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Authors: Elizabeth Adler

One of Those Malibu Nights (6 page)

BOOK: One of Those Malibu Nights
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Mac’s eyes were warm with love. She looked flushed and sparkly, a woman ready to make love and not at all businesslike.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

Cinecittà Studios were famous for the years it took to film
Cleopatra
, the Taylor-Burton epic in the early sixties, and for the even more famous love affair between the two stars. Now they were more often used for smaller films, though many of the old sets remained standing.

Sunny’s client, a young actor by the name of Eddie Grimes, was making a sci-fi epic produced by the eminent Renato Manzini that, it seemed to Mac, could easily have been made anywhere on the planet. Still, he guessed Rome was as good a place to make a sci-fi as Hollywood or Mars, and the sets were certainly stupendous.

Still, jet lag was taking its toll. He sank a couple of espressos for sustenance, lounging in a chair in the shade while Sunny chatted to Eddie, making a few notes in the yellow legal pad she always carried.

He fell asleep in the cab on the way back to the hotel, leaning dopily against her as the tiny elevator whisked them slowly upward. In their room, he didn’t even bother to complain about Sunny’s clothes strewn about. He took a quick shower, flopped onto the bed and dropped off the edge of the world into a black abyss of sleep.

So much for romance, Sunny thought tenderly, as she watched him.

She caught him on the rebound though, a couple of hours later. She stretched her long naked body next to his, his hand reached out for her and he turned his face to hers, breathing in the scent of her, his mouth searching for hers.

“This,” he whispered, his arms gripping her close, “is what I came to Rome for. I can’t do without you, Sunny.”

C
HAPTER 10

Mac’s assistant, Roddy Kruger, age thirty-five, short bleached-blond hair, good-looking, gay and very popular, was staying at the Malibu house babysitting Pirate. He was sitting on the deck on an old metal lounger from Wal-Mart, which was about in keeping with the rest of the furnishings in Mac’s home, a Diet Coke in one hand, the L.A. Times sports section in the other.

Every now and then he would glance up from the newspaper to check the Perrin house down the beach. Mac had filled him in on the events and put him in charge of the Allie Ray case, though “case” was hardly the correct term for finding out who was following her, and the anonymous letter writer was more of a problem. Allie had sent Mac a couple of the letters and they were not at all happy about them.
Still, Roddy was a longtime fan and the thought that he was working for the star gave him a distinct buzz. There was no activity at the Perrin house though, and he went back to his newspaper.

Half an hour later he glanced at the bright blue rubber-encased diver’s watch, waterproof to a depth of three hundred feet, that Mac had given him the previous Christmas. It looked like a piece of junk but he knew it had cost a small fortune, and since he was an avid surfer, he loved it. It was time to polish the Prius. Those pesky seagulls were constantly flying overhead and their droppings could take the paint off a car in no time flat. Twice a day, had been Mac’s instructions, and Roddy was conscientious about it because he knew how much Mac loved his customized car. Even more than the black Dodge Ram that had gotten the same treatment, and that had been his previous passion, but now, like most of Hollywood, Mac and Sunny were passionate about ecology.

Malibu Colony might be a beachy suburb grown rich but it still retained its old-world charm. Every house was in a different style, from traditional picket fences to concrete modern. Telephone and utility wires still looped shabbily along the only street, unchanged since the forties, and several cars were usually in the process of being washed, only now it was the detail guys giving the Mercs and the Porsches the tip-top treatment. Kids Rollerbladed and uniformed maids walked the dogs, stopping for a chat with the
Mexican gardeners who kept the tiny expensive patches of lawn and the floribundas in immaculate shape. Joggers, looking as sweaty as any regular joggers, even though they were movie stars or just plain rich, trotted past, and vans delivering flowers and groceries lurched slowly over the speed bumps. It was like any other upmarket suburb in America.

Roddy carried a bucket of water and a chamois leather out into the street, sloshing off the latest seagull deposits, cursing the birds under his breath. Pirate sat next to him hoping for a ride but today he was out of luck. Roddy dried the car off with paper towels, gave it a quick polish, emptied his bucket down the drain, then checked the car’s door. As he’d thought, it was open. He sighed. Mac never locked his car or his house. “Which of my neighbors is gonna steal my Prius?” he’d asked with a grin, and Roddy guessed he was right. Still, he checked the interior to make sure everything was okay.

Smoothing his palm approvingly across the custom black leather, he opened the glove compartment, then took a quick breath.

He was looking at a Sigma .40 handgun. Now he knew Mac never carried a weapon unless he was heading into dangerous territory, and he would certainly never leave one in the car. Anyhow, as far as Roddy knew, Mac’s only gun was a Glock semi. He had never seen him with a Sigma .40. Ever.

Roddy put his polishing cloth over the gun, slid it from
the glove compartment, put it in the empty bucket and carried it back into the house.

In Rome, Sunny was lying on her back, gazing at the ceiling, a happy post-lovemaking smile on her face, her hand linked with Mac’s, when the phone rang. Groaning, she reached for it.

“Pronto,”
she said, Italian-style. Then, “Oh, hi, Roddy, how are you? Good. Yes, great. It’s wonderful. Yes, Mac’s here, I’ll put him on.”

Handing Mac the phone she propped herself on one elbow, watching him.

“Hi, Rod,” Mac said lazily.

Sunny saw him frown. She wondered what was going on.

“Okay,” he said. “I know where the gun came from. Miss Naughty Angel. So wrap it in the chamois leather and leave it in the bucket under the sink. It’s as safe a place as any I guess, until I can give it back to her.”

“Crafty woman,” he said to Sunny when he’d said goodbye. “Dumping the weapon in my car. Now I wonder why she did that.”

Sunny got up. She put on a hotel white waffle-weave robe, took a bottle of water from the minibar and climbed back onto the bed. Unmade-up and with her long dark hair all tumbled Mac thought she’d never looked more lovely.

“Why do I get the feeling I don’t know
everything?”
she
asked, giving him the keen amber long-lashed look he knew meant business.

“I was going to tell you all about her, but somehow I got diverted.”

She grinned forgivingly at him, upended the bottle and took a slug of the water. “Better tell me now. And make sure you tell
all.”

Mac got up off the bed. “Can’t I even take a shower first?”

She shook her head. “After.”

“Okay,” he said, “so here’s what happened. And he told her about the Naughty Angel, about his visit with Perrin, and about the famous Allie Ray Perrin showing up on his doorstep.

“The thing is that both Perrins believe they are being tailed. Allie denies she’s having him followed and he denies likewise. Either somebody is lying, or something else is going on. And it just might have to do with the redhead with the gun.”

“Miss Naughty Angel,” Sunny said. “I’ll bet she’s gorgeous.”

“But not as gorgeous as the famous Allie.”

“I leave you alone for a couple of days,” she sighed, “and look what you get up to. All these beautiful women running after you.”

“Not quite,” Mac said with a phony-modest grin, and she snatched up a pillow and whacked him over the head with it.

“No, no,” he moaned, pushing out from under the feathers. “No more. I need to take a shower.”

She grabbed his hand. “I know a few party games in showers. Oh, and by the way, I hope you haven’t forgotten you’re taking me out to dinner tonight.”

“Right.” Mac had been thinking more about room service and sleep but a promise was a promise.

“We’re going to Alvaro’s,” Sunny said, smiling. “Nothing but the best for your girl. Remember?”

C
HAPTER 11

Tonight Sunny was all spiffied up in an expensive little slip of black chiffon from one of Rome’s famous boutiques, that clung where it should and fluttered around her knees in a very feminine way. She wore black pointy-toe stilettos and Guerlain’s Mitsouko perfume. She slicked on Dior’s Rouge lipstick, a satisfying brilliant red, then smacked her lips together to smooth it out.

The dresses she had tried on and rejected littered the bed and the bathroom was awash in bubble bath and shampoo. After all, it took a lot of effort for a girl to look her best. She wasn’t sure whether Mac had gotten it yet, but she was truly a very girly girl.

Anyhow, there she was now in her new designer black chiffon that had cost an arm and a leg and that, looking in
the mirror, she thought was worth every cent. She wore little diamond hoops in her ears and a left hand conspicuously lacking in any sort of ring, be it diamond or gold, large or small. That night she planned to use her left hand pointedly, flaunting its nakedness in front of Mac, who in typical fashion probably wouldn’t even notice her perfect manicure, let alone that this was her engagement finger. And that it was empty.

After some persuading Mac had temporarily abandoned his favorite tees in favor of a white linen shirt worn open at the neck and without a tie because he couldn’t stand to be buttoned up. His Dolce black leather jacket was a concession to Sunny’s beautiful dress and the fact that she’d told him chic Romans congregated at the restaurant she had chosen for its authentic atmosphere, as well as for its fine food. Plus the fact that it was only a couple of blocks’ walk from their hotel, so no messing about trying to find one of those elusive and horribly expensive Roman taxis, whose drivers, Sunny had found to her cost, invariably quoted the equivalent of forty bucks even though you were only going the shortest distance.

“Ready?” Mac’s eyes smiled at her. He pulled her close, burying his face in her fragrant hair. “Why don’t we just get room service?” he whispered, nibbling at her earlobe.

She pushed him away, laughing. “Because I want to show off my boyfriend. You put the ‘cream of Roman manhood’ to shame, baby.”

“You too,” he said, sincerely. “I’ve never seen you look so beautiful.”

To her surprise, Sunny felt herself blush. Mac wasn’t given to paying compliments. He was the kind of man who took it for granted that she knew he loved the way she looked. She supposed she did. Still, it was nice to hear him say it.

Linking her arm in his, they descended in the little cage elevator, then walked up the Via Bocca di Leone, named for the pretty lion fountain in the little piazza.

The restaurant had nicotine yellow plaster walls with ancient blackened beams across the ceiling, and white tablecloths with lavish bouquets of scarlet flowers. It was old-world elegant and filled with a chic crowd, there for the food as well as for the “scene.” Their table was along the wall near the center and they settled in, pleased with the place and with each other. A tiny amber-shaded lamp lit Sunny’s face from below, turning her into a Latina version of a Botticelli Venus. Mac reached out for her hand. The one without the engagement ring.

“I love you, Sonora Sky Coto de Alvarez,” he whispered. And lifting her hand to his lips, he turned it palm up and kissed it, then closed her fingers around the kiss.

It was such an intimate gesture that Sunny felt the little answering shiver in the pit of her stomach.

“I love you too, Mac,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes.

But then the waiter broke the spell, bustling with importance as he detailed the night’s specials.

“Let’s share a small Margherita pizza to start,” Sunny said, all a-sparkle with love for her man. “Just to go with the first glass of wine.”

“No anchovies though,” Mac said, remembering she hated them.

Sunny smiled. This was a big concession on Mac’s part because she knew how much he loved them.

Mac studied the wine list carefully, finally choosing a Montepulciano. When it came the waiter poured a little into his glass. Mac swirled, breathed its aroma, and sipped.

Sunny liked wine, but Mac was an expert. She saw his face light up and he nodded to the waiter. “Good,” he decreed. “Excellent, in fact.”

They clinked glasses and toasted each other with their eyes. There was no need for words. This was, Sunny knew, going to be one of the best nights of her life. Here in Rome with her lover, who had just told her he loved her.

“I’m glad you invited me to Rome,” Mac said, sipping his wine and nibbling on a piece of the small anchovyless pizza.

“Funny, I thought you’d invited yourself,” Sunny said.

But to her surprise she realized Mac was no longer listening. Instead, he was looking at something over her shoulder. She turned and followed his gaze to the door.

“Well, well. Would you just look at that,” Mac said, sounding astonished.

Sunny stared at the couple standing at the entrance. You could hardly miss them. Or at least
her
. A redhead, on the arm of a rotund, balding man. There was nothing understated about this woman. Tall, with breasts that defied gravity, her waist was tinier than Scarlett O’Hara’s when Mammy had finished tying her corset, and her legs went on forever. She was spectacular in a white silk dress that left no curve unturned. Sunny caught a glimpse of the redhead’s ring. A
glimpse?
It almost blinded her. A yellow diamond that must have been all of ten carats.
And
it was on her engagement finger.

“Shoot,” she said crossly, turning back to Mac, but he was already on his feet.

“Excuse me a moment,” he said, then to her astonishment he walked over to the redhead and held out his hand.

“Hi, there,” he said to the Naughty Angel. “It’s good to see you again. I’m Mac Reilly. Last time we met was in Malibu. Remember?”

The redhead’s face turned chalky white. Her hand felt like iced velvet in his.

BOOK: One of Those Malibu Nights
3.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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