New York Times Bestselling Author of Meet Me in Venice It was just one of those Malibu nights, dark as a velvet shroud, creamy waves crashing onto the shore, breeze soft as a kitten’s breath.... But when Private Investigator to the stars, Mac Reilly, hears the sound of a woman’s scream over the crashing waves, his low-key beach-bum lifestyle is changed forever. A beautiful, distraught woman wearing only a black lace negligee stands in the doorway of a fabulous beach house. In her hand, a gun, and it’s pointed directly at him. Mac escapes her bullet, but barely. Who is that woman? Days later she’s disappeared and the Smith & Wesson she almost killed him with finds its way into his car. Not so coincidentally, Allie Ray, star of the big screen and America’s sweetheart, has also gone missing. The two women are connected, and Mac suddenly finds himself tangled up in a web of deception. He’s going to need some help if he’s going to get to the bottom of it all. This is where Sunny Alvarez comes in. Sunny and Mac have an on-again, off-again relationship. Lately it’s been more off than on. But now he needs her more than ever. Together they go on a quest that takes them from Southern California, to the beaches of Mexico, to the streets of Rome, and the countryside of France. All the while they’re one step behind an elusive murderer and one step ahead of an actress who wants nothing more than to get lost…. With Elizabeth Adler’s trademark descriptions, plot twists, and irresistible characters, One of Those Malibu Nights is beach-reading suspense at its best. Alder’s frothy mystery opens on a Malibu beach, where private investigator Mac Reilly is strolling with his dog. When he hears a woman scream, he goes to investigate, only to find a beautiful redhead with a gun at the beachside abode of one of his neighbors. He backs off when she fires at him, but the PI finds himself drawn into a web of intrigue when he goes to see Ron Perrin, the billionaire who owns the house. Ron tells Mac he’s being followed and suspects his soon-to-be ex-wife, actress Allie Ray, is behind it. But when Allie comes to Mac just as distraught, claiming she’s being followed, Mac is baffled: both spouses appear to be telling the truth. Mac manages to track down the redhead from Perrin’s house in Rome, learning that she fended off an intruder the night he came across her. When both Perrin and Allie go missing, Mac is determined to get to the bottom of the bizarre case. The perfect beach read for mystery lovers who enjoy their intrigue light and romantic. --Kristine Huntley "Adler's story is perfect reading material for a hot day. Her descriptive words whisk readers away for a walk on the beach or to an outdoor cafe to savor a cup of coffee."-- RT Book Reviews  "Offers plenty of romantic élan and international intrigue."-- Publishers Weekly  "The perfect beach read for mystery lovers."-- Booklist ELIZABETH ADLER is the internationally acclaimed author of twenty-two novels. She lives in Palm Springs, California. Chapter One It was not the kind of night, nor the kind of place, where you’d expect to hear a woman scream. It was just one of those Malibu nights, dark as a velvet shroud, creamy waves crashing onto the shore, breeze soft as a kitten’s breath. Mac Reilly, Private Investigator, was walking the beach alone but for his dog. His lover, Sunny Alvarez, had taken off for Rome after a slight "disagreement" concerning their future. But that was an ongoing story. Mac lived in the famous Malibu Colony, habitat of movie stars and showbiz moguls and megabucks persons of every sort, each one richer than the next, give or take a couple of million, or in some cases billion. Their fancy beachside mansions didn’t look so fancy from Mac’s angle, but then the beach was also not an angle from which most people ever got to see them. In fact the public rarely got to see them. The Colony was gated and guarded, one gate in or out, and though the beach had free access it was only along the water’s edge with no loitering. Any unknown caught prowling along it at midnight would be in for some tough questioning. The Colony’s mansions were mostly the simple second or even third homes of rich people, understated in their beach chic and with the narrowest bits of oceanfront deck known to man, at a cost per square foot that boggled the accounting. Mac’s own place was a more modest dwelling, a forties bungalow he had bought cheap years ago in the big real estate slump and which had once been owned, or so he’d heard, by the old-time movie star Norma Shearer. Or was it Norma Jean? Norma or Marilyn, it made no difference. A shack was a shack whichever way you looked at it. The house’s saving grace, apart from its ritzy location and the view, was a small wooden deck with steps that led directly to the beach. It wasn’t unknown in a winter storm for the ocean to come thudding at the wooden pilings under that deck, slapping over the rails until Mac felt as though h