Trembling, she pushed her sweaty hair off her forehead. The nightmare had been vivid enough she could smell gunpowder, feel the stock of her AR-15 against her shoulder, and hear Lance groaning as she fired at the armed and fleeing suspect. But winging him hadn’t been enough. He’d gotten away. He’d gone on to kill two cops. Hannah and Brody had nearly died.

Swallowing the sickness rising in her throat, she got out of bed and stumbled to the shower. Not even the scalding water could completely wash away the nightmare. Dawn had not made an appearance yet when Stella tiptoed into the dark kitchen. The remnants of her nightmare lingered. Gunshots, blood, the sharp scent of gunpowder. A quick burst of panic kicked her adrenals into overdrive. Breathing deeply, she leaned on the counter, her fingers gripping the edge until she got her pulse under control. She hadn’t had a flashback in a long time. She’d thought she was over them.

But would she ever truly get over what had happened? Failure was tough to accept.

She turned on the overhead light and lifted the coffeepot, grateful that it was already full. Pouring herself a mugful, she drank half its contents standing over the sink. The caffeine hit her system and eased her lack-of-sleep headache. Three restless nights were beginning to take their toll.

The front door opened and her grandfather entered, fully dressed and carrying a camera rigged with a telephoto lens.

“You were working so late, I didn’t expect you to be up this early.” He kissed her cheek. Worried eyes scanned her face. It was impossible to hide anything from the retired NYPD homicide detective.

“I need to get to the station.” Stella had reviewed her case notes until she’d fallen asleep over the files.

“If you’re not going to sleep, you need to eat. Let me make you some breakfast.” Setting down his camera, Grandpa ignited a burner and set a frying pan on the stove. On cue, nails pattered on the tile as her sister’s French bulldog trotted into the room and sat at Grandpa’s feet, his oversize head cocked in expectation.

“What were you doing outside with the camera at this hour?” Stella leaned a hip on the counter. “Obviously you weren’t walking the dog.”

Snoozer wasn’t an early riser, unless there was food.

Grandpa added butter to the pan and retrieved a carton of eggs from the fridge. “Someone has been letting their dog crap on our lawn during the night. I’m going to find out who it is.”

Stella covered her grin by sipping from her mug.

“What? I still know how to conduct an investigation.” He pointed to the camera. “People should take responsibility. I’m tired of cleaning the kids’ shoes.”

“It’s probably a loose dog.”