Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense) (4 page)

He sat back, focusing his attention on the contestants as they slammed the sealed containers on the counters and tore away the tops. Gilmore and Barrows pulled out large slabs of plastic wrapped brisket. Bolzano ripped off the top of his container.

“Shit!” He thrust it across the counter until it tipped onto the floor and landed next to Gilmore. The younger chef let out a shriek and did a slow spiral faint onto the floor.

As Jordan tried to understand what had happened, The Culinary Channel’s cameraman zoomed in on the container to get a better shot. The awful truth became evident on the overhead screens. An ear piercing scream came from somewhere in the audience. A commotion exploded with the media rushing forward while the chefs scrambled for the entrances, and the police tried to keep everyone in the room. Several people had their phones raised to catch videos of the bedlam. Detective Jericho charged through the crowd like the superhero flavor of the month.

“Holy crap!” The mike dropped from Tom’s hand with a loud electronic screech. “It’s a dude’s dick.”

A yelp of hysterical laughter rang out over the mayhem. “So much for your big, bad bratwurst, Max.” Olivia wiped her streaming eyes. She dropped back onto one of the chairs to catch her breath and held on to her sides between gasps. “At least someone’s knife work was up to par.”

Gilmore’s partner raced to his side and knelt. “Brad, Brad.” He lightly slapped at the unconscious man’s face until he moaned, opened his eyes, and promptly passed out again. The distraught man fumbled inside his jacket pocket with one hand, presumably for his phone, while he smoothed back the red and black hair over the young man’s forehead. “Damn it, someone call 911.”

The cameraman relentlessly captured the drama as it unfolded.

“Don’t do this to me, Brad.” The chef’s head lolled back and forth. His partner’s hand came away covered in blood. “Oh, my god, he’s dying.”

Jordan swallowed hard to keep down the chocolate chip cookies he’d snarfed up in the greenroom.

The murderer had slated the deceased’s AWOL member for tonight’s blue plate special.

Chapter Three

Tilly averted her eyes. She hadn’t been up close and personal with one in a long time, but she recognized the pathetic lump of flesh all the same. The missing piece of the Ethridge puzzle lay there in gruesome detail on top of the wrapped brisket. Her stomach gave a slow, nasty roll. The coffee burned in her throat like three kinds of hell as she watched everything unfold in fast forward and slow motion at the same time. Gray shadows edged her vision.

“Come on, Matilda. Don’t you dare faint on me.” Jordan’s hissed command pulled her back to the insanity in the hotel ballroom.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She pressed her fingers against her lips. The idea of vomiting in front of him held back the urge to hurl. He thrust a glass of water in front of her. Tilly shook her head at the idea of anything going into her stomach. “No really.”

“You don’t look fine.” The concern in his voice caught her off guard. Sarcasm she could deal with, but compassion from him rang little alarm bells. She refused to be sucked into the worried depths of his dark eyes. Her heart trip-hammered. Heat built from her core and worked upward until her cheeks grew hot.

“Thanks. I always look this way when, when…” She pointed to the screen and looked away. “I’ll be okay in just a moment.”

“Everyone—sit—down.” The detective’s voice boomed over the pandemonium. “You, over there.” He pointed at Nick, who still manfully filmed away. “Turn that thing off.”

The burly cameraman ignored the detective’s command with a shake of his head and kept his camera focused on the contents of the container. “Can’t, dude. I’ve got a job to do. Freedom of information, and all that.”

The set of the detective’s mouth should’ve warned him to comply, but he was too intent on getting the perfect shot to notice. Detective Jericho jerked the camera out of his hand. “I said turn it off.”

“Hey, man, you can’t do that.” Nick’s face turned as red as his “Eat Me” T-shirt. He reached out to wrestle the “point and shoot” camera back. “This is an expensive piece of equipment. Give me that!”

He might have had size on his side, but Detective Jericho had experience. In a matter of seconds he lost the struggle.

“I’m confiscating the camera.” Jericho turned the camera over, frowning. “Where’s the tape?”

The cameraman rolled his eyes and sniggered. “Yeah, like that’s going to do you any good.” He crossed his hands over his chest. “Don’t you guys keep on the latest technology? There’s no tape in here—it’s wireless, digital, dude. Everything goes directly to the van out back.”

Jericho smiled. “Is that so? Well, how about this,
dude
? Any video you shot is now evidence in a murder investigation. I’ll send an officer to get the tapes, discs, memory sticks, or whatever the hell it has. CSI can deal with it.”

“There’s more than my stuff to worry about.” Nick groused. “You’ve got a roomful of amateurs taking pictures.”

Already moving, Jericho motioned one of the uniformed officers over and handed him the camera. “Adams, collect all of the phones, cameras, and SIM cards for evidence.” Then he moved to the counter and squatted next to the container holding the grisly contents. He grimaced.

“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.”