a ten-foot pole so Mel bankrolled the entire project from start to finish—and laughed all the way to the bank when it broke box office records worldwide.
Still, Rhett’s driving force wasn’t a concern about profit. He thought the storyline had great potential. It definitely was a serious drama but it had a few lighter moments thrown in that cut the mounting tension and threw the audience off-guard. He couldn’t remember what his high school English teacher had called that but he knew even in a dark drama about a serial killer a bit of comedic relief helped the pacing.
The piece was as different from his previous roles as a story could get but Rhett knew he was up to the challenge. He wouldn’t have to fire any AK-47s or crash any cars but he would have to dodge a few emotional bullets. The lead was an assistant DA, a guy with psychological damage out the wazoo. He’d been a former cop who’d rolled on his dirty partner and captain and lost his wife and young son as payback. Now, someone had set it up to look like this flawed attorney was the new serial killer in town. Maybe it could be the breakthrough that helped Rhett transition to more adult roles. It didn’t happen often, actors leaving a successful genre. Audiences had a tendency to pigeonhole their favorites and not accept them in something new. Rhett thought of Bruce Willis, who’d swung from Die Hard to The Sixth Sense and back to action hero again.
Could he do the same?
The generation of actors in action films was rapidly aging. Even Brad Pitt was in his fifties now, with Liam Neeson in his sixties. Sylvester and Arnold and Jean-Claude were downright ancient. A few action types had begun to segue into character roles. Rhett wanted to stay in this business long-term. That meant a switch from action to leading man to eventual character parts as the years progressed. He knew his way could be paved with this project. He would show the critics, his agent, and audiences that he had more versatility than what had been seen on the big screen before.
He knew he could do it.
Rhett glanced at the clock. He better turn off his brain and get some sleep. If he didn’t, that little sex machine Cassie Carroll would be all over him before they went for their morning run. Grinning, he began to doze off.
The shrill ring of his phone startled him.
Cassie sat up and blurted out, “This isn’t good. Granny Carroll said any call after midnight never is.”
He tended to agree as he switched on the bedside lamp. “It’s probably just Mom. She’s had insomnia lately. I’m sure she’s still wired from all the food and fun.”
She shook her head. “Answer it.”
Rhett reached and saw the Caller ID. What would LAPD be doing calling him at two in the morning? Unless he was needed to bail Franz out of jail again.
“Hello?”
“This is Lieutenant Joe Price with LAPD. Am I speaking with Rhett Corrigan?”
“Speaking.”
He glanced over at Cassie, who looked worried. She reached for his hand.
“This is the Rhett Corrigan?”
He gave a nervous laugh. “Yes, Lieutenant, I’m Rhett Corrigan. What can I do for you?”
He could sense the tension crackling over the phone wires. “Mr. Corrigan, I’m afraid I have some bad news. There’s no good way to break it to you, so I’ll just say it. You are the contact listed on the ‘in case of emergency card’ for Zak Mercury.”
Confusion filled Rhett. Zak had plastic surgery on his nose the day after they visited him. He was supposed to be discharged from the hospital in the morning and head to Twin Hills. Wouldn’t the hospital be calling if some medical problem arose?
“Sir? You are the emergency contact?”
“I guess. He has no family to speak of. Has Zak—”
“I’m sorry to inform you but Mr. Mercury died in a car wreck earlier this evening.”
“Wait. Wait a minute. Zak . . . is dead?”
Cassie gripped his hand, tears spring to her eyes.
Rhett knew a mistake had been made. He needed to nip this puppy in the bud. “You’ve got it wrong. Zak Mercury is in the hospital, Lieutenant. He’s leaving tomorrow for rehab. There must be some mistake.”
Lieutenant Price sighed. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Corrigan. Mr. Mercury was killed on the 405 about three hours ago. Witnesses said his car was weaving in and out of lanes. He’d probably been drinking. We’ll know after the autopsy.”
“But . . . how