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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.