Chapter One

Maxwell Howard was in the master bedroom of his upscale Beverly Hills mansion, getting ready for another one of his famous parties. He was a few decades older than the majority of the attendees. Howard was the editor-in-chief of Bachelor, the classiest, most popular men's magazine in the world. He had been married a few times, but it had never really worked out for him, and was now back to dating only the youngest, prettiest girls on the West Coast, and entertaining several others on the side.

The most recent event on Howard's schedule was a party for some Marines that had returned home to California after an eight-month deployment somewhere near the Red Sea. Howard's father had been a Marine, so he had great respect for the night's honorees.

"Maxy, honey, are you ready?" clicks on the floor from her high-heels alerted him to her presence before she spoke.

She stepped out of the bathroom. She was a knockout. Her name was Meggie Schultz, and she was Bachelor's most recent centerfold and Howard's latest fling. Tall, blonde, tan; she was everything that he could want in a girlfriend.

She swaggered over to him, short skirt flouncing with each step. She gave him a quick peck on the lips. "You go ahead darling, I'll be down in a few minutes," he said, trying to hide the fatigue in his voice.

"Alright," she smiled her usual gold-digging smile, "Hurry down," she said, knowing that moving quickly was almost impossible for the now eighty-six year old man.

She pranced out of the room and down the grand staircase, descending into the throng of uniform clad Marines and barely dressed girls. Cameras flashed in every corner of the room, courtesy of the hired photographers. She spent several minutes meeting servicemen and dodging the murderous looks of girls who would kill to be in her place.

Meggie kept all conversation centered on herself. Several Marines came to talk to her, but they just parroted the same tired lines; lines like "Thanks for having this party, Meggie," and "Meggie, I loved your spread in Bachelor."

She went out into the tented backyard and was met with a sea of dress blues. She took a deep breath, plastered a fake smile on her face, and went to go find one of the less superficial girls so that she would have someone to talk to.

Hours and many dances with servicemen later, Meggie finally took a break. She grabbed a fresh margarita and joined a table packed with recent Bachelor models. "Hi girls; has anyone seen Maxwell?" she asked, not really caring if he had even left their bedroom yet.

A rousing chorus of 'no's circled around the table. 'Decrepit old man probably fell asleep and never came down,' she decided.

"Alright, I'm going to go find him," she announced to the other women.

She abandoned her drink at the table and made her way back up to the mansion.

"Honey?" she called softly, stepping into the bedroom.

The lights were off, but she could see the shape of someone lying on the bed. She flicked a switch and the room flooded with light. 'I was right,' she thought, recognizing Howard's trademark black pajamas.

She rolled her eyes and tiptoed over to the bed, careful to not let her heels click on the floor. "Honey," she said, crawling up onto the mattress and placing her perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder.

He did not respond, so she gave him a little shake. He rolled over, now facing upward.

Meggie ran from the room screaming. She did not hear the questions that met her, and she did not see the curious faces. All that she saw was an image that would haunt her forever: his glassy blue eyes staring upwards but not seeing anything, his dead eyes.

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

Tim, Tony, and Ziva were in the bullpen, quietly typing on their computers when Gibbs entered. He looked around at his agents. It was rare for them, well, for Tony to do work without being prompted, and doing it in silence was unheard of for all three. "Hey, Ziva, McGee, what are you still doing here?" he barked.

"What do you mean?" Ziva glanced up and asked in a confused voice.

Gibbs dropped a folder on McGee's desk. "Murdered civilian in California, you're going."

"Boss? Um, if it's a civilian and in California, shouldn't California officers be on the case?" McGee inquired, speaking quietly.

"Not when the civilian is Maxwell Howard and he was killed during a party he was hosting for Marines. Local LEOs will be there as well, but I'll be damned if they're taking over this investigation when the suspects are mainly our people," Gibbs stared McGee down.

"Oh, boss," Tony scrambled out of his chair, "Maxwell Howard? The Maxwell Howard? Say it isn't so!" Gibbs turned to glare at him, "Don't you think I should take this one?" Tony whined.

"No," Gibbs watched as Ziva and McGee packed up their stuff, "Go home, pack for a while. Your plane leaves in two hours."

Tony pouted as he watched his partners prepare to leave. "Probie, if you see Charelle Buford, Miss January '09, for the love of all things holy, get me a signed picture," he grasped Tim's shoulders.

"We'll see, Tony. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to California," Tim smirked at the senior field agent.

Ziva laughed at the look on Tony's face- a strange mixture of shock, jealousy, and adoration. "Do not worry Tony; I will bring you a keychain."

Snickering, Ziva and Tim stepped into the elevator with their gear. Then, just loud enough so that Tony could hear, Ziva spoke to Tim, "I have just one question: who is Maxwell Howard?"

Tony groaned and the elevator doors slid shut. He fell to his knees in the middle of the squad room. "Why Boss, why McGee? Why not me?" he looked around, "Boss?"

Gibbs was nowhere to be seen. Tony got to his feet and shuffled over to his desk, muttering to himself, "Today is not my day."