Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense)

by Dyann Love Barr

  “Mind if I sit?”

  She moved over. “Have a seat.” She closed her eyes and tried to relax. It was impossible, especially with him sitting beside her. The bench grew smaller. She opened one eye to see him leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, his questioning gaze fixed on her.

  “Do I have somethin’ on my face?” She patted her cheeks and ran a finger under her eyes just in case the extra mascara the makeup woman applied earlier had smudged. “Do I look like a raccoon?”

  “No.”

  She felt the hint of his body heat as he moved closer.

  A stray thought whizzed through her head, something she’d read in an old book she’d found the day she cleaned out the rooms above Ruby’s restaurant. It had been stuffed in an old cardboard box she’d pulled out of the closet. Dated 1906, the powdery leather of the cover read Dr. Fielding’s Guide to Modern Female Virtues and Medical Issues. She’d roared with laughter over the pages suggesting how Victorian females might deal with men in a social setting. It admonished young women to be careful, lest they be considered fast as a result of sitting in a chair still warm from a male’s body. The shock, the horror of it all.

  Maybe they weren’t too far off the mark. If either of them moved one inch closer, she’d be blushing. She caught a whiff of his scent. The spice and citrus, along with a touch of woodiness, made her giddy with need. It would be so easy to scoot over that fraction or two of an inch, lean her head on his shoulder and relax. Just for a minute, or maybe an hour or two.

  His soft chuckle jerked her out of her lustful musings.

  “Good Lord, I could use a drink.” She closed her eyes again and visualized a glass the size of a bathtub. “How many martinis does it take to use up an entire bottle of olives?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I’m ready to find out.” She turned her head to look up into his beautiful gray eyes. She’d never seen eyes like his before. Stormy gray with bits of black. Would they go dark in the heat of passion? The errant thought shook her down to her bones.

  “No martinis for me. I’m still on duty, but I’d spring for a cup of coffee at the hotel restaurant if you’d like.” His eyes sparked with interest, mixed with a good dose of humor. “I don’t think coffee would taste all that great with olives, but if you really insist, I’m sure the staff can scare up a few from the bar.”

  “Scratch the martini.” She gave him a long, hard look. “I thought you still had a big list of people to question. Shouldn’t you be on top of things? Herdin’ roughshod on the CSI team?”

  “I have very capable men and women who are able to take over on that end. Everything is being photographed in great detail. I’ll go over those, plus the written documents later, and view the video of the interviews with you and Jordan, along with the others.”

  “Four hours was a bit long, don’t you think?” She leaned against the wall again and crossed her arms over her chest. “Or is this goin’ to be another interrogation?”

  “Ah.” He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a heart stopping smile. “You two were the first on the scene—special treatment. As for the coffee, I have a few minutes before the forensic team finishes up here.” He stood and held out his hand. “I’ll even spring for a piece of pie.”

  “No pie. I’m savin’ my calories in case I still need that martini before the day is out.”

  His hand engulfed hers. She glanced up, surprised how good it felt to have a man simply take her hand. No, she amended, Jordan had been there, holding her earlier in the day after they found the body lying in the tub. His touch soothed, but left behind little zings of excitement in its wake.

  Even with the snarky exterior, there was no denying Jordan had a way about him.

  An unbidden image of him and the blonde flavor of the month wrestling under the sheets hit her squarely between the eyes. A hot stab of jealousy lodged in the region of her heart. Tilly blinked to rid herself of the vision. The blonde could have Jordan and his snarky mouth, sexy smile, and impossible good looks.

  An equally attractive man sat next to her. “A cup of coffee would hit the spot.”

  “Good. My team knows where to find me if something important comes up.” He helped her to her feet.

  Normally, the walk from the bench to the restaurant should’ve taken only a couple of minutes, but reporters and convention goers stopped their progress along the way. Questions bombarded them, one after another.

  “Tilly, did you see the body?”

  “Have you caught the killer?”

  “Why did the killer mutilate Maxwell Ethridge?”

  She didn’t have time to answer the questions before some jostled closer, holding out cookbooks for her autograph.

  They finally made it through the restaurant doors, but a few brave souls tried to rush past the hostess desk to get a glimpse of her with the detective. Phone cameras clicked like cicadas after sunset.

  Jericho pulled out his phone and scowled. “This is Jericho. I need a couple of uniforms at the Terrace Grill, ASAP.” His easy going smile faded as he held up his badge. “Step back.”

  A moment of panic hit her, but was quickly dispelled by his arm slipping around her and pulling her close. The sight of the uniformed officers dispersing the crowd helped to calm her increasing alarm. She usually loved meeting people, but this had a darker edge, hungrier, vicious in its demand for the fresh meat of gossip.

  “Have someone from hotel security relieve you ASAP. I don’t want to see any loiterers or reporters hanging around.”

  She breathed easier once they were inside and the door closed behind them.

  “Ms. Danes, you don’t know what an honor this is. I’m such a fan.” The maître d’ pulled out her chair. Detective Jericho sat without ceremony.

  “Anything you want is on the house.” The maître d’ hesitated for a moment before handing her a menu. “Normally, I wouldn’t ask this of a guest, but would you sign my menu?”

  The detective’s frown looked as if he were about to tell the maître d’ to take a hike.

  She gave him a little shake of her head to stop him from running interference. She didn’t have the heart to deny the thin, middle-aged man—especially after he’d whisked them to safety. “I’d be delighted.” The maître d’ handed her a Sharpie along with the menu. “What’s your name?”

  “David.” He looked about ready to burst with excitement. “I hoped I’d get a chance to meet you.”

  “To David, my hero.” She handed the signed menu and gave it back. “I mean it.”

  David smiled and she swore if he were a puppy, he’d be peeing on the floor. “I’ll send a server in immediately.”

  “We’re just having coffee.” The detective gave David a look that said scram. “I take mine black.”

  “Just bring a cow along with my cup and I’ll be fine.” She leaned back in her chair with a sigh of relief.

  David gave a nervous titter at her joke, but his eyes darted in the detective’s direction.

  “Really, I like a lot of coffee in my cream.”

  “Consider it done. Your server will be here shortly.” He left the room as if the devil had bit him on the butt.

  Self-consciousness overwhelmed her the instant the glass paneled doors slid shut. The room, the man, the sexual vibes bouncing off the walls made her giddy and close to following the maître d’ out the door.

  She rubbed the tattoo on the side of her neck. Jake4Ever. Her body did a little jig while her mind tried to pull her back to reality. The last time a man had made her feel this way so quickly, had been a total disaster. Being a wild child and mother at fifteen had left her with too many scars to trust her judgment when it came to men.

  Maybe she was reading too much into the situation. Her imagination and libido were working overtime. She decided to jump in feet first and tell Detective Jericho she didn’t have time in her life for a fling.

  “Ms. Danes…”

  “Detective Jericho…”

 
; They both started talking at the same time. A flush of embarrassment heated Tilly’s cheeks. “You first.”

  He picked up a spoon and turned it over and over in his hand. “I have a confession to make.”

  “Don’t tell me, you killed Ethridge.” She gave the table a playful slap. “I knew it.”

  “Tyler. I think you should call me Tyler.” He laid the spoon back on the table, adjusting the handle until it lined up in military precision with the rest of the silverware. “Especially after saving my butt while the world watched Miranda Franklin’s freak-out.”

  “Tyler it is, and you may call me Tilly.”

  “Thank you.” He pointed his thumb in the direction of the hostess station. “Do you get that reaction a lot?”

  She nodded. “To a degree, but not like that. I’m still not used to it.” She placed her elbow on the table like a heathen, as Ruby would say, and rested her chin in her hand. “There are days I wish I could cruise the aisle at a grocery store without bein’ followed around and stared at. It’s the price I have to pay for success, so I shouldn’t complain. Now I can afford to get my daughter all the things I never thought she’d have. She’s going to be fourteen soon and is a handful.” She thought back to the year she decided her world revolved around Jake. “But so was I at that age.”

  “She’s a lucky girl.” He glanced over at her, his eyes searching her face. “It’s been a hell of a day. I’m sorry you had to get involved in this mess.”

  “Tell me about it.” She couldn’t help the jump in her heart. He looked so contrite and the cracks in his stony façade gave her a glimpse of the charming man inside the cop.

  “Finding a body in the tub had to be bad enough.” He sighed and leaned back into his chair. “And I treated you like a criminal.”

  “Isn’t that your job?”

  A hint of a smile touched the corner of his well-sculpted mouth. “I can’t tell you how relieved I felt when you were eliminated as a suspect.”

  “Probably not as much as Jordan and I were.” She tried for light, but she could tell he wasn’t in the mood for frivolity.

  “I usually don’t do this. No, I take that back—I’ve never done this.” He frowned, and for the first time since she’d met him, he seemed ill at ease. “It’s probably unethical at this point—I don’t know.” For a man who had taken command at a murder scene without second-guessing himself, he stumbled over his words. “Tilly?”

  “What?”

  “Are you interested in art?” He fiddled with the silverware again.

  It was the last thing she expected him to say. “Art?”

  He smiled. A heart-stopping smile lit up his face, softening the hard lines, warming his gray eyes. “You know, paintings, sculptures, even Ancient Egypt. The Nelson-Atkins has a very nice restaurant to go along with modern art and mummies.” He fished a card from his pocket and scribbled a number on the back. He pushed it across the table toward her.

  “Here’s my card. Office number is on the front, my cell phone is on the back.” He began playing with the spoon again. “Just in case you might be interested.”

  She placed her hand over his to still his restless fingers. “Now how could any girl resist the temptation of a mummy?” The idea appealed to her more than she’d imagined, but she needed to find out more about him, especially after her disastrous track record with men. She glanced down at his bare ring finger. “I need to know something. Are you married?”

  “Oh, God, no.” He cleared his throat. “I’m divorced, have been for over four years. No current relationships unless you can call a tankful of fish a relationship. I’m usually scooping one off the top after going belly up. That isn’t a great endorsement, is it?”

  “Good.” She realized what she’d said. “Not about the divorce, but yes, I’m glad you’re free.”

  “What about you?” His gray eyes clouded a bit. “I just assumed you were unattached as well.”

  She didn’t want to get into all the gory details, but he might as well know the worst. “I got pregnant at fifteen and didn’t have time for anyone else other than Sarah. The last two guys I got serious about turned out to be duds as well.” The door slid open. The server had arrived with the coffee. Her hips swayed provocatively as her eyes fastened on Tyler.

  “Black for the gentleman.” She gave him a smile that offered more than coffee as she set a cup in front of him and poured the fragrant, dark liquid. “And coffee with extra cream for you, Ms. Danes.” She set a pitcher of half and half next to Tilly’s cup. “Is there anything else?”

  “Yes.” An all too familiar voice sounded from the doorway. Jordan Kelly strode into the room and plopped down into the chair next to her. “I had a hell of a time getting through that mob outside.” He turned his attention to the startled server. “Make mine a decaf. Black as well.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “So, Tilly, were you telling Detective Jericho about our idea?”

  …

  The disgruntled expression on Jericho’s face told Jordan all he needed to know. He’d gotten here before the other guy had made his move. He’d seen the way the cop had been sniffing around Tilly’s skirts. A sour knot settled in Jordan’s stomach. The dude was all wrong for her.

  She kicked his shin the moment the server left the room. Hard. “Ouch. That hurt, Matilda.” He rubbed at the fast-forming bruise.

  “Our idea?” The Mona Lisa tilt of her lips said he was in for trouble later on. That was fine by him. He relished the idea of a one-on-one with her and he planned to come out the winner. He went on, regardless of the consequences. “Well, to be honest, I have to give credit to her. She suggested that we might be able to help your investigation.”

  “And you said to let the police do the work, not to interfere.” She laid her hand over the detective’s. “Tyler has everything under control.”

  “Tyler?” Jordan caught the detective’s steely glare. “So, what do you think, Tyler? She thinks we might be able to give you some insight into the culinary world.”

  A slight blush washed over Tilly’s cheeks. “It was just a thought.”

  Jericho straightened in his chair, intertwining his fingers with hers. “That’s not a bad idea.” The slight squeeze he gave her hand set Jordan’s teeth on edge. “Let me check with my captain to see if he’ll let me take on a consultant.”

  Jordan hadn’t missed the singular. He wasn’t about to let the cop get cozy with her. “We work as a team.”

  “Since when?” She scowled at him and motioned toward the door with her head.

  He gave her foot a nudge with his and plastered on a smile. “Right after you mentioned it to me. Like I said, the more I thought about it, the better it appealed to me.” He wasn’t about to mention the fact he planned to cut Detective Iron Jaw off at the pass. “I talked to the boss about our proposal. He’s all for it—even set up a crew to follow us around and film the whole thing. Reality TV at its best. All we have to do is get the KCPD on board.”

  “You did what! No, no, no, no, no. I thought we could help. That’s all. No filming.” The auburn spikes bounced as she shook her head in denial. “It’s out of the question. I’ll call my agent—tell her to nix the proposal. I’ll sic my brother-in-law on Hirschberg.”

  “It’s a done deal, Matilda. You should be getting a call any minute.” Yes! In his mind he was pumping his fists in victory while the theme to Rocky played in the background. The door opened to burst his bubble of triumph.

  The server brought in his coffee. Her movements were quick and efficient. Every so often she flicked a glance at him as if expecting him to pounce on her.

  The cup and saucer rattled as she sat it in front of him. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She held her breath, probably waiting for him to make one of his famous, snarky comments.

  “Thank you.” He couldn’t fault her service, only the nerves. “My compliments. You didn’t spill a drop, and contrary to popular belief, I don’t bite the servers.”

  “Will there be anything else?�
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  He shook his head. “We’re fine.” Really fine, as far as he was concerned. Jericho no longer had possession of Tilly’s hand. “Now, as I was saying.” He wrapped his fingers around the cup. “Tilly and I are a team.”

  “You’ve made that clear.” The detective turned to her. “I thought the two of you were archenemies. I watch The Culinary Channel. I’ve seen the way you go after each other.”

  “Are we enemies?” Jordan brought the cup to his mouth and gave her a look designed to melt the panties off of women. Gemma had been a goner the first time he stared into her green eyes. He sipped at his coffee and wondered how long before Tilly gave it up. She should be easy pickings. He’d snatch her right from beneath Detective Iron Jaw’s nose like candy from a baby. “Actually, I envision her as, oh I’d say…” He let his eyes linger on her pouty lips. “Wonder Woman.”

  Instead of being wowed, she snorted. “I don’t know much about comic book characters, but if I’m Wonder Woman, you’re the Green Goblin, or somethin’. Isn’t there a Green Goblin?” She turned to Jericho. “I wouldn’t say we’re enemies, more rivals. We come at cookin’ from totally different perspectives.”

  “Hey, hey.” Jordan set his cup down so hard that the dark brew sloshed onto the white tablecloth. He grabbed up the napkin and gave the mess a furious dab. “I am not a Green Goblin. Besides, Wonder Woman would never have met the Green Goblin.”

  “I call ’em like I see ’em.” She handed him another napkin. “And I see a definite tinge of green.” Her blue gaze bored into his. “What is wrong with you?”

  Jericho held up his hand. “Kelly is right. Different comic book companies. But if they went head to head, Wonder Woman would wipe the deck with the Green Goblin.”

  “No, no.” Jordan backpedaled as fast as he could. “I was thinking more of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.”

  “Tell me, what makes you think either of you can add anything new to our investigation?”

  “It depends on who’s on your suspect list—and I’m assuming we’re no longer included.” Jordan motioned between her and himself. “Ethridge gave a lot of people grief, liked to play one off the other.” Tilly poured a large dollop of cream into her cup, ruining the perfectly brewed coffee. He shook his head and pointed. “That right there is reason enough for manslaughter.”