A Killer Retreat by Tracy Weber

clothing-optional hot tubs. I rolled out my mat and began a completely dressed yoga practice.
    I sat on the floor, closed my eyes, and deepened my breath. Tension and irritation melted away with each exhale. My jaw unclenched; my fingers relaxed; my shoulders dropped down from my ears.
    Several minutes later, I started moving. The injuries to my shoulder—sustained while struggling with my friend’s murderer six months before—had finally healed, so I indulged in a strong flow practice designed to burn off excess adrenaline.
    I began with several Sun Salutations. The first repetition felt jagged and stiff, but by the third, my breath sounded smooth, regular, stable, and strong. My muscles burned in the most delicious of ways as I moved from Downward Dog, to Plank, to the core-strengthening Chaturanga.
    On to some Half Squats to let my thighs join the party. Sweat formed along the back of my neck and dripped down my sides. My quadriceps, hips, hamstrings—even my glutes—quivered in delight-filled torture.
    I opened my shoulders in Bridge Pose and turned my body upside down with a short stay in Shoulder Stand. A few counterposes later, I finished with a breath practice designed to balance energy. I lengthened my inhale and exhale for several breaths, then broke each into halves, pausing for several seconds in the middle. This official name for this practice was Krama Pranayama, but I called it Lithium Breathing. Like the medicine for bipolar disorder, Lithium Breathing helped balance my energy, whether it was agitated or depressed.
    The practice was exactly what I needed to calm my nervous system. The glass of merlot I drank afterwards didn’t hurt, either. I didn’t normally drink before lunch, but given the morning’s events, I figured a little liquid tranquilization wasn’t uncalled for. Besides, everyone knew grape juice was brimming with antioxidants; mine was simply the fermented variety.
    By the time I finished sipping the last velvety, plum-scented dregs from my glass, my energy was completely sattvic: relaxed and alert.
    When Michael returned to the cabin, he found me curled up on the sofa bed, pen and clipboard in hand, deep into planning the next day’s classes. He sported a huge smile. His whole body seemed relaxed; his face flushed and vital.
    My energy went from tranquil to hyperaroused in three seconds flat. Michael looked good. Really good. Was his change in demeanor due to the hot tub’s rejuvenating bubbles or to the nubile, naked young bodies he’d shared it with? Jealousy prickled the back of my neck.
    I jumped up and chattered, trying to act nonchalant. “I’m glad you’re back. We should probably get going.” I looked at my watch. “It’s almost one, and we have dinner reservations at six.” I picked up my purse, still babbling. “Let’s go to Eastsound, eat some lunch, and buy Bella a crate. If we hurry, we can check out one of those hiking trails you keep talking about.”
    Michael wasn’t fooled. He eased in close and ran his fingertips down my arm. “Hiking’s overrated.” He nuzzled the back of my neck. “We have plenty of time to get Bella that crate. I had a different activity in mind …”
    I could take a hint.
    I grabbed Michael’s arm and led him toward the bedroom. He leaned in to give me a long, slow kiss and—
    Bella erupted.
    She leaped from her comfy sun puddle and charged the door. She jumped, scratched, foamed, barked, and growled. Axe-wielding psychopaths had better take note: guard dog Bella was on the job.
    Michael pulled back and groaned. Somehow I didn’t think the sound was from pleasure.
    I shrugged. “Someone’s at the door.”
    â€œYou think?”
    Michael waited at the door while I dragged the clawing, frothing monster-beast away and locked her in the bathroom.
    A voice yelled over the clamor.
    â€œOpen up in there!