Page 82 of Fatal Strike
He picked up a second pole, a little less worn, and handed it to her. “Reach into the bucket and pull out a worm. Then stick the hook through its fat little belly.”
“Okay.” She grasped a wiggly worm. If she’d dug bullets out of a man’s flesh, she could hook a worm. And she did.
“Now stand up and throw the line into the water. I’ll show you.” He anchored his feet firmly and lifted the pole and line over his right shoulder and tossed it out over the water.
She rose to her feet and glanced at the worm dangling from the end of her line. Poor thing. She followed Jon’s example and tossed the line close to his.
“Good one.”
“What’s under the box and newspaper?”
“Grasshoppers. Perfect for summer fishing.”
At least he wasn’t asking her to eat them. Been there. Done that.
“Half the fun of fishing is who you’re with,” he said.
She adored the peacefulness on his face, confirming he loved what he was doing. “Tell me about the art of fishing.”
“Well, Agent Riesel, it’s like working a case. Fish eyes are located on the sides of their heads, which means their blind spot is straight in front of them. That’s why more than one agent works a case. Fish can see bright colors, the same way a pretty girl or a vulnerable person gets a bad guy’s attention. Fish sense temperature changes and hear vibrations in the water.” He nodded. “While we’re fishing, we’ll stand or sit. We won’t make a lot of movement or noise. That’s like waiting for a sniper shot. We want to keep our shadows out of the water.”
“As we don’t discuss a case where someone might hear. And we use our senses when we’re headed to a sniper spot.”
He gave her a thumbs-up. “Fish smell but rarely take bait because of it, except catfish. So we fishermen use different methods to attract fish. They aren’t all drawn to the same type of lure. And I usually carry extra hooks in this case for the same reason.”
Jon opened his tackle box beside them. “Most of these aren’t needed in my pond, but when I’m doing serious fishing in other waters. Extra hooks could be compared to our proficiency with different weapons or hand-to-hand combat.” He gestured to other items in the box. “A fisherman always has an extra line. Invariably your fishing line will get tangled or broken. Think of this as your backup, like the SWAT team.” He picked up a little red-and-white ball. “This is a bobber. It floats on the water until a fish takes the bait and drags it down, showing the fisherman there’s something on the line. Just like we gather evidence and follow the leads.”
She’d seen a bobber before and wondered what it was used for.
He picked up what looked like a small rock. “You’re looking at a sinker. It sends the hook and bait deep into the water. Consider it your informant or an agent working undercover.”
Leah smiled from the inside out, ignoring the heat and humidity to concentrate on Jon’s explanation. “All these things sound like good reminders, lessons for me to learn.”
“Fishing is quality think-time about what we know and what we’re missing.”
Were her feelings showing? “How many times have you given this lecture to other agents?”
“This is the first.”
“It’s outstanding.” She motioned for him to keep talking.
“This is veering into overkill.” He laughed. “My lures imitate what the fish are after, like setting up a sting operation.” He grabbed needle-nose pliers. “These are sometimes used to get the hook out of the fish.”
“I can’t decide if the pliers act like a good cop in bringing the fish some relief from the pain of the hook or if it’s more of a bad cop, ‘I’ll get a confession out of you one way or another’ thing.”
He feigned a shocked look. “Like our chief of police friend? Would we stoop to intimidate a suspect?”
“Never. What’s wrong with me?”
“I also have a line cutter. Can’t think how to compare it, except in the most direct way: cutting a suspect loose. Oh, and a first aid kit.”
“For us or the fish?”
“Whoever needs it.”
For several minutes, they sat on the bank in silence. Her mind eased in and out of the case, her family, and Jon. Spending time with Caleb and Asher created a longing for her brothers and sisters. She didn’t have problems with them, but with the way her parents had expected her to be like a parent too.
A robin caught her attention and flew toward Jon’s farmhouse. The home reflected a type of comfort she enjoyed. Neatly kept flower beds, a kitchen that made her want to learn how to cook.Jon Colbert, what would you think of me if you knew my past?
