Wood's Wall Read Online Free PDF Page B

diver, he lobstered in season and took on whatever salvage jobs came his way. This allowed plenty of time to paddle and fish.
    The tide was easing now, working toward the slack period where the water had no current, so he stretched the line, hooking the fly to the eyelet near the handle, and switched the rod for the paddle. Slack tide was the least productive for fishing. Moving water brought bait in and out of the flats attracting the larger fish that preyed on it. He started paddling slowly, coasting by the mangroves. He picked up speed as his muscles warmed and he headed into the main channel. The wind on his back and no tidal pull, it was an easy paddle home. 
    Once there, he lifted the board fin-first over the seawall and carried it to his rack. He'd chosen the touring board today — not as fast, but more stable than his 14-inch racing board. 
    He let himself inside, and noticed the phone vibrating on the counter. Generally averse to electronics, except for GPS and depth finders, he picked up the smartphone. Alerts crowded the screen. 
    His heart picked up when he read the texts and pecked out YES with his index finger — close to the limit of his texting skills. A quick shower later and he was in his ’82 Chevy truck headed south on US1. 
    The drive to Key West was quiet, most of the traffic moving north as people pulled their boats back to their driveways, vacations over. He eased off the gas again. Anxious to get there he knew better than to speed. Mel was on his mind in a good way as he drove over the Stock Island bridge, entering Key West. He turned left and followed the bend around to the airport.
    The tarmac was dotted with small planes. Although international was in the title, Key West International was a small field. He noticed his heart rate pick up as he saw her, standing impatiently next to a line of pink cabs. He moved into the right lane and stopped behind the last cab in line.
     She got into the cab of his truck. He leaned over for the expected kiss, but instead she smacked him on the arm.
    "I was just about to rent a car or take a cab.” She pointed at the line up in front of them. “You got that phone, now learn to use it!”
    "Sorry, babe." He pulled out from the curb. "I was fishing. Phones aren’t much use out there."
    "Figures.” She pecked him on his cheek and closed the space, moving into the center of the bench seat. "Now turn on the AC.”

 
     
     
     
     
     

    7
    Pete wasn’t ready to head in yet. He had too much to think about. The highlight reel from the night before was interrupted by the image of the guy in the cigarette boat. Trolling the Gulf Stream steadied him. He looked back, checking the lines and glancing at Dan and Jeff. They had crashed in opposite corners of the boat, looking like bobble head dolls, their heads bouncing with the rhythm of the waves. Pete was deep in thought when the line snapped from the outrigger clip.
    The fish splashed twice, way back in the spread. "Get up guys, it's big,” he snapped at his friends.
     Dan and Jeff lay unmoving - more like unconscious. Pete slowed the boat, allowing only enough speed to maintain course. With one eye on the compass, he quickly reeled in the short rods and the line on the port side outrigger. He pulled the last rod out of the holder and pulled back on the fish. It jumped again and sounded. One hand on the rod and the other on the wheel, he adjusted course and set the boat in neutral. He'd have preferred someone to drive, so he could chase the fish, but that wasn't happening.
    He pumped the rod, slowly bringing the fish to the boat, then let it run when it needed. Sweaty fingers tightening the drag slightly, hoping the additional tension on the line would wear the fish out faster. He saw it for the first time as it swung, holding in the current like a flag. The hot blue was fading to green on its back, signaling that it was almost spent. One more run and Pete had him at the boat again. He eased the drag, set the