Bull didn’t fish much . . . at least as far as I could tell. But when he wanted to go, the twin Mercury 115 hp outboards would get him to the fishing destination of his choice darn fast. In fact, had it not been for the speed of Bull’s boat, he might not have reached the cabin in time to rescue me. Did I mention I’ve recently become a big fan of fast boats with big motors? It appeared that the bad guys had put their boat into the water at the upper harbor as well, since my Honda was parked in the lot near the ramp. Bull’s red Jeep Cherokee occupied an adjacent parking space. "You drive your car. Meet at my place. Got it?" "Your place. Got it. Hey, where’s Beth," I called, as the Dakota driving the Cherokee sped off down Levee Road. The guy had just saved my life. But he could still tick me off. * * * By the time I’d pulled up outside Bull’s cabin, it appeared that he had already tucked his Jeep into the garage. At least I didn’t see it, or him, anywhere. I hopped out of the Pilot, anxious to hear more about Beth.
