Another new life. Another empty pretense.
Until that time she was "to remain in Houston and do nothing that might blow your cover." Joey Tio's exact words. The words she had deliberately disobeyed.
She folded the newspaper and left it on the table along with a five-dollar tip. After all, it was Christmas, and somebody should find some pleasure in the holiday.
Exiting the cafe, she walked across Decatur to the alley where many of the talented street artists plied their work. She had an appointment with Captain Blake in the police station, but she'd allowed herself some time to travel to familiar landmarks. She wanted to confront the past. She had to.
The morning was young, but the sidewalk artists were already working. Some took the easy tourist dollar with caricatures. Others hung their oils and watercolors on the wrought-iron fence that surrounded Jackson Square. A cluster of tarot readers worked a steady trade while two young African-American boys did a lanky-limbed tap dance with bottle caps pressed into the soles of their tennis shoes. Clapping for the tap dancers, she left two dollars in their hat and scanned the work of the artists. Some were very good, others not worth a glance. Even as she studied a haunting watercolor of the cathedral on the square, she found herself looking past the wrought-iron enclosure into the center of the park.
Soaring into the morning sky, a magnificent fir tree glittered and shone with tinsel and ornaments. It would be beautifully lit at night. Just as it had been on the eve of her wedding. Two years ago, she and Kit had married in the park, a Christmas Eve ceremony lit with candles and the brilliant future they had planned together. A future that had lasted hardly more than two hours.
Cori started toward the cathedral. Her old showroom was only a few blocks away. She'd heard it had been sold to a young couple who were doing well, but she wanted to see what artists they were hanging—just a glance in the window. And then it would be time for her appointment with Kit's old captain.
She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. A man was standing beside a large magnolia at the corner of the square. His wide shoulders made her halt in her tracks. When a light breeze ruffled the magnolia leaves, a shaft of sunlight filtered down onto his sandy blond hair, longer and curlier than she remembered it.
"Kit?" She spoke out loud, a whisper of a question that took all the breath in her lungs. "Kit!" She knew it was him. Before she could think, she started running toward him.
A crowd of giggling young girls, their arms filled with shopping bags, stepped in her way. Unable to stop, Cori plowed into one teenager, sending her sprawling to the flagstones. Cori didn't stop. She jumped over the girl, nearly losing her balance in her high-heeled boots. Her forward momentum carried her on past the girls, who were yelling angrily.
The man was gone. The shadows beneath the tree were empty.
Cori saw a blur of movement across the busy street. The man had crossed among the parked carriages and had managed to navigate Decatur Street. He was headed for the French Market. Purse banging against her side, she started to run again.
She heard the blare of a car horn, the squeal of brakes and the horrified cry of the people sitting in the Caf6 du Monde. By the time she turned to look, it was too late. The car was careering toward her, brakes locked as the driver attempted to stop before he struck her. There was no place for her to go.
Traffic coming from the other direction couldn't stop in time.
Through the gnarl of traffic, a dark-clad man seemed to fly over the hood of the car. He struck her with such impact they both tumbled into the gutter of the street, startling one of the carriage mules into a near stampede.
For Cori, the world rocked in a carnival ride of blurred sights and pain. Before she knew what was happening, she was hauled to her feet and confronted with the snapping black eyes of a man who looked ready to strangle her.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his strong hands gripping her shoulders and shaking her for good measure. "You want to commit suicide? You want a stay in a hospital bed?"
At last her focus began to clear, and she took in the mouth drawn tight by fury, the olive complexion slightly paled by fear. The wind ruffled his dark brown hair. Cori looked past him to the place where she'd last seen Kit. Why had he run away from her? She had no interest in anything, not even her burning knee and bleeding elbow, except finding Kit Wells.
"Come on." The man said, roughly pushing her up on the sidewalk and toward Jackson Square.
His anger drove her forward without protest. When they came to an empty bench, he pushed her down onto it and stood over her, huffing with exertion and the residue of adrenaline that had precipitated his bold rescue.
"I ought to thank you," she stammered. She was still disorientated, but she wasn't certain if it was from the hard knock she'd taken onto the pavement or because she'd seen Kit. She rubbed her knee, which had begun to throb. Blood soaked through her dark pants, a sticky wetness that wasn't visible at first. She pulled her hand away and looked at the stain on her palm and fingers.
"Are you hurt?" The man bent down, his fingers now gentle as he probed at her leg.
"It's just a scrape." She wanted to push him away, but it would require too much energy. "Really, it's just a brush with the pavement. If you hadn't..." She thought of the car, the terror of the man's face behind the wheel when he knew he couldn't stop. "You saved my life."
"And you're going straight back to Houston, Texas." He looked directly into her eyes from his kneeling position. "Right this minute."
Cori's eyes widened. How did he know where she was from? "I..." Words wouldn't form.
"I'm Joey Tio." He lifted one brow in a gesture that made him look more dangerous than amused. "I told you not to come here." He looked around. "One of the five witnesses was murdered down at the docks yesterday. The retrial is set for January. Your life is in extreme danger, Ms. St. John. I can't believe you were stupid enough to ignore my orders."
The facts were not slipping into place easily, but Cori was finding some sense. "You've been following me?" How else could he have been right on the spot to rescue her?
"My job is to make sure you're safe and protected. You're a very valuable witness." Anger now accented his words. "Although you're making it very difficult, I have no intention of allowing you to die before DeCarlo's retrial. I'll do whatever is necessary."
"Even risk your own life?" She hadn't meant the words to sound so sharp.
"Most witnesses don't expect such heroics, but then we do have the occasional one who is so self-involved that she endangers all of us." He stood up. His fingers wrapped around her upper arm.
"And those we treat with necessary force. You're going home right this minute, if I have to sit on you the entire way."
Chapter Two
Cori had been propelled halfway down Decatur and nearly to the parking lot where she'd left her car before she gathered herself enough to jerk free of Joey Tio's bruising grip. Her knee throbbed with each step, and his fingers were only making matters worse. Besides, she'd come to New Orleans for an appointment. Just as she twisted free of him, she turned to face him. She was average height, but her gaze was squarely at his sternum. She had to tilt her head to look him in the face.
"Back off," she said succinctly. She was not a woman who often took a forceful stand, but years of running an art studio had taught her a little something about pushy people. Artists were notorious for temper fits and prima donna behavior. She'd learned the hard way that if you gave an inch, they'd take a mile. Joey Tio seemed to be the same personality type. He was going to bully her back to Texas if she didn't put her foot down—pronto! And she had no intention of leaving Louisiana until she'd tracked down the man she'd seen beneath the magnolia tree.
Her heart told her it was Kit, but even if it wasn't, the man was watching her. She was sure of that.
He wanted something. There was a reason for his interest, and her gut told her it had something to do with Kit. All Cori knew was that if she put h
erself in public places, the man would watch her again. The next time she would speak with him.
Joey stopped, caught more by the fire in her green eyes than by her words. From the first moment he'd picked up Cori St. John's trail in the Riverwalk parking lot, she'd seemed more hunted doe than stalking panther. Now the cat imagery was definitely more applicable. Strangely enough, he felt a small wave of relief. When he'd watched her run into the middle of the street, he'd thought she was committing a form of suicide. Now, though, he could see the fire in her spirit. She hadn't completely given up on life
—yet. And that was a good sign.
The U.S. Marshal's obedience to her order to back off was so unexpected, Cori could think of nothing else to say. "Quit gawking at me," she finally snapped. "I'm not some kind of specimen or something."
Joey was not a man who blushed easily, or often, but a hint of embarrassment tinged his natural olive complexion with a dusky rose. He had been staring. His thoughts had gone from protecting Cori St. John straight to registering the unusual features of her face—her catlike eyes, pale skin and dark hair—right on to speculating a few, more personal things about her, such as what man in his right mind would walk off just after the wedding ceremony and before the honeymoon?
"I have an appointment with Captain Blake." Cori had decided that she was not going to give any further details of her plans to her "keeper." It was his job to get her out of New Orleans. Out of Louisiana, for that matter. He had no interest in finding her husband. His job was to keep her safe and ready to put on the witness stand when Ben DeCarlo came to trial again. Joey Tio would only laugh at her stories about spontaneously appearing chocolates.
"Ms. St. John, the investigation into your husband's disappearance is closed." Joey tried not to sound condescending, but he'd gone over her file and knew of her repeated attempts to reopen the case of her husband's disappearance. Kit Wells had been one of the NOPD's brightest police detectives. And he had left his job and his wife without explanation. His body had never been recovered, but the basic belief of all the local law enforcement officials was that Kit had taken a bullet intended for Cori. Although there was no solid proof, the law officers Joey knew felt that Kit had been abducted and murdered in retaliation for Cori's testimony at the DeCarlo trial. Cori wanted to reopen that mess. To probe further into the matter would only bring anguish for her. Anguish and guilt. Why couldn't she see that and let it alone?
"I have new evidence." Cori had meant to keep her mouth shut, but she couldn't.
"What kind of evidence?" Joey kept his tone flat.
Cori shifted her weight. Her knee was throbbing, and she could feel the blood trickling down her leg. All she wanted was to make her appointment with the captain and then slip down into the free-for-all atmosphere of the French Market and hunt the man who looked so shockingly like her "dead" husband.
She certainly didn't want a marshal hanging around. Kit could spot another law enforcement official a mile off. Whatever his reasons, he was hiding from the law, too.
"Are you okay?" Joey saw the fevered look that came into her green eyes. It was almost haunted, a hopeful look laced with pain. And her breathing had grown unsteady. He put his hand on her arm, this time gently. Without thinking, his fingers brushed her cheek, feeling for her body temperature to see if she was too cold or too hot. Her eyes looked slightly like a shock victim's, and her behavior had been bizarre.
At the touch of his fingers, Cori gasped. The gentleness was so unexpected, so much a part of the life she had put behind her, that she felt that light brush across her cheek all the way down to the tips of her toes. Even her throbbing knee gave a moment's respite.
Joey thought she was going to faint. One arm moved deftly around her shoulders while his other arm caught her behind the knees. In one smooth movement, she was in his arms. "I think we should stop by an emergency room and have you checked out," he said. He found that he did not dare look down into her eyes. He stared ahead and started walking. The hundreds of tourists all seemed to turn and stare, and Joey felt a growing apprehension about the attention he and Cori were drawing.
"Put me down." Cori at last found the words to protest. Finding herself scooped into Joey Tio's arms was the last thing she'd expected, and the very first thing her body had reacted to. He was a handsome man. A strong man. And her body had suddenly decided to kick in and remind her that she was a woman. Cori felt a tide of betrayal by her own foolish flesh and a wave of anger at the man who had initiated this confusing mix of rocketing hormones.
Seeing a small alleyway that was walled on either side by tall brick buildings, Joey took the opportunity and stepped down it. Hidden from view, he eased her to her feet in the narrow confines that put them chest to chest.
"How dare you do that," Cori said. She could hardly breathe, he was so close to her.
Joey felt her physical closeness, too, and the sudden, totally unprofessional images that leapt into his mind made him step to the side so they could have some distance apart. "I thought you were going to faint," he said. He noted the lively color on her face, the fire that danced in her eyes and made her seem older and younger than her twenty-nine years. Obviously he had misread the signals. Cori St. John was a lot more likely to explode than faint.
"I'm not about to faint, and I'm not about to go back to Texas." She put her hands on her hips, taking up the narrow alleyway. "I saw my husband today. I saw him! That's who I was chasing when I...
you... when you got me out of the street." She saw the look of disbelief he didn't bother to hide.
"Go ahead and sneer, just like all the rest of the policemen who claimed to be Kit's friends. All of those men he worked with day to day who gave up looking for him two months after he disappeared.
Well, I'm his wife, and I know he isn't dead."
"If he isn't dead, why did he run off and abandon his bride?" Joey asked the question quietly, and he saw that it did its work as neatly as the sharpest stiletto. Cori St. John actually sagged. But this time he knew better than to touch her. Not even if she dropped to her knees in the dirty alley.
Cori found her mouth suddenly too dry to speak. She stared down at the tips of her boots and tried to manage enough moisture to answer the question she'd asked herself a million times. Why hadn't Kit taken her with him? If he had to run to protect himself, why hadn't he taken her? She had already given up her life, her family, everything she loved—except him—when she'd testified against Ben DeCarlo.
"I'm sorry," Joey said, and indeed he was. He'd never damaged another person so badly with words. "That was out of line, but you are in a very dangerous position, Ms. St. John." He wanted to help her, to simply offer the protection of his arms. Once again, Cori St. John had transformed, this time from a cat back into a doe. And the deer didn't seem to have enough heart left to elude the hunters.
When she didn't respond, or even look up at him, he continued. "By coming to New Orleans, you've violated the conditions of your protection.''
She still didn't look up.
"Legally, we can withdraw all of our help and support. You'll be left alone, without any official protection." Joey couldn't help the feeling that he was sinking lower than the belly of a snail. Everything he said was true, but... "If you'll just go back to Texas and stay out of this city until the retrial, I'll do whatever I can to make sure this doesn't get reported." As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wondered where in the hell they'd come from. He had just agreed to violate the rules of his job. And the woman standing in front of him had not asked for any of it.
"I can't go back now." Cori finally looked up at him. It was his last bit of kindness that gave her the courage to stay and hunt for Kit. Maybe Joey Tio didn't like what she was doing, but he understood. She heard it in his voice. "Kit Wells is in this city. I don't have a life, Mr. Tio. I have an existence. I buy and sell art. I paint a little. I eat, and sometimes I sleep, but not very well. I look for Kit every time I glance out a restaurant window. Every time I walk i
nto a park. I look for him in my dreams. I simply can't go forward until I find him, or find the proof that he is actually dead."
"After the retrial, once Ben DeCarlo is permanently behind bars..."
"No!" Cori shook her head. "No. Two years of my life are gone. The first time I testified, Ben DeCarlo was supposed to get the death penalty. He got life. Now he's getting a new trial. This could go on for the rest of his life, or mine. No. I have a right to live. And I can't begin until I find Kit. Dead or alive." She turned and started out of the alley. Her knee was completely stiff now, and she limped, but she didn't care. She was going to the NOPD and she was going to see the file. Come hell or high water.
Joey Tio reached for her, but thought better about touching her again. There was something that happened between them whenever flesh met flesh that was better left unexplored. What he had to do was bring this witness into line.
"You walk out of this alley and turn to the left, toward the French Quarter, and you're out of the witness protection program. There's nothing I can do for you. On the other hand, if you turn right and go with me..."
She hesitated but kept going.
"Cori, you're signing your death certificate. One witness is dead. Did you ever stop to think that the man you thought you saw was a plant, a setup to draw you out?"
Cori faltered. Her hand went out to the alley wall to brace herself. Joey Tio had struck a nerve.
"Think about it, Cori." Joey saw he'd gained an inch of ground. He pressed forward. "This man you saw. He was in shadow. He wore a coat something like one you'd recognize. A coat that disguised his physique."
"His hair..."
"How hard do you think it would be to do a perfect dye job? There were photos of Kit easily accessible by DeCarlo's ranks." He saw he was shaking her.
Cori clutched at the memory of the chocolate kisses. "It wasn't just seeing him. Someone left something in my studio. In my car. Something that had to come from Kit. Something only he would know the meaning behind."
A Christmas Kiss Page 2
