Run (The Tesla Effect #2) Read Online Free Page B

she was okay with guns when it was Beckett who had been shot the previous summer. It seemed much more reasonable that she would be the one to avoid guns, not Tesla. But Beckett had merely shrugged and told Tesla that she intended to become a world-class markswoman precisely because she’d been shot. It didn’t make sense to Tesla, but there it was.
    When the others went to the range, Tesla worked with her hands, instead. She had found it hilarious that her instructor was a retired circus performer, but only until she had seen what the woman could do with a set of throwing knives. Tesla could juggle, throw, catch, and put a spin on just about anything she was strong enough to lift off the ground, and—of course—her aim was perfection.
    Finally refreshed after the intensity of the afternoon’s workout, Tesla wandered downstairs for a drink, her hair still wet from the shower. She had almost two hours to kill before she had to meet Sam at the movies. It was, technically, a date, but they weren’t “dating.” She’d made that clear to Sam a long time ago, told him they needed to be friends first, and he was pretty good about it—he hadn’t even tried to kiss her again since that time at his house last summer when her dad was still missing. Still, she felt like she had to keep her guard up—he was intense and pretty straightforward about his feelings and, well, who wouldn’t like that? She was flattered, as well as tempted; the guy was undeniably attractive.
    The backdoor opened as Tesla’s head was buried in the refrigerator, and she felt her body tense involuntarily. By the time she emerged, her expression was carefully blank, and she turned to face her father.
    “Hey, Dad.”
    “Hi, honey.” He put his briefcase and keys on the kitchen counter by the door, then his eyes widened as he registered what she wore. “Where did you get that shirt?” he asked abruptly.
    Tesla was surprised. “This? I found it in one of those old boxes in the attic—you know, Mom’s stuff.”
    “I don’t want you snooping around in her things.” He was agitated, inexplicably angry, and Tesla was immediately angry in return.
    “ Snooping around in her things ?” she repeated, incredulous. “She wasn’t just your wife, you know. She was my mom. I have a right to see her things—which is the only way I can get a sense of who she was, since you won’t talk about her.”
    “Tesla, I just don’t want—these things will stir up painful memories for you,” he said, but his careful, reasoning tone infuriated her, like she was a mental patient or something and needed to be handled .
    Her anger—and something much, much uglier—immediately rose to the surface. “Oh, of course, if we don’t talk about her and she’s just a big blank spot in my mind I obviously won’t be pained by the fact that I don’t have a mom. Thanks for sparing me that.”
    “Look, of course I know you’ve suffered a loss, you and Max both, but your sarcasm doesn’t help. I haven’t been through all those things myself and I’m not sure what’s in there. That’s all I meant. I don’t think you need any more…surprises.”
    “Surprises—are you kidding me?? Anything beyond the color of her eyes is going to be a surprise since I have so few memories of her—which is another thing that doesn’t make any sense. People remember stuff from when they were five, six years old—lots of people. I’ve got nothing but some crappy old T-shirt she liked a million years ago, and I can’t even have that??”
    “That’s not what I meant,” her father snapped.
    “Isn’t it?” Tesla felt her heart race. She felt both fear and anger, and the toxic result of that particular combination was absolute recklessness. “What are you afraid of? What do you think I might find—some indication of how she actually died?”
    A beat passed, and then another as they stared at each other, shocked.
    “What did you say?” Greg Abbott whispered.
    A part of Tesla