PROLOGUE

Samantha inhaled deeply, allowing the breath to cleanse her. As she exhaled, she transitioned slowly from balasana to padmasana— 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 body did mold 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 in padmasana until she felt completely relaxed. Then she bowed and offered the traditional farewell of namaste to 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 Samantha wouldn'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.