Wood's Harbor Read Online Free PDF

to him and the twin 225 Yamaha engines were adequate power for the twenty-seven foot hull. 
    “Open the garage door,” he repeated.
    “What for?” Trufante asked.
    “Change in plans. You’re gonna take the car back to Annie and I’m taking a boat back to Wood’s place. There’s no sign of Commando’s boat and I need to gear up.”
    “Reckon the safest place to steal a boat is from a boat thief. They ain’t going to the police,” Trufante said and pulled on the chain next to the door.
    Mac cringed as metal creaked and the garage door went skyward, disappearing into its housing. Moonlight flooded the space. After a quick inspection of the boat, he decided it would work. The only thing he could see missing was the leaning post, but the open space in the cockpit didn’t bother him, in fact it might be useful. He used the short work ladder next to the hull to climb inside. The keys were in the ignition - a relief, as he wasn’t prepared to hot-wire the boat - but there was a large hole in the dashboard where the chart-plotter belonged. That was unfortunate. Newer boats used a large display with the GPS, plotter, radar and depth finder included in one unit. Some had redundant systems, but the dashboard had only the factory tachometers, oil pressure gauges for the twin engines, and a bank of switches for the navigation lights, bilge pumps, wash-downs and other small electric devices. Rather than risk the noise of dry-cranking the engines, he turned on the navigation lights. He could see the red and green light reflected from the bow. There would also be a white light on the hardtop, but for now he was satisfied the batteries were installed and charged.
    “Start the lift,” he called to Trufante. 
    The Cajun climbed into the seat of the propane-powered forklift and the engine purred. Propane lifts were cleaner and quieter than their gas counterparts and Mac was again thankful for the criminals’ forethought. They also needed to get the boats in the water with little noise. He jumped down from the hull, moved the ladder out of the way, and cleared the parts and tools in the path of the lift. Trufante moved the extended forks into place under the chines and lifted the boat. Once free of the blocks, the forklift backed silently out of the space, its backup alarm thoughtfully disabled. Mac closed the garage door and ran to open the gates as Trufante swung the lift around, but they were locked. He had to run into the building again and search the office for the key. He found it on a hook by the door and ran back out to Trufante, who now had the boat facing forward, ready to roll through the opening. Mac unlocked the padlock, threw open the gate and stood back as Trufante drove the lift down the path to the water. 
    He moved through the brush beside the trail to get in front of the boat and saw the lagoon ahead. Another minute and Trufante had the boat extended over the water, where he lowered the hull until it was ready to float off the padded forks. Mac jumped into the boat and turned the keys. He was greeted by silence and checked the throttles, cursed, and then remembered the dead-man’s switch. The hook-like keys were not engaged, defeating the starter. He fumbled with the safety mechanism, his fingers shaking, until the hooks clamped onto the posts and engaged. Again he turned the key to the starboard motor, cringing while the safety beeped, but the motor turned over and caught. He started the port engine, pulled the throttles back and reversed the boat. 
    “Put the lift back and leave the place like we found it,” he called back to Trufante, who was already backing the lift down the trail. While he waited, he flipped switches until he found the backlights for the instrument panel and checked the fuel. The gauge showed a quarter full, but unlike cars, fuel indicators on boats were seldom accurate. There could be three quarters, or nothing in the tank. Calculating the worst case and assuming the boat held a few