Disarming Detective. Elizabeth Heiter

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