Crush by Phoef Sutton Read Free Book Online Page A

Punch him in the gut and walk off the boat. He hasn’t got the guts use that knife.”
    Steinkellner stiffened his hold of Walter. “Try me,” he said.
    Then Walter went for it. He tried to break free from Steinkellner’s grip and, in doing so, brought his throat, hard, against the knife. A bright rush of red blood flowed suddenly from his throat. He looked down in shock and horror as it spread south over his aloha shirt. Steinkellner drew the knife the rest of the way across Walter’s throat, then looked up at them with an expression that could only be called embarrassed. The wandering bee landed on the blood as if it was honey and began to drink.
    Stegner, stretched out on the deck, drew a bead with his sniper rifle. Rush kicked it aside just as he fired—the shot missed wildly. Stegner turned furiously on Rush. “What the hell are you doing?”
    Rush didn’t answer. He was too busy running onto the yacht.
    When he got there, he found Walter Trask wiping the blood away from his throat, feeling for the mortal wound. There wasn’t even a scratch.
    They rushed onto the boat behind him, Donleavy, Guzman, and Stegner. Donleavy and Guzman grabbed Steinkellner, who didn’t resist. He knew he was beaten.
    Rush took the knife from Steinkellner’s limp hand. “It’s a trick knife,” Rush said. “They use them in movies and in magic acts. The blood is in the blade.” He pressed the blade and the center of it retracted, squirting fresh blood onto his finger. “The blood’s made with Karo syrup and food coloring.” He put a finger to his mouth and sucked. “Sweet. Bees don’t drink blood.”
    Walter Trask sat on the deck, stunned. He looked up at his brother as he came on board. “How did you know—?” Walter asked his brother. “How did you know that the knife wasn’t real?”
    Stanley Trask gave his brother a long look. It was clear to Rush that he hadn’t known any such thing.
    â€œI took a calculated risk,” he said calmly.

SIX
    T he Lamborghini came at them on the right, nearly sideswiping them. Amelia flew around in the back seat, trying to keep her balance, loving the thrill of the chase.
    â€œWho are these guys?” Rush asked.
    â€œThem.”
    â€œYeah, but who are they?”
    â€œI never saw them before in my life.”
    â€œThey’re Russian Mafiya,” Rush said, keeping his eye on the road.
    â€œWhat? Come on.”
    â€œThose tats. They’re Russian prison tattoos.”
    â€œWhy do you know that?”
    Rush changed lanes abruptly. “Why are they following you?” he asked.
    â€œThey’re following you ,” Amelia replied.
    What could he say to that? He piloted the GTO across to the exit ramp, careening to avoid a late-model VW. Powering down the ramp, he cursed. TheLamborghini was roaring after him. Side by side, both cars flew through a red light and down Temple Street.
    The GTO peeled off to the left. The Lamborghini skidded as it tried to keep up. Rush tore through a back alley and under the overpass. The Lamborghini righted itself and was speeding to catch up. Rush took a sharp turn into oncoming traffic. Tires squealed and horns blew as cars scattered to get out of the way.
    Amelia took a small object from her back pocket. A computer flash drive. She slipped it into the crease between the back of the seat and the bench for safekeeping. She’d retrieve it later. Amelia was big believer in doing things later.
    The GTO burned up the ramp onto the 110. The Lamborghini tried to follow but misjudged the turn and plowed into the yellow barrels on the median strip in an explosion of plastic splinters and water.
    â€œWhoa!” Amelia exclaimed. “Morphin’ time! Go Pink Ranger!”
    Rush shook his head. “What’s wrong with you?”
    â€œI don’t pay you to ask questions.”
    â€œYou don’t pay me at all. Now, where