Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense) (5 page)

“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.”

“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.