Run (The Tesla Effect #2) (18 page)

Tesla sat upright, wedged tightly between Keisha and Malcolm on the window seat, her hands clasped together in her lap. She felt uncomfortable, but it seemed due to the fact that she felt this was
supposed
to be upsetting, rather than that it actually was. Perhaps, she reasoned, because her mother’s death, and having to imagine the violence of it, was nothing new. “I’m not surprised,” she said, eyes on the hands she was twisting in her lap. “He can barely talk about it, even now. I doubt he could have handled that, and what would it have changed, anyway?”

“That does make sense. But there is one other item we need to put on the table,” Finn said, his eyes still locked on Tesla. He felt her discomfort, but was reassured that she didn’t seem to be wracked by grief. He noted, fleetingly, that having some understanding of the effects of the entanglement he shared with Tesla made them much easier to bear—he was aware that the new, unexplained and often conflicted feelings that coursed through him were not his own, but rather the product of some enhanced empathy with her. It was amazing how interesting—and, frankly, kind of
cool
it all was—once it wasn’t freaking him out by making him feel like a crazy person.

He sensed her anxious anticipation and went on with the piece of information he and Bizzy had agreed they could share, because it was potentially so important to the task they had agreed on: figuring out how Greg Abbott and Jane Doane were mixed up in what happened on that dark road the night Tasya Petrova died.

“This could mean anything or nothing,” he said as a preamble. “It’s important that we not jump to conclusions. The initial call to 911 about the accident came from Jane Doane, who at that time was a brand new agent, and happened upon the scene.”

Several sounds were made at once: Bizzy, who already knew this, exhaled through her nose audibly at the exact moment that Beckett, her eyes narrowed suspiciously, said, “What?”

Joley whistled once, softly, and then—silence, as all eyes turned to Tesla.

“There’s more,” Finn said quickly, before she had a chance to respond. “One more piece that everyone should know. Tesla, your dad was at the scene, too, when the ambulance and the police arrived.”

Tesla blinked once, before comprehension dawned. “My dad was there?” she asked, finally.

Finn nodded. “He was out walking—the accident happened on Pinewood Lane, very close to your old house.”

Tesla’s face went white—whiter—and Finn felt the grief he’d been so relieved only a moment ago to find absent in her. Thinking of her father being there, seeing the accident, watching the car burn, unable to save his wife—it was too much.

“No wonder he said no to an autopsy,” she whispered. “How much could one person be expected to take?”

Finally, Keisha spoke, but only after she’d untangled Tesla’s hands and taken one of them in her own. “T, I’ve seen Max, and your dad, too. Just a quick visit to say hi, see how they were holding up since you jumped,” she added quickly, noting out of the corner of her eye that Beckett had stirred restlessly. “I haven’t seen anything suspicious, or anything to make you worry about either of them.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen them both in town—yesterday at the coffee shop. Which makes sense, right?” Malcolm asked. “I mean, they’re practically family, they’re involved pretty heavily in security over his work—and of course Tesla used the time machine again, they both have to be pretty freaked out about that.”

Tesla was nodding. “Yeah, of course they’d be talking. That doesn’t seem like anything to me. But you guys, I don’t want them to know I’m back yet.”

Sam looked up. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Doesn’t your dad know you’re back already?”

Finn said nothing, and his eyes never left Tesla’s face. She did not blush, or look away from Sam, maybe figuring that since everyone else in the room already knew, she might just as well get it over with and tell Sam herself.

“No, Sam, he doesn’t know. I stayed here last night.”

Sam looked at her then, really looked at her, and noted that she still had the jeans on that she’d borrowed from him yesterday—yesterday, eight years ago—but the T-shirt and flannel button-down were gone, replaced by a too-large long-sleeved shirt. A man’s shirt that was not his.

“I see,” he said, and his voice made it clear that he did.

Finn would not look at him, not in triumph, certainly not in sympathy—there was no point in being cruel.

“I don’t want him to know I’m here because I’m going to jump back again.”

“I could go to your house and get some things for you before tonight,” Keisha offered helpfully. “You might want some clothes that fit. Or, you know, something that doesn’t scream, ‘walk of shame.’”

“She doesn’t have time for that,” said Sam quietly, his eyes still on Tesla’s face.

“What do you mean?” asked Finn, sharper than he had intended.

“She’s not waiting until tonight,” said Sam, and it was such a simple statement of fact that no one doubted it.

“How do you know?” Finn asked.

“Because he doesn’t remember it,” said Tesla, the apology in her voice and her eyes for the decision she had made to go back, to go to the scene of her mother’s accident, to witness what actually happened, and to do it all without the younger Sam’s knowledge or assistance.

CHAPTER 21

When Tesla came out of the bathroom where she’d showered the night before, a towel still wrapped around her wet hair and another around her body, Beckett was in the hallway waiting for her.

“Look, you might as well borrow some of my stuff,” the blonde said matter-of-factly. “If you keep wearing their clothes, one of them will eventually kill the other one. Plus, I can’t bear to look at you anymore in these dumpy get-ups.”

“Beckett, wearing their clothes—it’s not really like that,” Tesla protested, but dutifully followed the older girl to the room everyone had vacated after their meeting.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Beckett’s smug reply floated back to her.

Beckett stood aside to let Tesla precede her into the room, where Keisha sat on the window seat looking through a magazine. Vaguely aware that Beckett had shut the door behind her, Tesla stood stock still in surprise.

“Keisha? I didn’t expect you to be here,” she said, pretending to search the thick, cream-colored carpet. “Has any blood been spilled yet?”

“Hilarious,” said Keisha, barely looking up from her magazine, but finally tossing it onto the seat beside her. “Seriously, Beckett,
Guns & Ammo
and
Soldier of Fortune
? No
Cosmo
or
Wired
? And please,
The Atlantic
should be read by everyone. I must say, I’m disappointed.”

“I’m sure it won’t be the last time,” Beckett replied cheerfully from inside her closet.

Tesla looked at Keisha, surprised and curious. Keisha shrugged. “What can I say? I guess everyone comes to love me eventually.”

“I think ‘tolerate’ is the word you’re looking for,” said Beckett as she emerged from her closet.

Tesla put her hand over her heart, feigning weakness. “Oh, thank God, Beckett, I thought we might have to call the paramedics. You were dangerously low on your Mean-Girl vibe there for a minute.”

Keisha laughed, and Beckett nodded once with a brief smile, giving Tesla credit for that one.

“Okay, this isn’t exactly a slumber party,” Beckett said, getting back to business. You said you were leaving soon, and you’re going to be traipsing around in the woods tonight, right? Your mom…the accident happens late tonight, and you still intend to be there?”

When Tesla nodded, Beckett continued. “Okay. This isn’t about fashion, it’s about practicality, so I don’t want to hear any of your stupid complaints about the clothes more attractive people think you should wear.”

“I’ve been saying that for years,” said Keisha.

“Hey, I’m right here,” Tesla said. “Is all of the bonding between you two going to be based on insulting me? Because I have feelings.”

“Yes, it is. And yes, you do, just no sense of style,” Keisha pointed out, not unkindly.

“
Any
way,” Beckett interrupted. “Baggy clothes will catch on branches and whatever other crap is out there in nature. No flappy fabric, no wide-leg pants, no clunky boots. You want sleek, sturdy fabric that hugs your body and won’t catch or tear. You want dark colors—you actually can do without a hat since you colored that neon hair of yours. Basically, you want performance clothing for outdoor athletic activity. You have to be able to move.”

“What are you, an ad for
Patagonia
?” Keisha muttered.

Beckett ignored her. “I know what I’m talking about here. I know how to travel, and I know how to move quickly, and I know how to choose clothes that don’t hinder me in, well, whatever I might have to do.”

Keisha snorted. “Please. You make it sound like you’re a world-class assassin.”

Beckett merely looked back at her, a placid smile on her face, and said nothing.

Tesla started to laugh, then changed her mind and cleared her throat instead.

“So, what did you have in mind, exactly?”

“We’re close to the same size,” Beckett said briskly. “You’re maybe an inch taller and your hips are a little narrower.”

“I’m actually two-point-seven-five inches taller than you,” Tesla corrected her. “And my hips are—”

“Oh my god, Tesla, I don’t care. How can you bear your own Agent Smith-self?”

Tesla frowned, thoroughly puzzled.

“Agent Smith? Neo?” Beckett prodded. “The one time I find a use for Joley’s font of useless sci-fi factoids… Whatever. What size shoe do you wear?”

“Um, seven and a half,” Tesla mumbled, feeling like she was being swept along, outfitted for some stealth mission that she hadn’t yet thought through.

“We’re in luck, then,” said Beckett, ducking back into her closet.

Keisha and Tesla heard shoes hitting the interior wall of the closet, and then Beckett emerged, a triumphant grin stretching her mouth wide and her arms full of clothes, with a pair of all-terrain, lightweight hiking shoes balanced on top.

Beckett walked over to the bed and dumped the pile unceremoniously on the bed. “I’ve got everything you need,” she said with absolute confidence. “Heavy spandex running pants—it’s going to be cold out there—a long-sleeved performance running shirt that wicks and zips up the front to a mock turtleneck for warmth and airflow. A microfleece vest over that, socks and shoes.”

“And my messenger bag,” Tesla added, feeling the need to have something of her own on the trip.

“Suit yourself,” Beckett said, rolling her eyes. “But you might want to consider leaving it behind when you go sneaking around through the woods, at least—that eyesore is going to be worse than bell bottoms for getting caught on stuff.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Keisha asked.

“Nothing,” Tesla mumbled, grabbing up the clothes, clutching them to her chest and scurrying into Beckett’s bathroom to change.

“Aw. She’s shy,” Beckett said, and Tesla heard Keisha laugh just before she shut the door a little harder than necessary.

Tesla dropped her towel in Beckett’s pristine silver-and-white bathroom that seemed at the moment to be all mirrors, just as Beckett opened the door and tossed something at her. Tesla caught it, on instinct, which meant she had nothing with which to even attempt to cover herself.

Beckett tilted her head to the side, just a little, as she briefly assessed the mortified girl. “Not bad,” she grudgingly admitted. “Though you’re a little boyish with those narrow hips. You really should let me shop with you. You’d look a lot better.” She glanced pointedly at the wadded up fabric Tesla held in her hands. “Underwear—and a sports bra, which I wasn’t sure you would need, but turns out, you’re a girl after all.”

“Dude!” Tesla said, but her protest was drowned out by the sound of Keisha cracking up as Beckett shut the door again.

When Tesla emerged, with all but the fleece jacket on, and her long wet hair finger-combed so it would be less tangled when the curls began to tighten up, Keisha and Beckett were sitting on the bed, talking quietly, though they stopped the moment Tesla appeared.

“Good,” said Beckett, eyeing her up and down. “I approve. Of course none of this is your doing, so I’m really just approving of myself.” Sensing Keisha’s slight movement to her left, she hastened to add, “And of course the ‘help’ I had from you, Keisha.”

“Seriously? You had to do finger quotes?”

Tesla saw the warning flash of Keisha’s dark eyes and quickly stepped into the breach. “Yeah, everything fits, and of course you’re right about traveling through the woods at night, and keeping warm and all.”

“How do the shoes fit?” Beckett asked.

“Good—perfectly, really. I’ve never worn anything like them, it’s like they’re a cross between summer hiking shoes and a mid-weight running shoe.”

“Exactly,” Beckett agreed. “They weigh very little, but the sole is thick and deeply etched on the bottom for gripping in a variety of conditions, and there’s more ankle-support than you’d find in a typical street-running shoe, in case of uneven terrain.”

Tesla bounced a little on her toes, feeling the shoes. “I like them.”

“Yeah, and Finn will like you in that outfit,” Keisha said with a comical leer.

“Gross,” said Beckett. “Let’s not pull my outfit into that hot mess.”

“Do you guys mind?” Tesla asked. “At least have the decency to wait until I’m out of the room before you gossip about my sex life.”

“Was there sex?” Keisha asked, suddenly on high alert. “Details, T.”

Even Beckett was looking at her expectantly, but all Tesla could do was assure them, in a rush of words accompanied by her face turning positively fuchsia, “Oh my God, you guys—shut up! There was no sex, okay?”

Keisha and Beckett both laughed, thoroughly enjoying her discomfort, never realizing that they missed her mumbled afterthought, and thus the torture they could have put her through had they heard it.

“
Yet
,” said Tesla under her breath as she turned to look at herself in the mirror. Then, louder, “Which one of you’s gonna braid my hair? If anything would get caught on nature’s woodsy crap it’d be this mop.”