07 Uncorked - Chrissy McMullen Mystery by Lois Greiman

though I hardly knew him, I liked to throw his name around whenever an opportunity presented itself. “No.”
    Rivera lowered his brows even farther. “Are your brothers somehow involved in this?”
    “Of course not.”
    He pursed his lips. “Then, who’d you piss off?”
    Anger washed the tears right out of my eyes. “I didn’t piss anyone—” I began but he laughed. The sound was low and rumbly.
    I fortified my resolve and drew a deep breath, determined to start over, to think clearly, maybe even to apologize for my past transgressions. My lips and my sphincter tightened against the idea. Turns out I’d rather eat Spirit’s wild horse dung than admit a mistake, and I was pretty damn sure Rivera wasn’t going to make it easy.
    “Listen,” I said, “I’m…” I shook my head. It wasn’t as if I had never apologized in the past. I’d just never done it without someone holding my head over a toilet bowl. I swallowed. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
    His brows rose a fraction of an inch and maybe his body relaxed a little, but he said nothing.
    I cleared my throat. “You look good.” He looked, in fact, good enough to put on top of a cake and devour whole. Or put in a cake. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those women who’s attracted to criminals. Except for Nicolas Cage in Con Air and Sean Connery in anything.
    “Say something,” I said.
    “I’m waiting for you to get around to your reason for coming.”
    “I just stopped by to make sure you were all right.” The left corner of his mouth quirked.
    “And to tell you that I’m…” The word was stuck in my throat like an orange in a whisky bottle. “I’m concerned about your well-being.”
    “My well-being.”
    “And I… I’m…” For the life of me, I couldn’t cough up the word. “What happened?
    I mean…” I shook my head. “Why are you here?”
    “I think you know that one.”
    “I know you didn’t shoot Andrews.”
    He shrugged. Only one shoulder lifted. “Turns out there was an eyewitness.” My breath stopped in my throat. “A witness! Who? Where?”
    “That’s not something you need to worry about.”
    My lips moved of their own accord, fueled by outrage and terror and a dozen other emotions I wasn’t quite ready to own up to. “You’re being framed,” I barely breathed the words. “Set up. Who says they saw you? Why are you here? Why aren't you at least out on bail?"
    “Don’t get all riled up,” he warned.
    “Riled up?” I choked a laugh. “What the hell are you talking about? Have you spoken to the senator? Maybe if you apologize for…" I shrugged spasmodically. "…
    whatever, he can get you out."
    "Bail's set pretty high."
    "How much? I can get some money together, and if I ask Laney, she'll-"
    "Forget it," he said and sat perfectly motionless, eyes steady, body still as granite as he watched me.
    Wild emotions sluiced through me. I leaned closer to the glass. “Some people think you did it to save me,” I said.
    “Some people?”
    “But I know better.” Fear was cascading through me like water over a ledge. What if I was wrong and his father was right? What if he was here because of me? The senator seemed to intend to do nothing about Rivera’s incarceration. Was that because he had already determined there was nothing he could do? Was he simply cutting his losses?
    “You’re not that dumb.”
    His eyes were steaming, and through the smoke I envisioned two people going at it on a kitchen table that looked a lot like mine. “You sure?” I swallowed, pulled into his eyes, drawn under the memories. But I yanked myself off the slippery slope and shook my head.
    “You’re a pain in the ass, Rivera, but you’re not particularly stupid.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his right leg. His lips remained immobile, but there was a light of something in his dark devil eyes. “Gee, I’m so glad you stopped by,” he said. “We’ll have to do this again sometime.” I drew a