“Don’t worry, it will get easier. And you’ll love it in Grand. The people are wonderful.” Mara shifted the baby so its head rested against her shoulder. “It’s nice to meet you, Jazz. I hope I run into you again, but right now, I’ve got to go find my husband. He has to work this afternoon, so we can’t stay.” She crinkled her nose, her smile rueful. “Besides, I’ve been interviewed by Adriana before and I don’t really want to draw her attention to me.”
With that ambiguous statement, Mara departed.
It was the graceful way she moved her whole body, as well as the flow of her dark curls as she walked away, that triggered Jazz’s memory as to why she looked so familiar. Mara McGregor had to be Mara Ramos, a former professional dancer featured in music videos for Little Zee, an up-and-coming pop star. She’d been all over the news a few years ago when she’d broken her leg in a skiing accident. Jazz remembered only because she’d liked the video for one of Little Zee’s songs. Little Zee himself seemed like a bit of a douche.
Mara really would know how it felt to sit on the sidelines. She appeared to be content with her life now, though, so Jazz hoped things had worked out for the best. She seemed very nice.
Right now, Jazz was curious to see why Mara could no longer stomach watching a reporter toying with Dan. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Adriana Gallant, accompanied by a young male cameraman, had him cornered against the side of the house. Pretty in an even-featured, generic way that no doubt suited television, and slathered in a thick layer of makeup, she appeared to be in her early forties but striving for a revival of thirty.
“Is it true that you inherited your wealth from a former judge?” she was asking.
Jazz hadn’t heard that particular rumor, not that she’d paid much attention. She’d assumed Dan and his two billionaire buddies had been born into wealth and only recently gained access to trust funds, because sometimes, people expected their heirs to learn how the other half lived before giving them money to throw about.
“I have no comment on that.” Dan lifted a hand to shade his eyes. Sunlight glinted off his casually combed hair. The gesture drew Adriana’s attention to the solid muscles of his chest and upper arms. Cougar eyes lingered a little too long.
The whole scene irritated Jazz to no end. What bugged her the most was the way he smiled at the reporter—as if every word she spoke was pure gold. He was no doubt well aware of the impression he made on women. She saw no point in staging a rescue when he was doing just fine on his own.
Then she caught the twitch of a muscle at the hinge of his jaw. It suggested he was wired maybe a little too tight and his calm demeanor took more effort to hold than he let on.
Adriana shifted a few flirty inches closer to him and fired off her next question. “I understand that philanthropy is a condition of your inheritance. You and your partners must have some interesting connections. Who was the last person you called?”
Dan flashed that easy smile of his—the one so full of charming, down-home sincerity it made a woman’s toes curl. He’d tried it on Jazz more than once.
Jazz, however, was under no illusions as to its true purpose, at least right at this moment. He was trying hard to deflect.
“My mother,” he said.
Adriana’s own smile sharpened. “I do believe you’re being evasive, Sheriff McKillop. What are you hiding?”
“Nothing but the dirty pots and pans in my oven, ma’am,” he replied promptly. “The dishwasher was full and I had company coming.”
“Tell me a little about the Endeavour’s co-owners.” Adriana scanned the crowd, then paused for effect. Any second now, her gloves would come off. “Are they hiding in your oven with those pots and pans?”
Dan, either oblivious or uncaring as to what was about to go down, kept right on with the wise answers that would only heighten a reporter’s curiosity, not curb it. He clearly wasn’t used to this type of interview—this wasn’t a crime scene.
Not yet.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said.
“I met Dr. Tucker briefly before he disappeared.” Adriana made a show of checking her notes. “I understand he’s one of your partners. He’s from Sweetheart, correct?” She didn’t wait for Dan’s confirmation before moving on. “There’s very little information about your third partner, however. Ryan O’Connell. What might his background be?”
And there it was. ThethingDan was doing his best to avoid. Jazz felt it. So did the crowd.
Adriana felt it, too. The scent of blood had her quivering. Not much wonder Mara had fled. Seeing him squirm gave Jazz no pleasure either. She couldn’t stand by and watch. He was going to owe her a lot more than a washer and dryer for this though.
She shouldered her way through the front line of onlookers and popped free of the crowd. She edged up beside him and touched his arm.
“Pardon me, Sheriff,” she murmured. “There’s a small”—she cleared her throat and left a slight but meaningful pause—“matterthat requires your attention.”
Blue eyes swiveled to her. A glimmer of hope sparked in their depths.
Then he asked, “Can it wait?”