A Killer Retreat Read Online Free PDF Page A

minute.” I bit my lower lip. “Do you think I should be worried?”
    â€œAnyone can get the stomach flu, Kate. You’d just be stressing out over nothing.” He paused a beat. “But then again, when has that ever stopped you?” He grinned and scooted away before I could hit him with one of the couch’s throw pillows.
    Michael meant well, but he didn’t know Rene—not the way I did. Rene’s stomach was tougher than mummified shoe leather. In the eighteen years she and I had been friends, Rene had never missed a meal. And she lived for the opportunity to make my life miserable. Forgoing a week-long vacation with nothing better to do than torture me? She’d have to be terminal.
    â€œI don’t know, Michael. Rene never gets sick. I hope she doesn’t have something serious.”
    â€œDon’t worry. She’ll be back on her feet in no time.” Michael took my hand, led me to the bedroom, and sat on the edge of the sagging mattress. The springs let out a world-worn, metallic moan. “Besides, we could use a little alone time.” He flashed a crooked smile.
    Affection tickled the pit of my throat. A more urgent sensation pulsated quite a bit lower. I leaned in and gave Michael a long, meaningful kiss. I might not be ready to make a baby with Michael—or anyone else for that matter. But that didn’t mean we shouldn’t practice, practice, practice.
    _____
    A loud crash jolted me upright. “What was that?” I fumbled around in the darkness and flipped on the reading lamp.
    Michael covered his eyes with his forearms and groaned. “It’s just some thunder, Kate. Turn off the light and go back to sleep.”
    Fat chance of that.
    My heart hammered in my chest, beating an out-of-synch rhythm with the rain pelting the roof. I glanced at my watch. Three-fifteen. It could be a very long night. Thunderstorms didn’t often declare war on the Pacific Northwest, but when they invaded, they made a statement. A flash of light whitened the room, followed by more deep, rolling thunder.
    Michael sat up next to me. “Where’s Bella?”
    I found her in the bathroom, hiding behind the commode. Saying Bella didn’t like loud noises would have been the world’s biggest understatement. She had cowered behind my bed every night for a week after the Fourth of July, even on the maximum dose of Xanax. Next year I planned to double the prescription and take it myself. At least then one of us would get some sleep.
    With Bella’s vet 120 miles away in Seattle, neither of us would find chemical relief tonight. Bella panted and shivered and whined and cowered. Drool dripped from her jaw. Her glassy eyes opened wide, displaying the whites around her irises.
    â€œCome here, girl,” I said, murmuring softly. “It’s OK.”
    Bella slinked uncertainly toward me, head hung low. I lightly grabbed the loose skin between her shoulder blades and guided her back to the bedroom. “Come and sleep on the bed with Michael and—”
    A jarring bang shook the room, obliterating the rest of my sentence. Bella flew to the bed, but rather than jump on top of it as I had suggested, she tried to squeeze her hundred-pound body into the two-inch space underneath it. Failing at that, she scrambled around the room, looking for any space that might provide shelter: Michael’s suitcase, the closet, even under the dresser.
    I tried to restrain her, but she struggled against my grasp. I leaned down and whispered into her trembling ears. “Bella, relax. It’s just a thunderstorm.”
    Bella responded by coldcocking me. She bashed her skull into my jaw. My teeth cracked together. My head flew back. Pain jolted my brain like a cattle prod, transforming worry into misplaced anger.
    â€œKnock it off!” I bellowed. I grabbed the scruff on either side of her neck, placed my face an inch from her nose, and glared directly into her