Читать книгу Disarming Detective - Elizabeth Heiter - Страница 10

Chapter Three

“Why isn’t she on a plane?” Chief Patterson folded his arms on his desk, glaring with an intensity he seemed to save just for Logan.

Chief Patterson was his father’s age. He’d headed up the Oakville PD for twenty years and his dislike of anyone with the last name Greer came from way before Logan’s time. Part of it had to do with the Greers’ long history of prominent positions in Oakville. And part of it had to do with the chief courting his mother before his father won her away.

Logan looked through the glass door of the chief’s office to where Ella sat perched on a chair along the wall, attracting attention from far too many members of their all-male police force. Logan scowled. She was here to consult on his case.

“Logan,” Chief Patterson snapped, making his head whip back around. “What part of my orders was unclear to you?”

“Listen, Chief, Agent Cortez agrees this crime looks serial.”

The chief’s scowl deepened, intensifying the lines that raked across his forehead and bracketed his mouth. “I don’t care what she thinks. I don’t buy into that profiling hokum. And I am not going to scare away all our tourism revenue with some ridiculous theory. If you keep pursuing this angle, I’m taking you off the case. I’ll assign it to someone else.”

But Logan knew that none of the other detectives in their small police force would want to touch the case, not after he’d had his hands on it. Just like none of them wanted to risk the chief’s ire by partnering with a cop named Greer. The uniforms joked that the position of his partner was like a revolving door. Right now, he was the only member of the force without a partner—which was true for most of his tenure as a detective.

But it didn’t matter if there was another detective who’d take this case; Logan wasn’t handing it over to anyone.

The chief didn’t give him a chance to say that, merely held up a hand. “There’s nothing your father can do about it. I won’t be cowed by political pressure. This is my office. I’m your boss and you’d better get used to it.”

Logan clamped down hard on his instant response. Not once had he ever used his family’s name—or his father’s position as mayor of Oakville—to get ahead in his job. If anything, they had held him back.

He fought to keep his voice level. “And this is my case. I can’t ignore a potential lead because it might hurt tourism.”

“Trying to invent a serial killer is not a lead,” the chief barked. “If you find another body, then it might become a lead, but we don’t have any active missing-persons cases, much less any other victims. So, you’re not spending resources chasing this. Send the profiler home. Get back to work figuring out who had it in for Theresa Crowley.”

The chief leaned back in his chair and opened the file in front of him, which meant Logan was being dismissed.

He didn’t move. The problem with the chief’s plan was that no one had it in for Theresa, or at least no one in the state of Florida. Theresa had spent her entire trip with his sister and their family, so she hadn’t had time to meet anyone unsavory. And it was unlikely she’d run into someone she knew on her drive to the airport.

Every investigative instinct in his body was clamoring that Theresa’s killer hadn’t known her personally, and that if he wasn’t stopped, he was going to strike again. To solve the case, he needed Ella. And he owed it to his sister to make sure Theresa’s killer was caught.

The chief looked up from his file, raising his eyebrows as he glanced pointedly from Logan to the door.

Instead, Logan took a deep breath and did something he’d sworn he would never do. Something that might well be career suicide.

“Fine. But if you insist I stop working with Agent Cortez and another body does turn up, I’m going to the paper to tell them we had a profiler here and you sent her home.” He didn’t need to add that because of his last name, the story was guaranteed front-page coverage.

A deep red flush spread across the chief’s cheeks all the way to his ears, and when he spoke, his voice was an octave too high. “Fine, Logan. You want to play it this way? Then if you’re wrong and no other body turns up, but you’re too busy chasing an imaginary serial murderer to catch the real killer, I’ll be the one talking to the press. And it’ll be to tell them why you’ve handed in your badge.”

* * *

WHAT WAS SHE THINKING?

Ella stared up at Logan as he held the car door for her to get out and follow him into his parents’ house for dinner. When he’d initially told her he had dinner plans with his family, she’d expected to be eating at the hotel’s tiny restaurant by herself. But Logan’s Southern-boy manners had him inviting her along, and his Southern-boy charm had her stupidly agreeing.

Now that Logan had told his family she was coming and it was too late to change her mind, she wished she’d gone back to the hotel instead. It had been ages since she’d eaten with her own parents and two younger brothers back in Indiana; joining the family of a homicide detective she barely knew was just strange. She wasn’t even inside and she was already uncomfortable.

Logan was still standing with his hand on the car door. “You planning to sit in there all evening?”

“And miss the chance to meet this famous family of yours?” She managed a smile as she climbed out of the car. “Not likely.”

“Great,” Logan muttered, shutting the door and escorting her to the house.

It was a big white colonial with columns in the front, surrounded by magnolia trees. It looked as if it belonged in the Old South, so Ella wasn’t surprised when the door opened to reveal a foyer that resembled a smaller-scale version of something from Gone with the Wind.

This was where Logan had grown up? It was a far cry from the blue-collar neighborhood surrounded by wheat fields where she’d spent her childhood. She wondered what path had taken him from this to becoming a homicide detective.

“Logan!”

The woman who opened the door and wrapped Logan in an immediate hug appeared to be in her early sixties. Dark hair streaked with silver was pulled into a twist and when she let Logan go, Ella realized he had his mother’s eyes.

“Mom, this is Ella Cortez. She’s consulting with me on my case at work. Ella, this is my mom, Diana Greer.”

Ella had expected a dainty handshake from the woman in the pressed khakis and green blouse the same shade as her eyes, but what she got was the kind of tight hug usually reserved for long-lost relatives. “Nice to meet you,” she choked out.

“Come in, come in.” Diana led them through the foyer and a formal living room back to a connected kitchen and family room that looked casual and lived-in.

This was more like the way she might have imagined Logan’s childhood home, with the paperbacks stacked on an end table, a big TV on mute against the far wall, and family pictures lining the walls. Ella resisted the urge to take a closer look at Logan as a boy.

“Logan, your father is just finishing up his speech, and then we’ll all sit down for dinner. Ella, would you like something to drink? An iced tea?”

“Sure.”

“Logan?”

“No thanks, Mom.” Logan sank onto a long couch positioned against the wall.

Diana poured an iced tea, then handed it to Ella. “So, Ella, tell me about yourself. What do you do that you’re working with Logan?”

Ella settled into the chair across from Logan, and smiled at his mom. “Well, I’m with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit in Virginia. I can’t really talk about the case, but basically, I create profiles of unknown offenders.”

“Sounds mysterious.” She glanced over at her son. “Logan, before I forget, do you remember Laura Jameson? She just moved back to town and she doesn’t know a lot of people her age. I was talking to her mother the other night at a function and I told her you’d love to take Laura out for dinner tomorrow. I’ve got her number in the other room for you.”

Logan let out a long sigh, a hint of red visible despite the scruff on his cheeks. “Mom, you’ve got to stop doing this.”

“What? It’s one date.”

“I’m in the middle of a case. I don’t have time for one date.”

Diana sat in the chair across from Logan, a frown creasing her forehead. “Honey, I already told Laura’s mom you’d pick her up at seven.” Diana turned back to Ella, and asked, “So, Ella, what made you join the FBI?”

If she hadn’t still been focused on not staring slack-jawed at Logan and his mother during their exchange, Ella might have tensed up at the question. As it was, she’d barely opened her mouth to answer when Logan cut in.

“You’re going to have to call her back, Mom.”

“You can’t work all the time, Logan. A few hours—”

“Logan!” The woman who walked into the room in jeans and a T-shirt, her dark brown hair plaited, and who shared the green Greer eyes, was clearly Logan’s younger sister.

Even though they lived in the same town and presumably saw each other all the time, Logan gave his sister a tight hug, then said, “Becky, this is Ella Cortez.”

Ella stood, self-consciously tugging her T-shirt down over the gun holstered on her hip as Becky hugged her just like Logan’s mom had done, with the kind of easy familiarity her own family could never hope to match. At least not with her. Not since a single event had changed her life plans and she’d left Indiana to join the Bureau all those years ago.

The pang of loneliness caught her off guard. There’d been a time when she’d expected to stay in Indiana like her brothers. It had been such a tight-knit community where they lived, with her parents, brothers, and grandparents. Growing up, she’d envisioned herself settling down there, too; working at a safe, normal job, getting married, having kids.

But it had been almost a decade since the Fishhook Rapist had made Maggie his very first victim and all those plans had changed. She’d made her choice. If her family hadn’t accepted it by now, they never would.

“Did I just hear you getting roped into another date with some lonely woman?” Becky asked Logan as she flopped onto the couch next to him.

Her tone was light. If it hadn’t been for the deep shadows under her red-rimmed eyes, Ella might not have known she was grieving.

Logan scowled at her. “Yeah, well, not this time. And don’t worry, Becky, Mom will be after you next.”

“Ha!” Becky shot back. “Unlike you, big brother, I just say no.”

“Logan—” Diana tried again.

“Not this time, Mom.”

Becky looked from Ella to Logan to her mom and then laughed. It sounded rough, the laugh of someone who hadn’t found anything funny in a while. “So, how come I’ve never met you before, Ella? It must be pretty serious if Logan’s refusing to go out with whoever Mom’s set him up with this time.”

Heat crawled up Ella’s neck at how easy it was to suddenly imagine she was here in a totally different context. How easy it was to imagine having something “pretty serious” with the intense homicide detective.

What was wrong with her? Logan Greer was a colleague and she had to work with him on what might be the most important case of her career. He was off-limits.

“Ella doesn’t live here,” Diana said, before she’d mustered a reply.

At the same moment, Logan told her, “Ella’s not my date. She’s consulting from the FBI.”

All humor fled Becky’s face, leaving behind a strained expression, and Ella saw not Logan’s little sister, but a loved one of a victim.

Ella gave herself a mental slap for losing her focus. She was here for a case and she was completely failing to maintain proper boundaries.

“FBI?” Becky said, her voice wobbly. “Are you here about Theresa?”

Ella tried not to fidget. “Unofficially, yes.”

Becky looked from her to Logan and back again. “So, Logan is right? Becky was murdered by a serial killer?”

Ella glanced questioningly at Logan. He shared case theories with his family?

“Guess you’re not used to small towns,” Logan said, answering her unspoken question. “Nothing is secret here.”

She definitely was used to small towns; she was from one herself—an old farming community that had gotten partially enveloped by the surrounding college-town melting pot but somehow still kept its close-knit feel. But she wasn’t used to being a cop in one. “We’re checking into that possibility,” Ella said, uncomfortable.

Before Becky could ask anything else, Logan’s father strode into the room. Besides being the only member of the Greer family with blue eyes, he looked like an older version of Logan. He stopped in front of her and offered his hand. “I’m Andrew Greer. You must be Ella Cortez. Nice to have you join us.”

And suddenly, Ella understood all the references she’d heard the police chief shout over the phone about Logan’s family. Everything about Andrew, from his perfect posture to his instant smile and handshake, screamed politician. “Thank you. You must be Mayor Greer. Am I correct?”

Andrew gave her a wink and let go of her hand. “Until I get Logan here to succeed me.” Logan rolled his eyes, but Andrew continued. “I have to say, I wasn’t sure what to think about Logan bringing in a profiler, but now I’m a believer. What gave me away, Ella?”

Ella smiled back at him. So, this was where Logan got his charm. “Trick of the trade. If I divulge all my secrets, they’ll kick me out of the club.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Andrew turned to his wife. “Should we eat?”

“Not yet.” Becky stood, folding her arms as she stared at Ella. “Don’t you want to question me about Theresa?” She sounded wrung out, but the strength underneath reminded Ella of Logan.

Ella shifted from one foot to the other. At the FBI, she was generally at a remove from the investigations. Most of the time, she didn’t even leave Virginia—she consulted on a case directly from a police file. When she did travel somewhere to give a criminal personality profile, she still didn’t do interviews—except on rare occasions with suspects. She was almost never involved in questioning the friends and families of victims. And she didn’t want to start with Logan’s little sister.

“Becky, we already took your statement,” Logan said quietly, getting to his feet and putting a hand on his sister’s shoulder.

“What if Ella has different questions?”

“I usually work from the police files,” Ella said gently, forcing herself to look directly into Becky’s misery-filled eyes. “If there’s something else I need, I’ll let your brother know.”

“Well—” Andrew started, in his cheery, politician’s voice.

Becky cut him off. “Okay. But just answer this for me—how would Theresa have run into a serial killer? It’s not like we were out partying with weirdos.” Her voice broke, but she composed herself and managed to say, “We hung out at the beach. We went dancing at the club right in town. We went shopping. It was mostly just the two of us. I don’t think she talked to a single person I didn’t know.” She looked from Logan to Ella, tears filling her eyes. Her voice wobbled when she asked, “Did I introduce her to the person who killed her?”

“No,” Logan insisted. “This isn’t your fault.”

“There’s a good chance that whoever killed her never even spoke to her,” Ella said.

Relief broke through the misery in Becky’s eyes. “Really?”

“Really.”

Becky wiped her hand over her eyes and squared her shoulders. “Okay. Let’s go have dinner.” She hurried out of the room and after sharing a concerned glance, her parents followed.

Alone in the family room, Logan put his hand on Ella’s arm and said softly, “Thank you.”

Ella shrugged, trying to ignore how close Logan was standing, how sensitive the skin under his fingers had suddenly become, and trying to distract herself with what she knew. Her job. “There’s a very good chance it’s true. Yes, the killer had probably been watching Theresa, but it looks like the abduction was an ambush. Someone who does that probably isn’t confident. It’s unlikely he approached his victims first.”

She took a deep breath, aware that she’d been talking too fast, that Logan hadn’t taken his hand off her arm. Was it her imagination or had he shifted closer? She could smell his aftershave, something woodsy that made her want to close her eyes and inhale. She tilted her head back a little farther, gazing up into his eyes.

The moss green that had drawn her in from the moment she met him was just a small ring around his pupils now. The desire in his eyes seemed to heat her whole body.

She wasn’t sure if she stretched up on her tiptoes or he leaned down, but his lips were inches from hers, his breath on her face. One hand moved from her arm to the back of her head and he slipped his other hand onto her lower back, pulling her closer.

He gave her plenty of time to do the professional thing and back away, but instead she swayed forward and pressed her mouth to his. The stubble on his chin felt abrasive, but his lips were soft as they slowly brushed hers, as though he was determined to memorize every millimeter.

She was the one who insisted on more, who fused her body tightly to his until he slid his tongue between her lips and backed her against the wall. She wove her fingers through his hair and clung tightly to him as his mouth covered hers. Only a loud clink of silverware against china brought her to her senses.

She turned her head away from Logan’s and pried her hands off him. Her legs shook and her face burned even hotter as she met his eyes.

He was breathing as heavily as she was. His eyes were hooded, but she could still see passion there, and she got the feeling that if she asked, he’d forget dinner and follow her back to her hotel.

She actually didn’t know if she was going to suggest it until she heard herself say instead, “Sorry. That was a mistake.”

Logan blinked, shoved his hands in his pockets, and stared at her. Finally, he gave her that sexy, one-sided grin and winked. “Then try to keep your hands off me.” He ran a hand over hair she’d mussed, then headed for the dining room. “Let’s go to dinner.”

Ella followed more slowly, trying to will her pulse back to a normal rate. Get it together, Cortez.

She didn’t have time to mess around. There was a killer on the loose. And if she was right and it was the same person who’d raped Maggie back in college, he wasn’t going to stay in Florida forever. He’d be going somewhere else soon, looking for a new victim to dangle in front of the FBI, and she’d lose her shot at him.

She owed it to Maggie—and Scott and herself—to catch this guy. Especially since, after almost a decade of silence, the Fishhook Rapist had sent Maggie a letter. As a profiler, Ella knew that unexpected contact like that could be a precursor to physical contact. Much as Maggie had tried to play it cool, Ella knew her friend was secretly terrified. And right now, Ella might have the chance to end Maggie’s years of silent, buried fear.

It didn’t matter what Logan Greer did to her libido. She was going to have to figure out how to resist him.