Page 41 of Killer Clone

Her face warmed. That was a look she gave him in Claymore Township, in the blissful time since they’d taken down Joel Ramirez. Before all the craziness started.

He smiled. “You look beautiful.”

“You too. But you should probably get dressed.” She laid a hand on his hard chest. “Or not.”

18

Mac had booked the table for nine that evening. Stella and Hagen arrived at the restaurant in Rutledge Hill right on time to find that she was running late, and the table wouldn’t be ready for at least another ten minutes.

They took seats at the bar. Hagen examined the drinks menu while Stella surveyed the venue.

The restaurant was fancy but not stuffy. Tables weren’t hidden under white tablecloths, and there were no candles burning behind romantic red glass intended to produce intimacy. But the napkins were made of cloth not paper. Menus were hidden in leather folders, and the wine list ran for several pages and included varietals Stella had never drunk from countries she didn’t know produced wine.

Nothing here was like the places she and Mac visited when they’d first spent evenings together in Nashville.

In those weeks, they’d drunk cocktails in dive bars just dark enough to give couples at the next table the privacy they needed. They’d eaten in cafés and pizza parlors. The fanciest place they’d visited was a club owned by a friend of Stacy’s. They’dbeen there once for the opening and hadn’t returned. Too many unpleasant associations.

This place was serious and grown-up. And normal.

It was the kind of restaurant normal couples with normal friends frequented.

At one table, two middle-aged couples dug into their shrimp and quail and swordfish and some pasta dish. The men were well-dressed in button-down shirts and neatly trimmed beards. The women wore ironed blouses and had coiffures that had to have cost large sums of money and taken a serious chunk of time out of their day.

Servers passed between the tables in black pants and white shirts. They held wine bottles from the bottom, wiped the rim before they poured, and ensured glasses remained filled throughout the meal. Everything was ordered and neat. All activity took place according to rules and norms that no one who booked a table in that restaurant would ever consider breaking.

The place was only twenty minutes from the bloody scene Stella left a couple of hours ago but a million miles away.

“I’m going to order a bourbon while we wait.” Hagen lowered the drinks menu. “You want your dirty martini?”

“Sure.”

Hagen called the bartender over and placed the order.

He looked so comfortable sitting there at that bar. He’d picked out a silk shirt, dark blue, and wore it with the top two buttons left open despite the cold outside. A sharp crease ran down the legs of his pants, and he’d even changed his shoes. His Italian leather Oxfords gleamed as he perched them on the brass rail.

In this palace of a restaurant, he fit in so naturally and looked gorgeous. If Stella hadn’t known him, if she’d been sitting at that bar when he’d walked in, she wouldn’t havebeen able to take her eyes off him. She might’ve assumed that someone who took that much care in his appearance spent too long in front of a mirror. But the time had been well spent.

She tugged at the front of her knit dress. A thread had come loose on her hip, leaving a small hole in the wool. She tried to push it back and hoped Hagen wouldn’t notice.

Their drinks arrived. Hagen lifted his glass. The ice clinked. He sipped. She raised hers, and he looked into her eyes.

“You really are beautiful.”

It was just what she needed to hear.

Whatever doubts she’d harbored as they’d sat at that bar melted. She might not have fit into that restaurant the way Hagen did, but she fit with Hagen, and that was all that mattered.

Her hand on his thigh, she leaned across the gap between the barstools and kissed him. The ice that had touched his lip was cold on hers, but the taste of bourbon warmed her.

“So sorry we’re late.” Mac’s voice came from behind them. “I see you’ve started on the drinks. That’s cheating.”

Mac was still tugging at the belt of her coat. She greeted Stella with a hug, though only a few hours had passed since they’d last seen each other.

“And this is Werner.” She turned to the man beside her. “Werner, this is Stella and Hagen.”

Werner’s handshake was firm without being overly hard.

Stella liked what she saw.

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