwrapped both sandwiches. Putting one on the boards of the dock, Pescador wolfed it down in two bites, as I enjoyed mine.
    “You’re McDermitt, right?” one of the men asked.
    “Yeah, how ya doing? Don’t recall your name.”
    “Not surprised,” he said, “we never really met. You own that big ole Rampage, right? She here?”
    “Yeah,