Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense) (2 page)

“What makes you such an authority besides havin’ a devious mind?” She swiped at the tears with her fingers.

The simple action twisted his guts into knots.

“I like mystery novels.” He let out a chuckle laced with embarrassment. “They’re my escape whenever I want to forget about my restaurants and my program. Believe me, the police are going to be looking at us big time.”

“I know. I watch all the true crime and forensic shows.” She shook her head. “You don’t have to sound so happy about it.”

“Oh, I’m not. It’s just a fact.” A small tattoo along the side of her neck caught his attention. Funny he’d never seen it before.

He reached out his finger and touched the elegant filigreed words. “What’s this?” The warmth of her skin, a sudden awareness of its softness, reminded him that Tilly was all female.

“A youthful indiscretion.” She swatted his hand away and reached up to trace the tattoo.
Jake4Ever.
“The damned guy got me pregnant at fifteen, left me high and dry.”

“You could get rid of it.”

“Nope. It gets covered with makeup for the camera, but I keep it as a reminder. It helps me to roll with the punches whenever things get out of control.” She dashed away the last of the tears and gave him a wry smile. “It reminds me that I’m a survivor.”

For a heartbeat he wanted to pound on the long gone Jake. “Fifteen, huh?” He couldn’t even begin to think what life had been like for a fifteen-year-old pregnant Tilly.

She leaned her head back against the wall and sighed. “Yes. It’s a long story. Bad home life, wrong thinkin’, and I was way too stupid. Didn’t know the first thing about raisin’ a kid.”

“You could’ve gotten rid of it.”

“
It
has a name.” Her glistening aqua eyes filled with fire. “She’s my daughter, Sarah.”

The arrival of two men in suits and a uniformed police officer saved him from sticking his foot in his mouth again. One man wore the dark blue blazer with the hotel logo on the pocket, which meant the other guy had to be the detective. Jordon got to his feet and held out his hand to her. She gripped it tight, jumped up, and brushed off her rounded backside.

The man in the blazer nodded to them, his dark face grim and set in harsh lines. “I’m John Samson, head of security for the hotel.” He motioned the tall man in a gray suit forward. “This is Detective Tyler Jericho and Officer Mason Danton. Gentlemen, Tilly Danes and Jordan Kelly. They’re with The Culinary Channel’s personal chef competition.”

“I know who they are.” The detective held out his hand to her. Jordan saw the flicker of interest in the man’s eyes the minute they rested on her pale face. “I’m a big fan of Ms. Danes.” His gaze slid over to him. “You, not so much. I prefer home cooking and less yelling.”

The man’s dismissal rankled. “No accounting for taste,” he murmured under his breath.

The detective’s eyes returned to all cop—flat and searching, giving nothing away. “You found the body and called it in?”

“Yes.” He met the detective’s flint-gray gaze without backing down. “We found him in the shower.” Tilly moved a fraction of an inch closer to Jordan, and he took her hand in his. “Together, if you understand me.”

“Stop it.” She hissed and pulled her hand away. “I don’t want to end up in the pokey just because you think this is a good time to start a pissin’ contest with the local constabulary.”

A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of the detective’s mouth. “Danton, why don’t you take these people down to the station and wait for me there. Call for another car. I want them in separate vehicles so they can’t cook up a story on the way in for questioning.”

Chapter Two

Miranda Franklin, the publicist and person in charge of the Personal Chef Showdown, hurried up to Tilly with her clipboard in hand. Her large green eyes were red and puffy from crying. “Thank God you’re here.”

She grabbed her arm and dragged her into the greenroom. Two couches lined the walls. The table off to one side boasted a gourmet selection of snacks and drinks. No amount of furniture polish or air freshener could hide the slightly musty scent of a place that had seen a thousand people come and go.

Jordan and Tom Green, the keynote speaker and emcee, stood off to one side, deep in conversation. Jordan drank from a bottle of water, while Tom leaned forward with his ever-present energy drink in his hand, his normally loud, boisterous voice subdued.

Tom had his own show on The Culinary Channel—
Quantum Cooking
. He’d proven a favorite among the personal chefs at the convention. The viewers loved his goofy antics, but he wore on Tilly’s nerves after a while. With his wild orange hair spiked in all directions, and his love of loud Hawaiian shirts, a little of him went a long way.

Whatever he said to Jordan made her nemesis look in their direction and nod.

“The whole place is buzzing about Maxwell’s death.” Miranda pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped at the tears. “I can’t believe he’s gone.” A heartrending cry wracked her body. “I just can’t believe it. There are news crews and reporters everywhere.” Her words ended on a small sob. “The vultures.”

Tilly could relate to the media being birds of prey. “There were microphones shoved up my nose the second I got out of the limo.”

It wasn’t only the local news outlets that were hungry for fresh meat.

The Culinary Channel had the nerve and foresight to send limos for both her and Jordan. Any taxi or rental car would’ve been sufficient, but the network would make a mint off the publicity. Leave it to Greg Hirschberg, the head of the network, to turn a true crime into reality TV. No telling how much they could milk the food critic’s death for a ratings boost.

“We have to actually air the next episode of the competition live.” Miranda fished in her the pocket of her elegant red suit for another tissue. “This is so horrible.”

“It’s just plain wrong.” Tilly frowned. “Shouldn’t we be at least in mournin’ or somethin’? I may not have liked Ethridge, but he didn’t deserve to be killed, or used as the main attraction in this three-ring circus.”

“The boss said ‘the show must go on’.” An elegant sniff punctuated the statement as Miranda slipped a long slide of gold-highlighted brown hair behind one ear.

“Where is he gettin’ another judge this late in the game?”

The publicist shook her head, blinking back her shimmering tears. “Tom will be pulling double duty. He’ll be moderating and taking Maxwell’s place as a judge. I can’t believe it. How could Hirschberg be so heartless?” With each word the pitch of her voice grew higher, bordering on hysteria. “A man is dead for God’s sake.”

It was too much for Tilly. She wrapped her arms around the weeping woman and rubbed her back with soft comforting circles, which proved difficult considering Miranda hit close to five-eight in her black and red Louboutin heels. Everyone knew she was high-strung. The last thing anyone wanted was for her to lose control.

“I know. I think it’s in extremely bad taste. You and Ethridge were pretty tight.” Rumor had it that tight was a euphemism for banging each other blind, but Miranda’s reaction said she’d been in love with the man. Her despair softened Tilly’s heart. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears filled Miranda’s eyes again, her bottom lip trembled. “I spoke to his mother about funeral arrangements.” She pulled away to dab under her eyes with the pads of her neatly manicured fingers. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“That was kind of you.”

Miranda blew into her tissue. “I’ve never heard a person cry like that before. It was horrible.” Her green eyes flashed, wild and haunted. Her shoulders heaved again. “Maybe I did something wrong, said the wrong thing.”

Tilly felt at a loss for anything profound to say. “I’m sure you did fine.”

“That’s nice of you to say.” Miranda bit her lip. “I have to go to the police station for questioning right after taping. I’m so scared.”

Tilly glanced over to where the detective stood at the back of the room. “It’s not so bad.” She lied. In fact it was horrible, but she wasn’t about to get the other woman more upset than she was already. The detective’s black-flecked gray eyes still had the power to make her shiver. It was the most grueling four hours she’d ever spent, other than waiting for her daughter to be born.

She had sat in a hard chair being interrogated until she convinced him that she had trouble cleaning fish, let alone stabbing a man to death. Not that she hadn’t thought about it the day Jake Fillmont skipped town once he found out she was pregnant.

The detective took her statement, left, and then came back with the same unreadable expression on his face. Her alibi had checked out. He let her go with the admonition that he would be in touch with her if necessary.

A crazy thrill ran through her. The man was hot. Sizzlingly wonderful, with high cheekbones she’d kill to have. She decided then and there she had something wrong with her.

At first she’d been frightened of him, then intrigued, and finally she sat there, visualizing tearing off his shirt with her teeth. It’d been a long time since someone besides Jordan had set off her lust-o-meter. It had been as inconvenient as it was unwelcome, but there was no accounting for her body’s taste in men.

Miranda’s sniffles brought her back to reality.

“All you have to do is tell the truth. Detective Jericho can be a bit intimidatin’ but don’t let him get you all worked up.” She gave Miranda’s arm a gentle pat. “There’s nothin’ to worry about.”

“But you and Jordan were gone so long.”

Memories of the murder scene bloomed afresh. The sight of the body, the scent of soap, bleach, and death would linger forever. “Well, we did find him. Just remember to tell the truth.”

Miranda nodded and pulled in a settling breath. “I really don’t have anything to worry about. Austin Kenslo and I were going over tour dates for the release of Maxwell’s new cookbook.” She looked away as she tucked the errant strand of hair behind her ear again.

“That’s kinda late for a business meetin’ with his agent, isn’t it?”

“Okay, okay.” The words tumbled out on a wispy breath. “I had a fight with Maxwell earlier in the evening. Austin offered a friendly shoulder to cry on. It’s hard loving a man like Maxwell, but I can’t, I mean, I couldn’t help myself.” She straightened, smoothed down her jacket, and held her head high. “He’s gone, but there’s nothing that will change the way I feel about him.” She glanced down at her expensive white gold and diamond watch. “Look, I hate to run, but I’ve got to check on the staging for the competition.”

Tilly touched her arm. “Call me if you need to talk.”

Miranda gave her a weak smile. “Thank you.” She picked up the remote to the greenroom’s flat screen monitor and turned it on. “Everyone, we’re going live in fifteen minutes. Watch for your cues.” She looked over her shoulder before she closed the door behind her. “Break a leg.”

Jordan and Tom came over to greet Tilly, their mood sober and quiet.

“I see they finally released you.” Jordan loomed over her, his dark eyes full of concern.

She nodded, sure that relief was written all over her face. “The police checked my phone and computer records to verify that I had been in touch with my daughter last night. They said that cleared me—so far.”

“Same here.” A flush of color raced along his high cut cheekbones. “Luckily, I had company from the beginning of last night’s dinner until I read Ethridge’s blog this morning.”

She tried not to think about his
company
, or envision him rolling around under the sheets with his mystery woman. She remembered him sitting at a table with Gemma Grant, a tall, perfect blonde on one side, and a round, fiftyish woman with gray hair on the other. Her vote was for the blonde. A niggle of irritation evaporated any good marks she’d chalked up in his favor.

“Wish I could say the same.” Tom grimaced and took a swig of his energy drink. “I have to watch my step until my divorce is final. The last thing I need is to give Alyssa more ammunition. She’s already got the houses, cars, kids, and the dog in the settlement. That leaves me with a geriatric cat and my set of knives. My alibi sucks. I left the hospitality suite around eleven and went straight to bed. They want to talk to me after the taping. Might as well toss me in jail and throw away the key. At least that way, I’ll get three squares and a bed. It’s a better gig than the one I’m doing tonight.”

“I think it’s very kind of you to step in as a judge.” Tilly tried hard to see the bright side of life, but there were times her temper got the better of her. Like the day she’d thrown her new dish of chicken and noodles across the kitchen. It was right after Hirschberg told her she had to be on the panel with Ethridge and Jordan.

Now sharing the judge’s table didn’t seem as onerous, even with Jordan’s presence.

“Kind of me, my ass.” Tom grimaced, and slammed his empty can down on the table. “The boss man called to tell me it would be a good idea since my contract comes up for renewal this fall.”

She should be shocked, but she wasn’t. “That’s blackmail.” The owner of The Culinary Channel was a full-blown bully who liked to throw his weight around and bark orders.

“You are such a babe in the woods.” Tom shoved his hands in the pockets of his tan cargo pants and paced the floor. “I’ll bet you signed your life away when The Culinary Channel propositioned you for your show.” He shot a glance at her with a smirk on his face. “Jordan’s too sophisticated to let anything get by him.”

She grabbed a tan disposable cup, decorated with dancing coffee beans, from the stack by the carafe. Its squeaky protest grated against her nerves. “My lawyer said everything looked okay.”

“Don’t tell me—homegrown attorney with no background in entertainment law?”

“So?” She hated it when people assumed she was stupid because of her accent.

“My attorney is the best in the business.” Tom drew a finger like a knife across his Adam’s apple. “And he quakes whenever he gets a call from Hirschberg.”

“My attorney is my brother-in-law.” Tilly shook her head and smiled. “He takes care of all my lawyerly needs, includin’ helpin’ me out of this pickle with Ethridge’s death. I didn’t like the man, but I sure as hell didn’t kill him.”

“I can understand someone wanting to whack the dude.” Tom couldn’t keep still. His legs jittered. He wrapped and unwrapped his arms around his chest.

“Did you kill him?” Jordan lifted an eyebrow in question. He leaned against the table and took a swig of his water while he waited for an answer. “Well?”

Tom’s face paled until his freckles stood out in 3-D. “No.” His arms quit flapping, only to be replaced by the nervous jitter of his left leg. “What would give you that idea? How do I know your alibi will hold up? Maybe you did him in.”

He gave Tom an assured smile. “Nope. I’m pure as the driven snow. Remember, my date for the night can attest to that fact.”

“She had to sleep sometime.” Tom pointed at Jordan, his voice full of “gotcha.”

“Did she?” Jordan twirled the cap back onto his empty bottle and tossed it into the trash. “Did she, now?”

She wanted to smack the smug look off his face. “No wonder she looked so frazzled at the police station.”

“Meow.” He snagged a chocolate chip cookie from an array of pastries, chomping into it with a big “Bite Me” smile.

She ignored him and turned back to the carafe to get her coffee. She watched Miranda on the monitor busily arranging the stations where the three remaining contestants would battle it out for an opportunity to participate in the national contest. The chance to win a show on The Culinary Channel was high stakes.

“Don’t let him rattle you.” She added a large dollop of half and half, tested the strong brew, and added a bit more to smooth out the bitterness. “You got nothin’ to be worried about. The same as I told Miranda—tell them the truth. She’s really hurtin’ over Ethridge’s murder.”

Tom laughed and pulled another energy drink from the bowl of ice on the table. “Oh, honey. She’s crying crocodile tears. Besides, I don’t believe a word of that
and the truth will set you free
crap.” His left leg jittered away as he popped the top. “We got us a real babe in the woods.”

…

Jordan watched Patty Carmichael, the makeup artist, give Tilly a last minute touch up before they went on camera. He found himself strangely drawn to Tilly’s quirky smile. Usually his taste ran toward blondes, but his fingers itched to touch her bright red hair. The battle-ready spark in her blue eyes held out a challenge to him that he’d thought long gone out of his life. Tweaking her nose would be tantamount to an extreme sport. He couldn’t wait to have her face turn as red as her hair or for smoke to pour out of her ears.

Prickly. He smiled as he settled back into the leather couch. She was thorny as hell on the outside, just like a prickly pear. Maybe one day, he’d get a chance to find out if she really was as sweet and juicy on the inside.

The rush of arousal surprised him. The decadent chocolate chip cookie sat in his belly like hot boiling lead. It was all her fault. The night he’d spent with Gemma should’ve left him satisfied. Gemma knew the score. They had a good thing going, without either of them getting hurt. Or so he thought. She’d flounced out of the hotel early this morning when he couldn’t say the words she wanted to hear. He didn’t love her.

If he told himself the truth, there was a void that even a night of explosive sex with a supermodel couldn’t fill. He was thirty-five, still able to satisfy a woman in her twenties, so why did he feel so alone?

Tilly’s peaches and cream complexion made him soul-deep hungry.

Confused by his thoughts, he stood. “Ready to face the music?” He smoothed the crisp fabric of his chef’s coat before he walked over to where Patty put the finishing touches on Tilly’s makeup.