Read Online Dead Man's Switch by Sigmund Brouwer - Free Book Online Page B

girlie. A strange thought to have as King was desperately trying to keep the magnet hidden beneath the water.
    â€œFlashlight?” Murdoch said as he opened the toolbox. “You guys fish at night? You know that spotlighting fish is illegal, right?”
    Murdoch snapped the switch on and checked the bulb. “Dead. Guess that gets you two off the hook.” Murdoch laughed at his own joke.
    â€œSir?” Johnson said. “Pliers? Hate to hurt this fish more than it is.”
    Murdoch grabbed the pliers and leaned forward.
    King felt his blood curdle. The magnet was dimly visible from this angle. If Murdoch...
    The trout turned out to be enough of a distraction. Murdoch focused on the fish, and without getting his own fingers dirty by touching the fish, he used the pliers to work the barbless hook loose from the trout.
    â€œNice catch,” Murdoch said, leaning back. “Supper?”
    King lowered the tip of the rod, and the outline of the magnet disappeared.
    â€œNo sir,” Johnson said. “Catch and release.”
    â€œYou never break the rules?” Murdoch asked.
    King wondered if Murdoch was playing them.
    â€œNo sir. King and I, we’re good guys. We like freedom.”
    Johnson didn’t drop the trout in the water. It was already facing possible shock from a hook in the mouth and its time in the air. Instead, Johnson leaned down again and held the trout just under the surface until it was obviously stable. Johnson let go, and the trout twisted once and disappeared in a flash.
    â€œHow about another worm?” King asked. He was going to match Johnson for cool in this situation.
    The warden stood.
    â€œWell, guys,” Murdoch said. “Obviously you have better things to do than listen to me. Remember I asked you to keep this secret, and if you learn anything about Blake and computers, be sure to let me know.”

CHAPTER 16
    The sadness hadn’t diminished for King, stepping into a house where his mother no longer lived. It was a constant reminder that across the frigid waters of Puget Sound, she was hooked up to bags that dripped fluids into her veins. She was just a shell. ALONE.
    Not the mother who baked muffins and sang and made pottery. Just a shell. ALONE. Why wouldn’t Mack let King go to the mainland and sit with Ella? The image of her all alone hit King dozens of times a day, and each time, it drew anger and despair and frustration.
    This stuff from Blake would have been a great distraction except for what it could mean about Mack.
    Johnson said nothing as they stepped into the empty house. He pretended it was normal even though this was the first time King had invited Johnson into the house since Ella’s stroke.
    They didn’t want to be in Johnson’s house. Might lead to questions. So they’d settled on King’s. Needing darkness.
    Straight to King’s bedroom. No mention of Ella and the huge hole that her absence made in the fabric of King’s life.
    â€œShould try making the bed someday,” Johnson said. It was a swirl of blankets and sheets. “If my dad saw that, he’d freak out. He’s on me for every little thing.”
    â€œNobody in this house cares,” King said. Enough of an explanation.
    King stepped to the window and pulled the drapes. He knew it would be dark enough, even midafternoon. This was, after all, his bedroom. Too many times in the past ten days, he’d lain there in thedarkness, wondering about the shell of his mother, her breath in and out, regular, sucked into the coma as if she’d stepped into quicksand. Like quicksand, it was something you didn’t see until it was too late. Just like that. A stroke.
    â€œWe’re assuming Blake wants us to find the answers,” King said. “How good is it going to feel to be right again.”
    Johnson held the flashlight. “No new emails. This has got to be it.”
    No new emails. After leaving the dock, King had