Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense)

by Dyann Love Barr

  “Even Detective Iron Jaw looks a bit green around the gills. Something like this gets a guy where it hurts.” Jordan stood and pushed his chair back under the table. “So far this has to be the most interesting competition I’ve judged.” He reached over to pour a glass of water for himself from a pitcher on the table. He guzzled it down and sighed. “Yes, indeed. This day’s just getting better and better.”

  The paramedics showed up in the midst of the mayhem and bandaged a cut on the injured chef’s head before hauling him away.

  Tilly watched Detective Jericho make a call on his phone while a couple of the uniformed officers cordoned off the scene with familiar yellow tape. She’d seen the same thing often on forensic shows but never thought to be involved on a personal level. The interrogation at the police station had been bad enough. It was nothing like on television. Never again would she watch a forensic show without remembering the smell of floor wax, stale coffee, and misery.

  “Look at that.” She pointed to the crowd. Several people who hadn’t yet had their phones confiscated stood on chairs to get a better shot of the action. “Why don’t the police do somethin’ about that?”

  Jordan turned his back on the hubbub. “It wouldn’t do any good. They’ve probably already uploaded them to YouTube.”

  “You mean Ethridge’s—ah—his…” She motioned to the floor near the counter area where the container still lay. “It’ll be all over the Internet?”

  “Afraid so.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “This is too juicy to keep under wraps. Way too sensational. Nothing like a severed dick to start off the evening news.”

  “Don’t use words like juicy.” Tom sank into the chair at the end of the table, head down, sucking in deep breaths. “I think I’m going to spew.” He pulled the trash can from under the judges’ table and held it close to his face.

  “That’s awful.” Her hard life as a teen and single mother should’ve made her cynical, but it hadn’t. The sight of people snapping pictures and videos like a bunch of vultures sickened her, and the image Nick had caught on camera would be forever burned into her brain.

  Jordan wrinkled his nose at the smell coming from the can. He moved to the far end of the table and stood with his arms crossed over his chest, surveying the crowded room. “That’s the way of the world today, Matilda.”

  She grimaced. She hated her first name and knew he used it to rile her. Still, her annoyance didn’t keep her from admiring the way his white chef’s jacket stretched over his broad chest. Tom’s groan jerked her out of her hormonal lapse.

  “I suppose so.” She made a concerted effort to ignore her jumping bean of a heart and focus on something else. Anything except Jordan.

  She made the mistake of glancing over at the detective. He was on one knee, looking at the floor behind the stove area of the stage. His jeans snugged over a tush that looked good enough to sink her teeth into. A buttery, brown leather jacket strained across his shoulders. So much for taking her mind off Jordan.

  Tom gagged again.

  “Man up.” Jordan cast a sidelong glare at him. He might be reproaching Tom for being sick, but Tilly thought he looked a little green as well.

  “Leave him alone.” She decided to help Tom, but Jordan was on his own. Her hands trembled as she dipped a white napkin into the pitcher of water. Between her uncaged lust monkeys and Tom’s retching, it was a miracle that she hadn’t spilled the entire thing. She steadied her breath, got up, and stood behind Tom. “My foster mother used to do this when I was pregnant. It helped with the nausea.” She laid the damp napkin over the back of his neck. “Here, keep this here for a few minutes.”

  Tom looked up, his face pale, with a trace of baby-poop green highlighting his freckled cheeks. “Thanks.” He did as instructed but continued to hold the can between his knees as if his life depended on it. He heaved again.

  For the first time, she thought about the dead man’s mother. The horror of what the poor woman must be going through tore at her. “I’m worried about Ethridge’s mother.” She took another napkin, wet it, and exchanged it for the now warm one. “You hurt when your child hurts. Losin’ her son was bad enough, but to have everything played out on national television has to be heartbreakin’.”

  “He never mentioned her.” Jordan’s mouth thinned into a tight line. “He was more devil spawn than loving son. I’ll bet he made her proud.”

  “I suppose you go around talkin’ about your mamma all the time? People say you’re hell born.” She decided it was a hopeless task to get him to understand a mother’s heart. “It doesn’t matter. He’s still her son.”

  “Yeah,” Tom piped up from the bowels of the trash can. “My ex can be a stone bitch, but lay a hand on one of the kids, you better be sporting a steel jockstrap.”

  More choking noises accompanied a loud commotion from the back of the room.

  Jordan rolled his eyes in the direction of the caterwauling. “Oh, that’s just the icing on the cake.”

  Miranda sat at the back of the room sobbing into a frantic Austin Kenslo’s arms. The harder the agent patted her on the back, the louder she wailed.

  Jordan paced the small space between the table and the edge of the dais. “Why don’t you go over there—do something, so we can all save our sanity?”

  “You are such a wuss.” She put her hands on her hips, giving him a wide-eyed stare. “Big, bad Jordan Kelly is afraid of a few tears. Well, I never.” It made her day that the man who could reduce grown sous chefs to jelly had a chink in his armor. She’d remember that for the future.

  A dull red flush ran over his cheeks as he scowled down at her. “I break out in hives the minute a woman turns on the waterworks.”

  “Just because I’m not equipped like you, or reek of testosterone, doesn’t mean I like it any better than you do.” His eyes rounded in surprise the second she came toe-to-toe with him. “You’re mistakin’ me for someone who knits afghans and puts Band-Aids on boo-boos.” She wagged her finger in his face. “Got it?”

  “Got it. You’re a kick-in-the-ass mint julep.” He grabbed her finger. “Have a heart. You do have one, don’t you?”

  She patted her chest a few times and smiled. “Right here—beatin’ loud and proud.”

  The agent’s awkward attempt to soothe Miranda met with little success. His gaze skated around the room, his face as pale as his premature white hair. He leaned close to whisper to her. Whatever he said only set her off again. Panic replaced his harried look the moment he noticed the detective striding toward them. He pried Miranda from his arms and sat her down on one of the many red tweed chairs filling the room.

  Miranda leaned forward until her forehead touched her knees. Her loud, keening wails made everyone turn and stare. Out came more phones.

  “All right.” Tilly rolled her eyes heavenward in exasperation. “We better get over there before Kenslo blows a vein.”

  “We?” Jordan shook his head. He backed away as if someone told him he was headed for a firing squad. “There is no we here.”

  She grabbed him by the hand. “If I’m goin’, you’re goin’.”

  …

  Jordan dug his heels in, refusing to go anywhere near the scene being acted out at the back of the room. “Oh no.” He gave her hand a shake to release his from her tenacious grip. She was the one they’d delegated to handle the situation, not him.

  She rounded on him with a huff of exasperation. “Grow a pair, Kelly.”

  “I’ve got a pair. I just don’t want to waste them on the Drama Queen.” He winced at the whine in his voice. Jordan Kelly never whined. He commanded, he yelled, but he never whined. Until now.

  “All right.” She turned away, disappointment darkening her eyes. “Be that way.”

  Another round of crying had the agent watching the doors, looking for an exit strategy. Jordan knew he’d be doing the same if he had to deal with the publicist. In fact, he decided, he should do the same, or get as far from the uproar and Tilly as he could. />
  Detective Jericho glared at the inconsolable woman.

  “Come on. Pull yourself together.” His direct approach didn’t help. The Boys in Blue might stand and salute at his command, shake in their highly polished cop shoes at his steely glare, but not her. Instead, she let out another shuddering howl and beat her hands against her thighs.

  Jordan’s skin itched. He could feel the hives popping out with each passing second. If this kept up, he’d be swollen like a puffer fish, although his mother, the doctor, swore it was psychosomatic.

  Tilly went to stand by the detective’s side. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  The flicker of relief in Jericho’s eyes filled him with a swell of satisfaction. Even Iron Jaw had his breaking point. Just as quickly, he realized that Tilly would be the detective’s savior. It spurred him forward.

  He took one look at Jericho and knew the guy had the hots for her.

  The less the detective had to do with Tilly the better. It grated to see how her smile widened at the sight of the man. Jealousy seared the inside of his chest until his heart hurt like hell. Maybe she had a man out there somewhere. He didn’t know. He never had a reason to think about the possibility before, but now the idea of some unknown man in her life turned his guts to mush.

  What a dog in the manger. It’s not like she belongs to you. Hell, we don’t even like each other.

  She would probably laugh at the idea that he even thought of her that way. Even more so at the thought that any man could own her.

  “See if you can get her under control.” The detective paced the floor behind Miranda. The muscle at the side of his face twitched as he clenched his jaw. “She still has to go in for questioning. She won’t be in any condition to talk if she keeps this up.”

  Miranda brought her hands to her face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “The police need your cooperation to find Maxwell’s killer.” Tilly crouched at her side. “You want to help, don’t you?”

  “I’ve got to get out of here.” Miranda raised red, puffy eyes. “Go away, all of you!” She attempted to stand, but her knees buckled. The agent stepped back, hands raised in surrender, while Jericho and Tilly steadied her. She sank back into the chair.

  Jordan manfully marched over to Tilly’s side. “Let me help.” He put his hands on her shoulders to move her out of the way. He had no idea of what he’d do to stop Miranda’s tirade. He could think on his feet in the kitchen. There, people trembled and waited for his words of approval, but it hit him that he may have stepped into more than he could handle. “Now, Miranda—”

  Tilly shook him off. “Thanks, we have it covered.” Her offhand remark stung. Instead of being grateful, she dismissed him. Being her knight in shining armor came with some major suck factor that he hadn’t counted on.

  “You wanted me to help earlier.”

  “I don’t know what I was thinkin’. Go back and take care of Tom.” She nodded toward the stage where Tom still had his head in the trash can. “The poor guy is probably havin’ dry heaves by now.” She crouched by Miranda. “Come on.” She took her hand. “You’ve got to calm down. You still need to do the police interview.”

  “No, no. I won’t go.” The other woman pulled in a shuddering breath. “How can I after seeing…” She raised her hand to the now-blank screen and moaned.

  Jericho shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as if he was as close to strangling the hysterical woman as was Jordan. “Enough of this. You’re either going downtown on your own steam or in handcuffs. Take your pick.”

  “I can’t.” She gasped for air. “I can’t breathe.” One hand shot out to grab Tilly’s. Her face paled, her lips turned blue around the edges.

  “Stop it this instant,” Tilly snapped. “You’re goin’ to be all right.”

  “No I’m not, I’m dying.”

  “You’re not dyin’.” She grabbed Miranda’s chin and pulled her head up. “If you can talk, you can breathe. Now focus. Take a breath.”

  “I can’t.”

  Tilly pulled her hand back and slapped her face. Hard.

  Miranda, along with the rest of the group, gasped.

  “You hit me.” She touched her cheek where the imprint of Tilly’s hand glowed bright red. “Did you see that?” Anger flared in the green depths. “The bitch hit me.” Her hot gaze settled on the detective. “Why don’t you arrest her for assault?”

  “I consider it medicinal.” Relief flickered in his eyes. “You seem to be breathing okay now.” His steely face cracked into a smile. “Good job, Ms. Danes.”

  Tilly’s cheeks pinked. “Tilly, call me Tilly.” She leaned down to help Miranda to her feet. “Come on, Miranda. Before the cameras catch even more of this mess.”

  Miranda’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. I forgot about the cameras.” She wiped at the tears streaking her no longer perfect makeup. “I’ll go.”

  Jordan watched Tilly guide her down the hall toward the ladies’ room.

  “Well, that was interesting.” Kenslo let out a snort of derision. “I should’ve thought of that a lot sooner. I was ready to smother her if I thought it would shut her up.” He brushed the left shoulder of his beige Armani suit coat with a look of disgust on his face. “Damn it. Do you see that? Bright red lipstick! It will cost a mint to get that out.”

  “Your suit is the least of my worries.” Jericho’s lips curled into a sneer. When Kenslo would have said something more, the detective interrupted him. “Don’t go anywhere. You have to go for questioning as well. I’ve got other people to interview and I don’t have time to babysit you.”

  With that, Jericho went off to speak with Olivia. She stood in the line of people the uniformed officers released as they gave their contact information.

  Jordan watched her give the detective a hostile glare that had a surfeit of “screw you” attitude.

  “That is one strange, psycho bitch from hell.” Kenslo collapsed on one of the red chairs and leaned back with a groan. “She scares me to death. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “Who, Olivia or Miranda?”

  “Take your pick. Olivia set Miranda off like a firecracker, but I have to say, your little chef could give all of them lessons.” He scrubbed his eyes with the palms of his hand and sighed. “This has been the worst day of my life.”

  “I think Ethridge got the short end of the stick.”

  Chapter Four

  “Is my eye makeup smudged?” Miranda blinked to dry her newly applied mascara and glanced at Tilly for confirmation. A last pat of powder took away the bit of remaining redness on her nose.

  Tilly’d had about all she could take from the prima donna. “You look fine. No one will know you’re the woman who was pitchin’ such a fit a few moments ago.”

  Miranda’s cheeks flushed red. “I don’t know what happened. This is all so embarrassing.”

  A squawk from the officer’s radio echoed off the bathroom’s tiled walls.

  “Pardo here.”

  Detective Jericho’s voice crackled through the small speaker. “It’s time to escort Ms. Franklin to the station. There’s a car waiting at the back lower level entrance. I’ve got some things to go over with CSI. Detective Mason will handle the interview.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Miranda jumped from the small vanity, her eyes wild. “I can’t do this. Come with me.” Her breath came in shallow pants.

  “Don’t you dare panic.” The complete one-eighty gave Tilly a bad case of mental whiplash. A few minutes ago Miranda had wanted to claw her eyes out, now they were BFFs—best friends forever.

  “No.” Miranda shook her head. “I can’t do it.”

  The last place Tilly wanted to see again was the inside of the police station. She’d had enough drama for the day. What she really needed was a good, long soak in a hot tub with a book that didn’t involve death. Jordan might find relaxing with a good murder mystery to his taste, but she much preferred a romance. She’d go for something
light and full of laughter. Her daughter scoffed at her choice in reading, but Tilly didn’t care. The hotter, the better.

  “You need to do this on your own.” She practically pushed Miranda into the arms of the tall, no-nonsense officer.

  “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” Miranda cast a frantic look over her shoulder as the officer led her away. “Please. I need you.”

  A twist of guilt wormed itself through her heart. Maybe she should go with her and wait until she was through with the interview. She bit her lip in consternation. No, she wasn’t riding the guilt train tonight. Sarah and Ruby were the only ones allowed to punch that ticket.

  The convention room had been cleared by the time Miranda left the ladies’ room. Only the television crew remained, stowing their gear while the CSI team swept the area. Jordan and Tom were nowhere in sight. Detective Jericho stood to one side of Bolzano’s counter. He pointed, with latex gloved hands, at the refrigerator. One woman dusted the door for prints, while a man took photographs of every inch, inside and out. The detective glanced at Miranda being led away and gave Tilly a small wave. He stripped off his gloves and threw them into the trash before turning back to talk to one of his team.

  She made her way to a small, out-of-the-way niche near a bank of pay phones, and sank onto a padded bench. The stress of the day hit her with the force of a hammer. She closed her eyes and sighed as she leaned her head back against the wall.

  “That bad, huh?” Jericho’s deep voice rolled over her like the soft roll of thunder during a long, sweet Tennessee spring rain.

  “It’s been a wild ride.” She didn’t know what to say, especially with him. His interrogation had been ruthless, but now he smiled as if he wanted to be her new best friend. His stern exterior cracked, revealing two utterly enchanting dimples, and her hormones waved a happy hello.

  “Looks like you found the only quiet place in the hotel.”

  “Uh-huh.” She gazed up at him. “I scouted it out when I first got here. Not many people use pay phones anymore.”