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Only one aspect of Hagen’s relationship with Stella still made him uncomfortable.

He’d grown used to the fact that she was a lot messier than he was. He now picked up her clothes from the bedroom floor and tossed them into the laundry without complaints or snide remarks.

And true, her aquarium had reduced his counter space in the kitchen. But he’d grown to like Scoot and sometimes talked to the fish when he was cooking alone, though he’d never admit that to Stella.

Even Stella’s willingness to eat anything that wouldn’t kill her just meant he had a more appreciative audience for his own culinary creations.

But the walk together into the shared office at the Nashville FBI Resident Agency always made him squirm.

There was something too cozy about it, as though they were the kind of couple that had to do everything together. Even work. Even drive to work. Even sit at the same line of desks in the same open office.

He’d always been independent, ever since the death of his father. These days, as they walked down the hallway of the Bureau, Hagen felt as though everyone was looking at him, judging him, seeing him as dependent.

He’d just have to get used to it.

They hadn’t taken two steps into the office when Special Agent Anja Farrow nearly bumped into them.

Anja was new. She’d recently transferred to Nashville from San Francisco, where Hagen had also served. They’d had a fling in the short time their paths overlapped, and Anja did little to hide the fact she wished it hadn’t ended.

She stopped short.

“Oh, hey, Hagen! And Stella. Of course. Morning. By the way, Slade wants to see the entire team in five minutes in the meeting room. I’m headed there now.” She turned sideways to let them pass.

Stella wished her a good morning and headed to her desk.

As Hagen followed, Anja jabbed him in the arm with her finger. “Hey, guess who I spoke to last night.”

The names of the people they shared an office with flashed through Hagen’s mind.

Ander Bennett. Stella’s best friend at work, Mackenzie Drake, who had her own room for her cyber sleuthing.

Caleb Hudson, who usually worked on white-collar crime, and Stacy Lark, the newest team member before Anja.

He even thought of their boss, SSA Paul Slade, but doubted that she’d have boasted about the text he’d sent to the entire group.

“I’m guessing…the delivery guy who brought your dinner.”

“No. I mean, yes, obviously. All out of leftovers and couldn’t be bothered to cook again. But no. I had a chat with Gregory Wynne. You remember Greg from the San Fran office? Big guy. Big beard.”

Hagen remembered Greg. They’d downed a few beers together in the Mission from time to time and bonded over their mutual ability to launch pickup lines that never failed. Greg was a name from another life.

“Sure. How’s he doing?”

“Good. He ran into your ex, Madi Keneke, in Haight-Ashbury the other day.” Anja smiled. “Said she was looking good.”

Hagen glanced at Stella. She was across the bullpen, taking her coat off by her desk and not listening to their conversation. Even if she’d heard, he doubted she’d have minded too much. Hagen found the reminders from his past irritating, but Stella seemed to think they were amusing.

“I’m sure she did look good. I have great taste.” He brushed past Anja and headed for his seat in the corner behind Stella’s as Slade strode down the hall from his office.

Their boss was in his mid-forties with a head of mostly gray hair that added a decade to his years. The job had probably done most of that work. The man never looked well-rested, and this morning was no different.

“Right on time.” Slade glanced at Hagen and Stella. “The others are waiting in the meeting room. Come and join us.”

Hagen dropped his things by his desk and followed their boss, with Stella right behind him.

Slade was already seated when they reached the meeting room, and so were Ander, Mac, Caleb, Stacy, and Anja. Hagen and Stella quickly took their seats. Slade placed his fingertips on the edge of the table, inches from the file he’d brought in.

The screen behind him showed a picture of a large house. One side of the building was burned badly, with a gaping hole where part of the roof should’ve been.

Hagen was surprised. He’d been anticipating more symbols carved into skin, not a house with a crater in it.

Apparently, Stella was also taken aback. “Are our copycats blowing up houses now? ”

Slade cut her a look. “I sort of miss you raising your hand.” He gestured to the photo. “New case. Priority. There was a fire in a house in Ravensdale late Friday night.”

Anja lifted a finger. “Where’s that?”

“Affluent neighborhood west of the city.” Caleb’s voice was a growl. “Probably half my financial fraud cases come from people in Ravensdale. Keeps me in business.”

“Thank you, Caleb.” Slade pulled a remote control from his pocket and pushed a button.

The screen changed to show a young woman with a pale complexion made paler by her jet-black hair, dark eyeliner, and lush mascara on what might’ve been fake eyelashes.

She sat at a table outside a bar, a glass of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

As the photographer had snapped the shot, she’d made a face and stuck out her tongue.

“That’s right. Big house, big fire. No one was hurt.

But here’s the thing. Owner’s daughter is missing.

Tyra Scharf, twenty-one years old. That’s a photo of what she looks like normally.

Though she was in the home, her remains were nowhere to be found.

She did not perish in the fire. She vanished…

albeit with her new car, but she’s gone.

And then her father, Mannie Scharf, received this picture on his phone yesterday morning.

He reported it to the Nashville PD right away. ”

Slade pushed the button again, and the image changed to show Tyra tied to a chair. A gag covered her mouth. Strapped to her chest was what looked like four sticks of dynamite.

He pushed again. Now the screen displayed a text message on a white background demanding one million dollars by Wednesday. Though clearly digital, the letters were designed to look like they’d been cut and pasted from newspapers.

Since today was Monday, that gave them about forty-eight hours .

Ander whistled. “I like it. Always good when someone shows respect for tradition, even if that font was probably designed in Photoshop.”

Mac tutted and lifted her chin. Her white-blond hair bobbed around her neck. “And it’s easier to trace a digital message than pull forensics off a physical note. I can have some fun with that.”

Slade inclined his head. He looked doubtful. “Cops said the message came from a burner and the sender used a VPN. They haven’t been able to trace it. But the use of explosives on the hostage made them nervous, and they requested our assistance.”

At that, Mac smiled with all her teeth. She liked a good digital challenge.

He pointed at Mac. “I want you working the note and the picture. Stacy will help you. Forensics is already at the house. Alessandra Lagarde’s on her way there to find out whether the fire was started by one of the kidnappers.”

Hagen frowned. “I don’t get it. Why would they try to burn down the house? They got the girl. They don’t need more than that.”

“I have no idea, Hagen. But I would very much like to know. You and Stella talk to the parents. Prepare them about the possibility of a handoff, so they may need to get their money together.”

Hagen noted that Stella had already added those details to her to-do list. “Sounds good, Boss.”

Slade turned to the others. “Anja, I want you to draft and release a missing persons flyer and disseminate it to FBI field offices, resident agencies, and satellite suboffices around the country. Maybe someone will have heard something. I’m authorizing a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for any information that leads to the victim’s whereabouts.

The rest of you, comb the databases and see what you can find out about Ms. Scharf. That’ll be all.”

He flicked his head toward the door. Hagen and Stella rose with the team.

Hagen held the door open as his colleagues streamed out. This might be an interesting case. A kidnapping and arson. A chance to save a young woman.

They’d find the answers soon enough. But he knew one thing for certain as he stepped across the bullpen to grab his jacket. He couldn’t believe Ander would even consider moving from field agent to desk jockey.

He friggin’ loved his job.