Page 87 of Killer Clone

She swallowed, forcing a smile, and pulled open the oven door. The heat rushed out, wrapping around her face. It was fine. More than fine.

Hagen grabbed the oven mitts off the counter before she could. “Here, let me.”

She stepped aside, watching as he pulled the dish out effortlessly. Why did he look so damn confident when she was sweating like a crazy woman?

She followed him into the dining room, edging around Bubs, who barely lifted his head from the rug. The dog had his priorities straight. Hagen had fed him before their guests arrived, hoping a full belly would keep him sleepy and out of the way. So far, it was working.

At the dining table by the window, the entire team was squeezed in, glasses of wine in hand, waiting. The moment Hagen set the steaming lasagna down on the trivet, a loud “Ooooh” filled the room.

Caleb’s mouth dropped open. “You made this, Stella?”

“With my own mediocre hands.” She flexed her fingers, mentally crossing her fingers. “Hey, I’ve got to do something while I’m on administrative leave for the shooting. Anja too.”

“Hey, all I did was buy the Italian bread.” Anja smiled.

“Damn. Hagen, listen to her. She can teach you a few things.” Slade held up his plate like a hopeful starving orphan.

Stella cut a large chunk, thrilled that it didn’t collapse into a soggy mess.

“I always listen to Stella.” Hagen took the seat next to her.

She shot him a look.

He winked at her. “I sometimes listen to Stella.”

She laughed. “Hagen usually does all the cooking. And I always listen to him…as he tells me the history of the dish and how it needs to be prepared, how it should be eaten, and why it just doesn’t taste the same in restaurants.”

Slade took his plate and breathed in the steam rising from the cheese. Stella passed him the bowl of salad as Mac held out her plate.

“Smaller piece, please. Gotta tell you, I still haven’t found a way into that Dispatch group. I’ve compared Trevor McAuley’s phone with devices belonging to Patrick Marrion, Otto Walker, and Maureen King. Looks like they were all members of thesame history group on Dispatch. I would kill to get into that thing.”

Stella would too. “Amen to that. Let’s reach out to Sheriff Deacon and get Maureen King’s phone down here. Then we’ll have one more avenue to dig into.”

“I’ll do that.” Mac passed Stacy the salad.

Stacy took the salad bowl as she waited for her lasagna. “Yeah, I’m trying too. None of the forums know anything about it or any of the social media pages. I’m struggling to get an invitation.”

Slade wasn’t waiting for the others. He dug into the lasagna, shoved a large corner into his mouth, and breathed out heavily. “Hot…hot. But good. Oh, boy, this is good.”

Stella bit back a smile at her SSA’s thumbs-up.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cooked for people. And the last time she’d cooked for people who’d enjoyed what she made was lost even further back in time. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Mm-hmm. I do.” Slade swallowed and sipped his wine. “I talked to your friend this afternoon, the sheriff in Claymore Township.”

Stella wrinkled her nose. She’d hoped she heard the last of him. Sheriff Deacon was no friend of hers. “Did he thank us for finding David Broad’s stolen truck? We just halved his annual caseload for him.”

“He didn’t. But you’re right, he should have. He said he’s been sniffing around, spoke to Trevor McAuley’s parents. Looks like McAuley headed down here as soon as he read you and Hagen worked in Nashville. Then he waited for you like a spider.”

Stella took Caleb’s plate and began to slice.

“Don’t be stingy now.”

Grinning, she added another slice. Caleb was a big guy. He could handle it.

“He came to target us.” She still couldn’t believe it.

“Probably. He could’ve tried taking you down in Claymore, and he didn’t. Maybe he felt the town was too hot after he lost his first partner. Just try to…stay out of the headlines in the future.”

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