One of Those Malibu Nights (10 page)

Mac glanced pointedly at his own watch, a distinctly unimpressive Swiss Army with red numerals and a black rubber strap. “I am exactly three minutes and thirty seconds beyond the appointed hour.” He took the seat opposite. “Perhaps in your effort not to be late you got here too early.”

Barbed glances shot between them. Demarco was a leonine-looking man, tall, ruggedly built, in his early fifties, lightly tanned and with a mane of thick silver hair. Mac thought he was a little overdressed for lunch in L.A., in a dark blue pin-striped suit from a very good tailor, polished black wingtips, a blue shirt and a yellow Hermès tie. Or maybe it was he who was underdressed, in chinos and a plain denim blue T-shirt from Theodore at the Beach, which happened to be his own personal favorite men’s shop. He wore brown suede loafers and no socks. At least
he
was comfortable.

Unlike Perrin, who had eyes like a chastised puppy, Demarco’s hard blue eyes told Mac in no uncertain terms to back off.

Demarco offered his hand across the table. Mac reached over and took it, trying not to flinch as it was crushed. Demarco was a physically powerful man and either he was using that power to intimidate, or else he was just unaware of his own strength. Somehow Mac didn’t think it was the latter.

The waitress showed up to announce the specials but Demarco waved her away and they ordered quickly, Mac the salmon and Demarco the burger. Demarco asked for a Perrier and though Mac fancied a smooth, round, mouth-filling Cakebread Chardonnay with the fish, he asked for water also.

“Reilly,” Demarco said, in his deep sonorous voice, “I asked you to meet me because I know of your reputation, via the television show of course, as well as your exploits off camera.”

Mac nodded. He took a sip of Perrier, already regretting the Cakebread.

Demarco waited for a response, looking at him with those better-watch-out blue eyes. When he didn’t get one he said, “I take it that anything I say will be in confidence?” Mac nodded of course and Demarco said, “The fact is, I’m worried about Ron Perrin.”

“Your boss,” Mac said, letting him know that he knew on just which rung of the ladder of power and fortune Demarco stood.

“First and foremost Ron is my friend,” Demarco put him straight. “I started out as his assistant.” He shrugged his
shoulders, barely wrinkling his immaculate blue pinstripes. “Now we are partners.”

“You worked your way up,” Mac offered helpfully. Then he thought the hell with it, summoned the waiter and ordered a glass of the house white.

“You might say that.” Demarco sat back. His face was a mask but Mac got the feeling he didn’t like him. He wondered why Demarco was even bothering. After all, he could hire any PI in town. Anyway he wasn’t sure he wanted to work for the guy. In fact he could easily do without both him and RP.

“Reilly,” Demarco said again, without benefit of a Mister or even a may-I-call-you-Mac. “I’m worried about Ron. He’s been behaving very oddly, claims he’s being followed, that somebody wants to kill him.”

“So? Is he? And do they?”

“How should I know? That’s your department. Didn’t he ask you to work for him? Find out what was really going on?”

Mac wondered how Demarco knew that. Perrin must have told him. But then if he had, wouldn’t he also have told him why?

He took a sip of the house white. It was okay but he regretted the Cakebread. “Perrin did and I turned him down,” he said.

The food came. Mac stared at his poached salmon, artfully presented in a nest of chopped tomatoes and basil with a delicious vinaigrette. He no longer fancied it.

He heard Demarco sigh. Then Demarco said, “I seem to have offended you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just that I’m upset. I’m concerned for Ron. He’s my friend. He’s been more than good to me, I can’t let him down in what might be his hour of need. I am asking you to work for me and when I tell you why, you’ll understand.”

“Okay,” Mac agreed. “I know these situations can be stressful.”

“The truth is I think Ron’s going a bit nuts,” Demarco said suddenly. “And you know why? He thinks the FBI is investigating his business dealings.”

Mac glanced up from tasting his salmon. This was the second person to mention the FBI. “And is that true?”

“The FBI is always interested in men with multinational billion-dollar businesses, but whether it’s true in Ron’s case or not, I don’t yet know.”

“And you want me to find out?”

“As discreetly as possible, of course.”

Mac remembered Perrin shredding documents and the overturned shredder box. He’d thought Perrin had simply been hiding financial evidence from his wife’s lawyers, but it seemed there was more to it. “Okay,” he agreed. “My assistant will let you know about fees and expenses. Meanwhile, have you any idea where Perrin might be?”

Demarco shrugged again, spreading his hands. “I haven’t heard from him in over a week. And nor has Allie. Of course, her lawyers are going crazy, calling me at all
hours demanding I tell them where he’s hiding. Ron was supposed to appear in divorce court this week but he never showed up. Then they tried to serve a subpoena on him and couldn’t find him. He’s not at any of his houses. My guess is he’s hiding out somewhere until he can work things out to his better advantage.”

“Or else he’s on the run from the FBI.”

“It’s possible, but I think Allie is the more immediate problem. He doesn’t want to part with another cent.”

“Tell me, does Perrin have a girlfriend?”

“A rich man always has lady friends.”

“Yeah. Anyone special, though?”

“You might as well know that, women-wise, my partner does not have a good reputation. Don’t quote me on it.”

Mac nodded. “You want me to find Perrin? And find out what the FBI is after?”

“You got it, Reilly. But one thing for sure, no police. Perrin wouldn’t like me setting the cops on him. Absolutely no police.” He stood up. “I’m late for my next meeting.” He shook hands again.

“Let me know how it goes,” Demarco said. He paused then added, “I’m really worried about Ron. He’s a good guy.
Decent
, y’know. I’m afraid he might do something … well, foolish. Y’know what I mean?”

Mac did know, but hardly thought Perrin had looked suicidal. In fact quite the opposite. RP definitely did not want to be dead.

“I’ll do my best,” he reassured him.

He watched Demarco stalk through the tiny room. The man dwarfed everyone in sight. A lion on the prowl was the image that came to mind. Though maybe a kindly lion, deeply concerned for his friend and partner.

He looked at Demarco’s plate. He had not touched the burger.

Allie was in her garden when her BlackBerry burbled a tune. She looked at the display to check who it was, but all it said was “Wireless caller.”

“Hi, Allie,” a familiar voice said.

A smile lit her face. She walked along the terrace overlooking the parterre garden modeled after the ones at Versailles. Not as big but certainly as sculpted. Not a leaf out of place.

“Hi, Mac,” she said, her soft voice conveying her smile. “Are you calling from Rome?” She crossed her fingers, eyes raised to heaven, praying he was home.

“I’m back. I wanted to speak to you, make sure you’re okay and that Lev and his friends are doing a good job.”

“Perfect. Except for the biker with the letter.”

“I heard about that,” Mac said. “Look, we need to get together. I’d take you out to dinner if it wouldn’t cause a scandal in the tabloids.”

She laughed. “I could come over to your place,” she said, thinking how it would be, just the two of them in his cozy little home. “We could send out for pizza.”

“You got it,” he said. “Seven okay with you?”

“I’ll be there,” she promised.

“Oh, just one thing …”

“Yes?”

“You like anchovies on your pizza?”

“Love them,” she said, laughing again.

“Seven it is then.”

Mac had called Sunny to tell her what was going on. He’d asked her to join them and now she was sitting on his deck. Her hair was pulled back and tied with a scrap of black ribbon and she was wearing the Planet Blue T-shirt with
LOVE IS
ALL YOU NEED
written in sparkles across the front, topped with a cute little orange and hot pink striped cardigan against evening beach chill. She was holding Tesoro on her lap. Despite the balmy evening, the little dog shivered the way Chihuahuas often did, in what Mac always claimed was a deliberate play for attention.

“It’s not cold for God’s sakes,” he grumbled, keeping a keen eye on Pirate, who was lurking near the steps at the very edge of the deck, ready to run if Tesoro jumped him.

Sunny threw him an exasperated glare. “She’s sensitive, that’s all.” She’d hoped that bringing Tesoro might thaw the cold war between the two dogs, but the Chihuahua wasn’t having any, and nor apparently was Mac.

Even though it was not grand like its neighbors, she loved Mac’s little house, especially on soft sunlit evenings like this. The house had wood siding painted pistachio green with those cheap aluminum sliding windows that were original and maybe qualified as antiques by now, and there was a touch of gingerbread trim—an afterthought, she guessed, by some previous owner who’d wanted to jazz it up a little. Inside was a tiny wood-floored living room with a picture window overlooking the ocean, a small kitchen, mostly taken up by a large wine cooler; a bathroom at the back; and tacked on at one end and separated by a narrow corridor, the master—and only—bedroom.

She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes before seven. Ten minutes before the fabulously beautiful Allie Ray got here. She wondered what she was like. Mac certainly liked her, and besides she was paying him well to take care of her problems. Of course he couldn’t possibly be interested in the beautiful movie star, other than as a client who was in trouble that is. Still, as any woman knew, you couldn’t take that kind of high-wattage beauty and fame lightly.

The captain’s bell clanged unmusically, making her wince. Nothing she could say could get Mac to part with that cracked old bell. She took another sip of the good red he’d broken out from his best stash, kept in the properly refrigerated cooler that took up a good part of his tiny kitchen. For a wine buff like Mac, wine had priority over food, which after all, could be ordered in and delivered to his door. Just the way the pizzas were being delivered right this minute.

Smiling, she watched him through the window as he turned the oven to high, ready to reheat the pizzas, reaching into the cupboard for the hot peppers and shuffling plates around. He was looking particularly cute tonight in the baggy white linen pants she had chosen for him at the expensive little boutique on the Via Condotti, and an old black T-shirt faded through many washings to carbon gray. His hair was still wet from the shower and she knew exactly how his skin would smell, spicy and sexy and … well, she wouldn’t go there right now.

The captain’s bell rang again and she saw Mac hurry to answer it. Pirate was right behind him, barking enthusiastically as he opened the door and welcomed Allie Ray, one more time, into his home.

“Hi, good to see you again,” he said as the petite beauty smiled up at him.

“Good to see you too,” she murmured, standing on tiptoe putting an arm around his neck and kissing him on either cheek.

“I brought Fussy along.” She held up a small bundle of white fur whose black button eyes were half-hidden behind a long fringe. “It’s my housekeeper’s night off and I couldn’t leave her alone. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Err … no. No, of course not.” Mac eyed his own dog doubtfully, but Pirate just stared up at the Maltese, seeming stunned to have yet another female invading his home.

“Okay,” Mac said. “Let me get you a glass of wine. White or red?”

“Since it’s pizza how about red?”

“Perfect. I already opened one of my favorites.”

Allie walked with him to the kitchen, still clutching Fussy and followed by Pirate.

“A Nobile—Antinori ‘ninety-six,” Mac said, pouring her a glass. “I hope you’ll like it.”

She took a sip. “Hmm, delicious. I didn’t know you were a wine expert.”

“That’s probably because you don’t know very much about me, other than the guy you see on TV attempting to solve a few old crimes. Closed cases. With the generous help of the LAPD, of course, without whom none of it could take place.”

“I suppose not.” Leaning against the kitchen counter she took another sip. “But you know something, Mac. Somehow I feel I
really
know you anyway.”

Their eyes met. Surprised, he wondered if he was reading more in her words than she had meant. “There’s someone
I’d like you to meet,” he said quickly. And taking her arm, he walked her out onto the deck.

“Oh, hi.” Sunny got gracefully to her feet and found that she stood a good foot taller than the petite movie star. But my lord, she was beautiful. The long straight blond hair fell like a curtain over eyes that were bluer than any she had ever seen. She saw a flicker of surprise cross Allie’s face, quickly covered with a smile. It was obvious she hadn’t known there would be anyone else here.

Mac introduced them. Clutching their dogs the two women shook hands and said hello. Tesoro extended an aristocratic nose toward Fussy who sniffed back then let out a sudden abused yelp.

“Oh my God,” Allie said to Sunny. “Did your dog just nip Fussy’s nose?”

“She certainly did not. Tesoro wouldn’t stoop to such behavior.” Sunny’s eyes met Mac’s over the top of Allie’s head and he grinned. “Your dog just barked, that’s all,” she added defensively.

“That’s all she ever does.” Allie sighed.

“Tesoro too.” Sunny was suddenly all sympathy. “We should have dogs like Pirate. He’s such a good boy, look how well behaved he is.”

They both turned to look at Pirate, back at his post near the beach steps, ears down, his one eye wary. Now he had two smart-ass bitches to run from.

“Sunny runs her own PR company,” Mac told Allie. “But
sometimes she helps me out on my cases.” Brows raised, he grinned again at Sunny who looked amazed but pleased.

Allie was taking in Sunny’s exotic looks; her glorious body and long slender legs. She didn’t see how any man could resist her, especially a sexy guy like Mac Reilly.