Disarming Detective. Elizabeth HeiterЧитать онлайн книгу.
going to help him with. Hopefully, it’ll be quick and then I’ll grab a flight to California.”
Her answer brought more questioning looks from Scott, but then final boarding for their flight was called and Ella grabbed her bag, looking relieved.
Logan waited until they were belted into their seats in the last row of the small plane and the doors were closed. “Are you planning to let me in on the big secret?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Okay. What I mean is, why did you tell your friends you were assigned the case and couldn’t get out of it?”
She turned sideways to face him, her knee jabbing his thigh, and raised an eyebrow. “You want me to get out of it?”
Logan grinned as the engines started up. “It’s a little late to change your mind now.”
Ella leaned back in her seat. “This vacation was kind of a big deal. I didn’t want to tell them I’d taken the case unofficially.”
She was extremely close to Maggie and Scott, that was easy to see. And from the way she’d twitched and changed the subject as fast as she could in the airport, it was clear she rarely lied to them. Which meant that whatever she’d seen in the case file, whatever had persuaded her to come to Florida, was big. “So, why did you take the case?”
“Why? Because you were right about having a serial killer. Because you need a profile. And because it didn’t seem like you were about to get one from anyone else.”
“That’s why you took the case?”
She shot him a look full of exasperation, color rising high in her cheeks. “Yes.”
“You want to try that again?”
She looked sideways at him. “Okay, fine. There’s a chance it could be connected to something I’ve seen before.”
She held up a hand to forestall any argument, but he’d been focused more on the movement of her lips than her words, so by the time his brain caught up, she’d moved on.
“If it looks like it really is connected, I’ll tell you about it. Until then, we need to focus on this victim.”
“If you’re here because it might be connected, shouldn’t we look at the old case, too, so we don’t miss anything?”
“No.”
Ella turned to face him, bringing her knee back into contact with his thigh and sending his mind way off track. Jeez, he either really needed a date other than the ones his well-meaning family set up for him, or Ella Cortez was going to be a distraction. One he’d better learn to ignore. And fast.
“If it’s not the same perp, we could just go in the wrong direction,” Ella said.
“So, what’s it going to take for you to decide if these cases are connected and let me in on the secret?”
Her lips tightened but her tone was calm when she replied, “Trust me. I’m good at what I do. I’ll tell you if you need to know.”
Any answer that included the words need to know sounded suspicious to him, but she was the expert. And since her consultation was unofficial and she could leave whenever she wanted, he decided he’d take what he could get. At least for now.
The direction he was taking in the investigation wasn’t exactly sanctioned, so he couldn’t fault her for having her own motivation. Especially since she’d soon see just how far off the approved path he’d veered.
He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes as the plane bounced up and down and then plummeted briefly as if it was aspiring to be a roller coaster. “I guess we all have our secrets.”
* * *
AS SOON AS Logan walked through the door of the Blue Dolphin, he could tell he’d made a mistake. But Ella had already gone in, so he let the door close behind him and followed through the crush of tourists and locals, through the smell of sunscreen and salt water.
Having lived in Oakville all his life, Logan knew a lot of the locals. If he hadn’t, he would have been able to separate them from the tourists by dress alone. The locals all wore layers in deference to the heat outside and the air-conditioning blasting inside. Most of them, acclimatized to much warmer weather come summer, were still in pants. The tourists sported flip-flops, cutoffs and tiny bathing suit tops, their wet hair still dripping from the nearby ocean.
Crammed around a table near the front of the deli were four uniforms who’d set their sandwiches down as soon as they saw him. He watched the smiles quiver at the edges of their lips, the laughter dance in their eyes, and knew what was coming.
Hank O’Connor was senior in the group, nearly as big across as he was tall. He gave his companions a nod, an unspoken “watch this,” then called out, “Hey Greer, catch your serial killer yet?”
The rest of the table snickered, and Ella stopped staring at the menu above the counter long enough to glance questioningly from the uniforms to Logan.
“I’m working on it, O’Connor,” Logan threw back. “How about you? Catch any speeders today?”
The smile dropped off Hank’s face. They’d taken the detective exam at the same time. They’d both passed, but only one job had opened up and since Logan had been there longer, with more experience, procedure dictated that he got it. Hank was about as happy with Logan’s position as the chief was.
Hank jerked a little straighter in his seat and Logan knew he should just have let it go. Hank had a bad temper, a long memory and a penchant for petty revenge.
“Not everybody’s daddy can buy them a job,” Hank spat.
As one, the cops with Hank went for their sandwiches again, their eyes cast downward.
Familiar frustration filled Logan, threatening to overflow, but he clenched his teeth and turned back to the counter. He’d fought this battle too many times to bother.
Yes, his family had a long history in Oakville. Yes, his father, the mayor, had been in office for years. Admittedly, it had given him some advantages in his life. But when it came to his career, it always seemed to be a disadvantage. Because no matter how hard he worked, there was always someone anxious to claim he was just trading on the Greer name.
“Your family were the last ones to see the Crowley girl, right?” Hank pressed. “You spinning your serial killer story so nobody brings that up in the next election?”
Logan’s fingers curled into his palms as he spun back toward Hank, acid on his tongue.
With a speed he wouldn’t have expected from a desk jockey profiler, Ella ducked in front of him and held her hand out toward the table of cops with an overly cheery smile. “Officer O’Connor, is it? I’m Special Agent Ella Cortez, FBI. I’m here because Detective Greer’s serial killer theory looks promising.”
Hank engulfed Ella’s hand in his own bear paw and shook it a few times, a startled expression on his face. His mouth opened and closed, but no words emerged. His companions looked at each other with equal surprise.
Before they could recover, Ella grabbed Logan’s arm and steered him back toward the counter, ordering herself a sandwich. Logan fought his laughter until they were both out the door and back in his Chevy Caprice with their food.
But any urge to laugh faded as he drove toward the marsh. Knowing Hank, both the fact that Logan was still pursuing the serial killer angle and the fact that he now had a cute FBI profiler in tow would make it back to his chief before the end of the day. Which would lead to a conversation that he had hoped to avoid a little longer.
Swallowing a sigh, Logan eased his unmarked police vehicle off the side of the road as close to the marsh as they were going to get. “We’re hoofing it from here,” he told Ella.
She stuffed the last bite of her sandwich in her mouth and got out of