Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense)

by Dyann Love Barr

  “I explained that already.”

  She wanted to grab him by the ears and pound his head on the table. Ruby’s admonition that a woman of the south never uses violence popped into her head. It was so unladylike, especially when a smile and razor sharp tongue were every bit as effective. Slapping Miranda didn’t count since she’d thrown one hell of a hissy fit. “I’m flattered you finally came around to my way of thinkin’. I still plan to call him. I owe him coffee.”

  He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Forget Jericho. It’s a good thing I showed up when I did.”

  “Is that so?” She gave him the sweetest smile she could manage, considering she was boiling mad inside. “Maybe I might want to make a booty call? He’s one fine specimen of a man. A woman could do a lot worse.”

  He patted himself on the chest. “You could do a lot better.”

  A red haze settled in front of her vision. “Of all the arrogant—stupid—nouvelle cuisine-jerks.” She stabbed her fork into her potatoes with each word to keep from planting it between his eyes.

  “Hey, hey.” He grabbed at the fork, but she jerked it away. “You asked my opinion.”

  “And Gemma of the One Brain Cell is right for you?” She gently laid the fork beside her plate and cocked her head in question. “Hmmm? You didn’t ask my permission to do the humpty dance with her.”

  “I’m flattered that you care.”

  “I don’t.” His condescending smile added fuel to her raging anger, but she kept it in check. “You’re a grown man. You can sleep with any skank you want.”

  Jordan shook his head and tsked in disappointment. “That’s low, Matilda, really low.”

  “And you don’t think butting into my free time with Tyler isn’t? He was about to ask me out on a date.” She threw her hands in the air and got up to pace the room. “Do you know how long it’s been since I went on a date?”

  “I’m not the keeper of the keys to your chastity belt.” One corner of his mouth twitched before he let out a soft chuckle.

  “Oh, oh…” Her words died off as she spied the pies. It would be so tempting to wipe that smirk off his face with a big dose of coconut cream—the chocolate cream belonged to her. Tilly planned to enjoy every forkful after Jordan got his, right in the kisser. Her fingers edged closer to the saucer holding the pie. He was so going to pay.

  “No you don’t.” He stood and made a grab for her hand before she could carry out her plot.

  Heat from his fingers bypassed her brain and ended in an unquenchable ache deep in her belly. She couldn’t think as his other hand encircled her shoulder and drew her closer. Oxygen whooshed from her lungs the instant Jordan’s mouth touched hers. His kiss melted her from the inside out.

  Her arms went around him on their own volition. She tasted him with all the pent-up hunger she’d suppressed over the years. Who would’ve thought barbecue, beer, and the man himself would make such a heady combination? Jake had always tasted of rot gut whiskey and stale tobacco. She felt Jordan’s arousal against her belly and she flew higher. She stood on tiptoe to take more, to give more. His fingertips feathered the side of her neck.

  Jake4Ever.

  She plummeted to earth with a crash that had her heart slamming against her breastbone. “Stop.” She pulled back, wiped her mouth, and sucked in a deep breath. “Just stop it.”

  “Why?” His dark eyes burned hot with unfinished business. “You sure taste a hell of a lot better than that pie.”

  She moved away from the table, her hand over her mouth as she tried to think. He touched her in a place she long thought buried, put away forever. The Wild Child reared her head. It would be so easy to let go, to be that young girl without a care, someone who thumbed her nose at people’s judgments about her. Tyler had pulled a few of her heartstrings, but Jordan yanked them hard, clutched them tight in his hands. Tyler was rock steady, sincere, where Jordan lived for the moment. Worst of all, he felt her surrender. She didn’t like the sensation of being in someone’s control. Never again.

  “No.”

  A knock sounded on her door. She pulled in a deep, calming breath and glared at Jordan. “It’s probably Miranda with Hirschberg’s orders for tomorrow.” She looked through the peephole to see Tyler standing there with a portfolio under his arm. The cavalry had arrived, just in time.

  She plastered on a smile and opened the door. “Hi, Tyler. Come on in.”

  He was smart enough to feel the vibes in the room. “Is something wrong?” His gaze scanned the room and locked onto the evidence of their meal. He zeroed in on Jordan’s stiff posture and the scalding heat in his eyes. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize Jordan was pissed. “Did I come at a bad time?”

  “No.” She barely got the word out of her mouth before Jordan piped up, “Yes.”

  Tyler’s flinty eyes looked first at her, then shifted to him. “Which is it?” He turned to Jordan. “I’m surprised to find Kelly here at this time of night.”

  “I didn’t expect for you to show up on her doorstep either.”

  “Hush, it’s nothin’.” She gave a little shrug and motioned him into the living area of her suite. “I had a panic attack in the elevator. He brought me back here. I’m fine now that I had a shower and a meal.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” His intense gaze inspected her unmade-up face, seeing every flaw, line, and dark circle she possessed. “You still look upset.”

  “Sorry, we were discussin’ whether Olivia was the killer. We were havin’ a slight difference of opinion.” She glared over at Jordan, dared him to contradict her story. “It got a little heated. I think she’s innocent.”

  “Guilty as charged.” He held up his bottle in mock welcome. “Book ’em, Danno.”

  “I wish it was that easy.” The muscles in the detective’s clenched jaw bunched.

  “Seems pretty simple to me.” Jordan walked over to where she stood and slung an arm over her shoulder. “She had motive, opportunity, and her fingerprints tell the tale.”

  “She’s out on bail.” Tyler’s face screwed up into a frown of disgust. “The Culinary Channel footed the bill and hired one of those pushy celebrity attorneys. My captain said word came down from the top that you’re both consultants.”

  “Damn, Hirschberg is playing both ends against the middle. Guess who gets to be the filling in this shit sandwich?” Jordan let out a snort of disgust as he dropped his arm from her shoulder. He pointed at himself and her. “We do. I didn’t think helping as consultants would get this out of hand. You understand that our boss will try to turn this investigation into a spectacle. He’ll want cameras on us the whole time.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  She hadn’t thought that Tyler’s face could get any stonier than it already had—she was wrong.

  “He’ll get the same news coverage as the local channels. You’re not allowed to give any information to The Culinary Channel unless authorized by the department. Got it?”

  “He called to say he’s already got permission. Miranda and Nick are ready to roll tape the minute we step outside. I’m surprised she’s not knockin’ on the door right now.” She didn’t like the idea of either of them dogging her every move. “Do you really think we can be of any help?”

  “I have to admit, the two of you will have insights into the case that I don’t.” He smiled at her. It broke the rock hard surface of his face and revealed those dimples and strong white teeth. She couldn’t help the rush of giddiness that went from the tip of her toes upward. “Do you mind if I take my jacket off and sit down?”

  “Oh no, of course.” All of her innate Southern politeness came to the fore. “Where are my manners tonight?” She took the portfolio from him and set it on the table by the door. He shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her. “I’ll go put this in the closet. Please sit anywhere. It’ll only take a couple of seconds.”

  Her mind roiled in a confused ball of emotions, stuck somewhere between her libido and her heart. It
irked her that she could be so hot and bothered by one man, and charmed to the hilt by the other. Especially with the three of them in the same room. The mental ménage à trois turned her brain to mush.

  What was she doing? She glanced down at the leather jacket in her hand. Oh yes, taking care of his jacket. She hung it in the small closet by the suite’s door and returned to see him open the portfolio and lay out photographs on the coffee table.

  “What’s this?” Curious, she sat down beside him and picked up one of the pictures. It showed the general chaos of Ethridge’s room, much as she remembered it. Other shots were close ups of the different items with numbered markers by each one. She recognized these as evidence markers from the true crime shows she and Ruby liked to watch.

  “I dropped by this evening to get your take on some of the photographs of the crime scene. Besides, we didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation this afternoon.”

  Jordan picked up a picture of Ethridge in the tub and scrutinized it, turning it first one way and then the other. He raised his eyebrow and threw the photograph back onto the table. “So you came up here, expecting to find her all alone, bearing gory crime scene photos instead of candy. How…romantic.”

  “Will you hush?” She sat next to Tyler. Her eyes couldn’t help zeroing in on the photo Jordan had thrown down. She picked it up. No one deserved to die like this, not even her enemy. The memory of the body’s fish-white skin, and the burning smell of bleach made her stomach roll. The last thing she needed was Jordan getting pissy. She turned to him and pointed. “You know where the door is if you can’t play nice.”

  Tyler gave a little shrug, however, the nonchalance held a bucketload of irritation. “Maybe it’ll be better this way since I’d planned on tagging you in the morning.”

  Jordan sat beside her. He scooted in, purposely crowding closer than needed, leaning in until they were shoulder to shoulder, his thigh touching hers.

  She watched as he put them in the order they experienced when they went into the dead man’s room. “This way I can see the pictures in their proper orientation.”

  “Is that so?” She scowled as she gave him a little nudge with her hip to signal him to move over. Instead, he ignored her. He smiled and placed his empty bottle on the table by the photos. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sitting over there?” She pointed to the chair opposite the coffee table. Her heart raced, her palms grew moist. It took every bit of self-control to keep the picture in her hand from trembling. She didn’t want either man to witness her scattered emotions.

  “Nope.”

  Tyler glanced over at her. He must have felt her wriggle around in an attempt to move away from Jordan. “You wouldn’t happen to have another beer, would you?”

  “Aren’t you on duty?” Jordan leaned back against the couch and slid his arm around Tilly.

  “No.” Tyler ignored Jordan’s snarky question and turned his full, thousand-watt smile on Tilly.

  Her toes curled into the lush carpet. Oh yes, she was up the infamous creek without a paddle to call her own.

  “Let me rephrase that. A policeman is always on duty. My shift is over, so a beer would go down just fine.”

  “I ordered our meal and the beer from room service.” Jordan held the picture up and ignored his rival at the same time. She found his dismissal of Tyler irritating and offensive.

  “Excuse me.” She stood and went to the mini-bar. “I think I saw some imported stuff in here.” She opened the door and pulled out a couple of familiar green bottles of beer along with a Diet Coke. “Jackpot.” She turned around to see two sets of male eyes plastered to her rear. It flattered and disturbed her at the same time.

  Jordan scooted away from Tyler as he reached for the bottle she handed him. Discretion being the better part of valor, at least according to good old Willie Shakespeare, she sat in the chair. A small smile quirked at the corner of Jordan’s mouth as dark eyes met hers in challenge.

  She returned the dare with a smile and popped the top of her soda.

  …

  The smirk on Tilly’s face meant one thing. He had struck out—big time. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d failed to charm a woman, but she proved to be a tough nut to crack. Why? She wasn’t immune to him. The kiss had proven that much.

  The kiss.

  It bowled him over. She grabbed him by the guts, squeezed his lungs until he couldn’t breathe, and left him hungrier than he’d ever been in his life. How could one short, voluptuous woman pack such a wallop? He didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to let Jericho find out, either.

  The only way to get rid of the man was to focus on the damned pictures. Then Jericho would leave. Jordan couldn’t allow her to be alone with the guy.

  “The preliminary autopsy report suggests he was stabbed with a large knife.” Jericho pulled the picture of the body from Jordan’s carefully organized display. “The M.E. said he was dead before the killer mutilated him. We don’t have a murder weapon. Also, the victim had ingested a large amount of gamma hydroxybutyrate. You’ve probably heard of it as GHB, the date rape drug.”

  “Date rape?” She turned to the detective in surprise. “I can imagine him using the drug on someone else, but not the other way around.”

  The detective leaned forward with a shrug. He gazed at the bottle he rolled back and forth between his hands. “The M.E. is still working the evidence, but it’s not like television where he can run all the tests in a matter of minutes.” He took another swallow. “The deceased also had a massive amount of botulinum toxin in his system.”

  “Botulism?”

  “Yes.” Jericho leaned back in the couch. “It’s the crap you get on the Internet. Unscrupulous doctors buy it cheap and charge a bundle or some women host Botox parties.”

  “Okay, this is gettin’ weirder by the minute.” She rested her elbows on her knees with her chin nestled in her hands. She gave Jericho one of the incandescent smiles that Jordan coveted. “You’ve got your hands full.”

  “The fact that the victim is a celebrity makes it harder. Everyone wants instant results.”

  “I don’t envy you. Drugged, poisoned, and stabbed.” Jordan shook his head in wonder at the lengths someone went to kill Ethridge. “Sounds like our murderer is an overachiever.”

  “Or someone who wanted to make sure he was dead.”

  “Really, most sincerely dead.” She let out with a falsetto warbling. “As they’d say in Kansas.”

  “That was Oz.” Jordan motioned his thumb toward the draped windows. Jericho’s chuckle rubbed him the wrong way. How could he even consider her execrable Munchkin imitation the least bit funny? It was sad, really sad, to watch Jericho jockey for second place. He couldn’t blame the man. That tiny redhead got under a guy’s skin with all the stealth of a tick.

  “And the last time I looked we were east of the state line. That means we’re in Missouri, not Kansas.”

  “Close enough for a house to fall on your head.” She jumped up to pace the room. “Where’s a wicked witch when you need one?” She snorted.

  “Why bother looking when there’s one wearing a hole in the carpet.” He glanced down at the picture in his hand for something to do to keep his blood pressure under control. It showed a cork from a wine bottle lying on top of the table. The cork was mangled on the bottom and along the right edge.

  “You—you—you,” She sputtered like an old lawnmower on its last legs.

  He jumped to his feet and thrust the photograph into her hand. “What do you see?”

  “Besides a class-A jerk?”

  “Okay, so I’m a jerk. Nothing new there.” He tapped the picture with his index finger. “Look.”

  “A Class-A jerk,” she reiterated as she stared down at the photo. She turned her head this way and that and studied it for a while. “I don’t know what I’m lookin’ for. All I see is a broken cork.”

  He knew the instant she realized what he saw in the photo. Excitement lit her face. “That’s it, isn’t it�
��the cork.”

  “Exactly.” A rush of adrenaline raced through his veins. It was better than a good shot of whiskey. Just like brainstorming on one of Hank’s stories where one clue built upon another, until the murderer was caught in the end. Antsy with excitement, Jordan got to his feet to join Tilly in pacing the room. He wondered if a real life killer would be as easy to catch as those in his friend’s novels.

  “Why is that important?” The detective took the picture from her, giving them a puzzled look. “What does a cork have to do with the murder?”

  “Maybe nothing, or everything.” He walked over to Jericho and pointed to the portion of the picture showing the mangled cork. “The guy was a fanatic about wine. This was done by someone who didn’t know the first thing about how to open a wine bottle. Either that, or they were in such a hurry that they bungled it.” His head raced with images as he tried to place the faceless killer in the room. “Believe me, Ethridge might have been a total asswipe, but he wouldn’t have done such a shoddy job of opening a bottle of wine.”

  “I’m a beer drinker myself. Wouldn’t that—what’s it called—cork the wine—leave bits of cork floating in the bottle?”

  “Yes, but technically it’s not ‘corked’ in that sense.” Jordan shook his head. “That’s a popular misconception, but it’s something entirely different.” He glanced over at Jericho and wondered how detailed to get in his explanation. It would be the same as if he was trying to teach the theory of relativity to his cat, Sam. Tilly grabbed the ball and left him in the dust.

  “It’s like this.” She paced the floor again as if she would burst if she didn’t move around. “Sometime corks can become contaminated when the wine is bottled. It can develop an off taste, like cardboard or, well, imagine suckin’ on someone’s old sweat socks.”

  “I get the picture. There was nothing wrong with the wine, just the cork.” Jericho ran his hand along the edge of his jaw. “The preliminary autopsy report indicated that he’d ingested about five ounces of a red zinfandel wine. That matches the bottle we found at the crime scene. GHB doesn’t have a smell or taste, so he wouldn’t have known it was in the wine.”