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Stella inhaled deeply, trying to slow her racing heart. She’d checked the oven three times already, but her stomach still twisted with doubt.

It looked right—bubbly cheese, golden edges, the rich scent of tomato and herbs filling the kitchen—but what if something had gone wrong? Could you burn lasagna? Probably. If anyone could, it was her.

Her mouth was dry. Her heart thumped too fast for something as simple as dinner.

Hagen must have noticed, because he brushed a kiss against her ear. “Smells great.”

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 the same 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.”

Hagen poured her a glass of wine. Ander had brought the bottle, and Stella could tell from Hagen’s expression that the choice did not impress him. He’d drink it anyway, out of respect. “We’ll do our best. But the paparazzi…they’re everywhere.”

Stella sipped her wine. The grapes were more dry than sweet and did little to drown the ache in her stomach.

Slade waved his fork. A piece of cheese fell onto his plate. He looked very grateful for the chance to be out of the house in the evening and enjoying a social event with his team.

“Let’s be content knowing we caught the bad guy. He won’t be carving up any more victims. You two were in an unlucky situation. But if you both hadn’t been on leave, Maureen King and Trevor McAuley would still be up in Pennsylvania, killing their way through Claymore Township. It’s thanks to you we’ve wrapped this up.”

He raised his glass. The others did the same, and Stella’s cheeks warmed. She didn’t want attention from the media, and she didn’t want attention from her colleagues either. She was only doing her job.

Besides, there was another problem they had to consider. “I’m not sure this case is wrapped up. We still don’t know who’s giving the orders on the Dispatch group.” It was hard not to shoot a pointed look at Anja, but she managed. “For all we know, they could recruit other criminals and strike again.”

Slade rubbed his eyes, and Stella hoped he didn’t get oregano in any sensitive areas. “That’s true. But I think we can leave that until tomorrow.”

Hell yeah.

They ate and drank and laughed. The compliments on her cooking resumed. Hagen’s arm lay across the chair, and he ate heartily, only occasionally turning to flash her a little smile.

The lasagna was good.

She’d buried the takeout containers from the local Italian restaurant deep in the trash, making sure they were out of sight. Hopefully, the mystery of how Stella had become such a talented chef would be one mystery even Hagen Yates would never solve.

While Stella indulged in layers of cheesy goodness—made extra special by chef subterfuge—Slade’s phone chimed. Everyone stopped chattering and focused on their boss. When he saw all eyes on him, Slade waved at the meal. “Keep going, nosies.”

He rose and headed into the living room. But he was back within twenty seconds. He gave Stella a weary smile. “You just had to call it, huh?”

Stella’s confusion mixed with a small jolt of adrenaline. Something had happened.

“Everyone listen up.” Slade put his phone on speaker. “Jack, repeat what you just told me. My team’s here.”

“This is Supervisory Special Agent Jack McHenry. I’m based out of New York, and I’m reaching out because there seems to be a string of copycats to your most recent case. Right now, I have three confirmed murders involving cuneiform and exsanguination. One in Omaha, one in Stanley, Wisconsin, and one here in New York.”

The silence in the room made Stella’s ears buzz. She set her fork down. Her appetite vanished.

“This is Agent Stella Knox. Are you sure, Agent McHenry?”

“I’m sending the files now. You tell me.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for them.” Slade disconnected.

Stella wiped her sweaty hands on her lap. She’d known someone was behind Trevor’s actions. She’d known the case wasn’t closed.

But she hadn’t expected such a slaughter.

Across the table, Slade looked as pale as she felt. He slipped his phone into his pocket, exhaling slowly. “Looks like McAuley wasn’t as special as he thought. Someone out there’s picking up where he left off.”

Stella’s stomach twisted. A killer clone.

Slade pushed back his chair. “Time to get back to work.”

The End.

To Be Continued…