“Yep, see, blocks are fine,” he said, taking my arm and smacking it solidly into his palm. “But it takes a lot of energy away from your next offensive move. Not to mention, it hurts. You evade”—he bent at the knees and moved side to side, like he was ducking under something—“and your opponent is the only one expending energy. You’ve thrown him off by not being where he thinks you’re going to be. He can’t even figure out where to punch next, and he’s off balance. It is almost impossible to beat someone who is evading you. If they’re good at it, that is. Let’s try it again. I’m going to attack you slowly.”

He began throwing slow-motion punches and kicks, and I swerved and bobbed and swiveled and shifted, at first too slow and getting hit anyway, but eventually getting better. Gunner was mostly punching air, even at moderate speed.

But all I could think about was Dad. He had been evading me for over ten years. It was going to be impossible to beat him as long as I kept letting him duck out of the way. He was throwing me off by never being where I thought he would be.

In other words, I’d put it off long enough. I had to listen to those tapes.

I DIDN’T WASTE any time when I got home. I was pretty sure Dad was out for the day, doing some freelance work for a travel magazine, but what I didn’t know was when he’d left or how long exactly he would be gone.

But what Gunner had said had made so much sense. Dad was evading. And I was done letting it throw me off balance.

I went straight up to my room and dug the manila envelope Chris had given me out of my desk drawer. I shook the tapes onto my desk. At first, all I could do was stare at them. I reached out to touch one, but my fingers shook slightly, almost like I was afraid.

No, Nikki. You have been afraid of too many things for too long. Time to step up. They’re tapes. What’s the big deal?

Oh, I could just find out that my dad killed my mom. No big deal there.

Still, I had to know.