Unscrewed by Lois Greiman Read Free Book Online Page B

like startled chipmunks.
    The senator spoke first. “I am sorry.” Kindred turned toward him. “I very much hoped he had matured.”
    “He’ll be all right,” said Kindred. “Just needs to blow off some steam. He’ll come around.”
    But the older man shook his head. “I fear our past stands between us. His mother and I…” he began, then smiled sadly. “But these are not your troubles, are they? Thank you for your efforts, Leighton. I shall not forget them.”
    The captain turned with a scowl toward his office.
    The senator focused on me, gave a slight bow. “Ms. McMullen.” He reached for my hand with both of his, drawing me close, holding me with his gaze. “He needs a friend now. Someone who believes in him.”
    I tried to step back. If there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that Rivera had read every rabid doubt in my head, every raging fear in my weak-bladdered soul. “I don’t think I’m—”
    “If not you, then who?” he asked, smiling gently. “Go to him. Give him the comfort only a beautiful woman can give a man,” he said, and patting my hand, he turned to leave.
    Beautiful?
I stood like a dumbfounded monkey, staring after him in bewilderment and wondering if he’d noticed my mismatched shoes.

6
    Marriage is like a toothbrush. It starts out smooth and gets kind of prickly toward the end.
    —Howard Lepinski, who brushes twelve times a day
    I T WAS A long night, during which I did a lot of tossing. I would have turned, too, but Harlequin took up most of the available turning space. By Monday morning I felt like my brain had been rolled in sawdust and deep-fried in pig fat.
    The clock said 8:42. My first session was at ten. Time to rise and shine. Well, no time to shine, just to rise.
    I remained where I was.
    The memory of Rivera’s dead-set eyes seared me to the bone. He’d looked at me as if I were somehow culpable. As if he could blame me for doubting him, when the truth was, I didn’t know him. Had never been given a chance to know him. All I was sure of was that he was as unstable as nitro…and a liar. He was lying nitroglycerin. Well, at least he was a neglecter of the truth. He’d never mentioned Salina. Not one word. Not one damned syllable. What was I supposed to think? That his presence during her death was simply coincidental? That he was as innocent as a kiwi? That he’d walked into his father’s living room, found her dead, and decided to take a nap on the hardwood?
    Well, none of it mattered. It wasn’t my concern. If Rivera had wanted a real relationship, he would have made some sort of effort toward that end. Would have told me about his past. Or at least about his present. Holy crap! His father had been engaged to his ex, who happened to look a lot like a slinky version of Salma Hayek.
    I slapped my hand over my eyes and moaned. How did I keep making the same mistakes? Well, okay, not
exactly
the same mistakes. My boyfriends weren’t generally accused of manslaughter. So I had to get points for originality. I mean, it wasn’t easy constantly coming up with all-time lows in my history of less-than-romantic entanglements.
    But this time I knew one thing for certain.
    I dropped my hand from my eyes and sat up like a toy soldier. My days of living stupid were over. I didn’t need a man anyway. I had a good job. Well, I had a job. And a nice house. Well, I had a house. I had a good life. Well…anyway, from now on I was going to concentrate on nothing more grandiose than keeping all three.
    And if I dated—
if
I dated—it would only be with pedigreed men. Men with taste, men with substance, men who neither accused me of murder nor were accused of murder themselves.
    I rolled out of bed. Eeyore’s tail wiggled on the back of my pajama top. My silk nightie had gone AWOL again.
    I wandered into the bathroom, used the toilet, then eyed the scale near the sink. It stared back, cocky as a Frenchman. But this was a new me. A confident me. The scale was not the enemy.