They hadn’t been since Ellen’s betrayal.
Mac continued through the gigantic bedroom suite, which had a sitting area where Beau liked to read scripts or stretch out on an enormous sofa in front of a big screen TV. A treadmill stood in the corner. Most blue collar workers’ houses were smaller than this suite. He reached the door to the bathroom and heard running water. Good. At least Beau was in the shower. Hopefully, it would jumpstart the actor enough so Mac could chew his ass out and get him bundled into the car and to the studio before Josh Middleton freaked and called Sydney Revere. That would not be good.
Sydney had a reputation for keeping to a tight schedule. As a working mom, she was picky about the projects she chose and was noted for bringing films in early and under budget. Even though she wasn’t directing Murder at Magic Hour, she served as its executive producer. Her production company, RCDS, which she ran with her husband and Rhett and Cassie Corrigan, had an impeccable reputation and made good money with a variety of projects. Beau didn’t need to get on Sydney’s bad side, much less on the first day of this shoot.
He decided Beau might stand under the shower all day if Mac didn’t go in and light a fire under the actor. He didn’t bother knocking, knowing it wouldn’t be heard over the running water.
Mac stepped inside and came to a halt, spying a bloody baseball bat lying on the black and white tile. His stomach lurched as his eyes moved to the right. The shower was large enough to hold a party in and all eight jets shot full blast.
Beau Braxton lay on its floor, beaten to a pulp, his eyes staring out into nothingness.
Mac’s first thought was that evidence might be washing away. He turned and grabbed a hand towel, wrapping it around the handle of the glass door and leaning in to shut off the water. Moving back, he placed the towel on the counter and pulled out his phone to call 911. His hand shook and he closed his eyes, trying to compose himself.
Seeing death was never easy. Especially when it was a friend.
He’d seen enough death during his military tours. Each day he awoke, he had consciously turned off a switch—what he thought of as his humanity switch—before he even left his cot. Knowing today might be the day he bit the bullet or someone around him did. Seeing death on a daily basis had hardened him. He moved like a machine, tamping down his emotions, always keeping the mission in mind.
That had been then. Mac never thought he would see another dead body once he returned stateside, much less that of a friend.
Opening his eyes again, he stared at Beau, who had been so full of life. He allowed the anger to flow through him, knowing someone had done this to Beau and that someone needed to be caught and punished. Mac swallowed, calming himself. Feeling steadier now, he touched his phone’s screen to call 911.
An ear-shattering scream sounded behind him and he whipped around.
“You kill Mr. Beau!” accused Maria, her face twisted in horror.
“No. I just found him now. He didn’t show up for work.”
“You say no. But you kill him.” She made the sign of the cross and stumbled, leaning heavily against the counter.
Mac placed a hand on her shoulder. “You and I live in the real world, Maria. Doors don’t magically open for us. People don’t buy us dinners and give us cars to drive and clothes to wear. Beau Braxton was just as much my meal ticket as yours. There’s no way I’d kill him.”
Maria slowly nodded, understanding washing over her. “I know you good, Mr. Mac. Sorry.” She glanced toward the dead body and shuddered.
He took her elbow to guide her from the bathroom and saw Keely had arrived. She stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes on Beau. Her lips moved but nothing came out.
Mac turned to Maria. “Go downstairs. I’ll call 911. Make a big pot of coffee and some hot tea.” He thought giving the housekeeper something to do would help her begin to function. Plus, within minutes, the house would be full of police and paramedics.
She nodded and slipped around the still unmoving Keely.
Mac guided Keely away, taking her to the sofa and nudging her onto it. He leaned her back until she was lying down and tossed the throw hanging on the back of the sofa over her to keep her warm. He’d seen different kinds of shock in the army, sometimes hypovolemic from bleeding soldiers versus neurogenic shock from severe emotional disturbance. Both cut off the supply of oxygen to the brain and lowered blood pressure. Keeping Keely prone with her heart level and warm were important.
He dialed 911 and gave the dispatcher his name and Beau’s address, along with the gate code, and told her that he discovered the occupant’s body in what looked like a homicide. Mac deliberately kept Beau’s name from the call, knowing how many people scanned emergency channels, including the paparazzi. He also informed the dispatcher that his companion had mostly likely gone into shock and would need an ambulance and then ended the call.
By now, Keely was sitting up, color returning to her face. She pushed the throw aside and stood.
Mac rose to his feet. “Whoa, just wait a minute.”
She looked unsteady and he wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face against his chest, gripping his shirt in her fists.
They were a perfect fit.
He pushed that thought aside as he ran his hands up and down her slender back, continuing to warm her, murmuring calm, soothing words that he doubted she heard. After a minute, she pulled away, wriggling from his hold. Mac wanted to envelope her again. He’d never experienced such a strong desire to hold a woman before—and it scared the hell out of him.
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I was hardcore military and have seen my share of pretty awful things. You’re a civilian confronted with something no one should ever have to see.”
She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. “Give me a minute.”
Mac watched as she closed her eyes. She stood utterly still. He wondered what she did.
Keely didn’t move for a good two minutes. Then she inhaled deeply and slowly let out the breath. Her eyes opened. Where before they had been glassy and unfocused, they were now clear.
“I’m fine,” she told him.
He was amazed by the transformation. Moments ago, she could barely stand on her own. Now, she appeared totally composed, as if a different woman had taken her place.
“I thought you’d gone into shock.”
She gave him a wry smile. “Seeing a dead body can do that.”
Mac still had the urge to touch her so he reached out and grasped her elbow. “Let’s go downstairs. The police are on their way.” He paused. “You’re sure you’re okay? You seemed as if you were in a trance.”
“I am. I . . . have an aversion to blood. Movie blood doesn’t bother me in the least because I know it’s fake. It’s real-life blood that knocks the socks off me.”
Leading her from the bedroom suite, he said, “You had me worried.”
“I’m fine now. Really. I’ve always been good at compartmentalizing things. If I don’t want to think about Beau and that last image of him, I won’t. At least for now. When I’m alone tonight, that will be the time I process things. I had an acting coach that taught me to learn to be in the moment and leave everything else behind. It takes an enormous amount of self-discipline.” She smiled. “I’m actually pretty good in a crisis because of that. The last earthquake is a good example. It happened on the set while we were filming. Everyone fell apart except me.”