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PROLOGUE
Samantha inhaled deeply, allowing the breath to cleanse her. As she exhaled, she transitioned slowly frombalasanatopadmasana—child’s pose to lotus pose. In her class, she used the English names, but at home, she preferred the Sanskrit titles. The language flowed so beautifully compared to English.
She closed her eyes and rested her hands on her knees, palms up. She didn’t believe in the metaphysical benefits of meditation or the spiritual associations with the chakras, but there was no denying the physiological benefits of the chant and the calm that came with focusing completely on her body and mind in the present moment.
She hummed the chant, and it seemed as though her bodydidmold with the universe and become one. She smiled softly—technically a mistake. Strict practice would call for her to divorce herself from emotion and simply be. But Samantha wasn’t strict. She wasn’t looking to be a guru like Irma or Kelly, the other daytime instructors at Lake Yoga. She was perfectly content to help people discover the beauty and grace of their own bodies.
She remained inpadmasanauntil she felt completely relaxed. Then she bowed and offered the traditional farewell ofnamasteto no one. Well, to herself. She stood and began to prepare dinner. Tonight was a green salad with chickpeas, walnuts and dates seasoned with a mild rosemary vinaigrette. Her culinary instructor would probably die if he saw what she was eating, but Samantha had given cooking up years ago.
She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “What’s with all the animosity today, Sam? Irma, Kelly, and now Chef Hoisin? I think you need more meditation.”
She finished the salad and sat in front of the TV. They were playing her favorite romcom tonight, and while Samanthawouldn't allow herself the glass of wine and bowl of ice cream that such an occasion demanded, she would allow herself to wistfully pine after the male lead, a drop-dead gorgeous man who really deserved better than the whiny, selfish girl who just needed to get over the fact that her sister was more successful than she was already.
She wondered how Giacomo would react if he knew that Samantha was fantasizing about an actor in a romcom. He’d probably get all pouty and jealous. She liked Giacomo, but he could be so dumb sometimes.
“He’s just got some growing to do,” she said to herself. “But it’s not like we’re married. We’ll take our time, and if he—”
A loud thump jarred Samantha from her thoughts. The mystery of what Giacomo needed to do or refrain from was left unanswered. She stilled and listened intently for a repeat of the noise. One thing yoga had succeeded at was driving fear from her mind, but she was still a woman living alone, and it seemed like every week, some new maniac popped up somewhere targeting women.
She didn’t hear anything for a while, and finally relaxed. “That’s okay, Sam. It’s just—”
A hand clamped down over her mouth. She didn’t have time to fight before another hand grasped the back of her head and twisted viciously. She heard the snap of her spine severing, then everything went black.
CHAPTER ONE
Special Agent Faith Bold’s heart pounded as she took a seat in the swiveling office chair, silently declining the futon. She hoped she wasn’t sweating as much as she felt like she was.
Dr. Susan Perth didn’t seem to notice Faith’s anxiety, but Faith was certain that she did. She was paid to know when people were anxious, so there was no way she couldn’t see Faith’s nervousness.
Turk watched Dr. Perth warily, sensing Faith’s concern. Faith smiled at the dog, but it must not have been a very convincing smile because Turk only stared harder at the psychologist.
“I can allow Turk to sit in on this session,” Dr. Perth said, “but in future sessions, he will have to be left home.”
She had a soft British accent and a matronly demeanor that Faith liked. She very much didnotlike the idea of leaving Turk at home. “Can he come for a while? I’ve… well, I didn’t really have a good experience the last time I was in therapy.”
The last time Faith was in therapy, her doctor was one Franklin West, known now to Faith and the world as the Copycat Killer, the vicious and prolific serial killer who had far surpassed his idol, the original Donkey Killer, Jethro Trammell.
Ironically, Faith was in therapy because of injuries she sustained at the hands of the Donkey Killer. Learning that her trusted doctor was the more dangerous disciple of the killer who had nearly taken her life had left her wary of therapists and therapy in general.
But she was trying. At the Boss’s insistence, and David’s and Michael’s encouragement, she was trying.
“I understand that,” Dr. Perth said, “I’ll allow him to attend for a few more sessions. But wemustreach a point where you arecomfortable without him. I understand that he’s only a dog, but I don’t think you’ll be entirely honest with me in front of him.”
Faith frowned. “He’s notonlya dog.” Dr. Perth simply regarded her with a patient smile, and Faith sighed. “Which is exactly your point. Okay. But not yet.”
“Not yet,” Dr. Perth agreed. “As this is our first session, we’ll keep things casual. I’ll focus on getting to know you and learning how I can best serve you as your doctor.”
“That works for me,” Faith said.
“Good. Why don’t we start with you telling me what you hope to gain from therapy?”
Faith sighed. “Well, getting people off of my back would be nice.”
“Do you feel you’re being pressured to take therapy?”
“No, not exactly. Just…”
The Boss’s words of the week prior came to mind.“This isn’t a request, Faith. The brass is up my ass about sending you to a desk. If we want to avoid that, we need to show that you’re following the rules. Skirting counseling has to stop.”
