"I'm sorry," he said gruffly as she came back into Jolene's kitchen. "If the press has your story, your face and name could be smeared everywhere. Your stability as a witness could be jeopardized."
"Not to mention my life. I'll put my things in the car." Cori was beyond being angry at Joey. She understood his position, the pressure to protect her and to make her fall into line so that the DeCarlo case was not jeopardized. She understood, but she had no intention of dropping her quest. She had to do what she had come to do, just as Joey had to do his job. They were on opposite sides of the issue.
Looking into his dark eyes, though, she felt a flicker of disappointment at that fact. Joey Tio was a good man to have on her side. How long had it been since she'd found a man so compelling? One with a code of honor, and the principles to act on it.
Not since Kit.
The answer was so apparent that she stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk. She could not allow herself to entertain even the tiniest glimmer of interest in Joey Tio. Her husband was still alive. She was bound and committed to Kit Wells. The fact had sustained her for two years, and now the evidence to support it was stronger than ever. Whatever Joey thought, someone had put those kisses in the cottage.
Someone had left them in her car and studio. Who else but Kit? No one else could have known the private candy code they'd used to communicate. Kit had to be alive, and she was going to find him.
There were questions that had to be answered. Only Kit had those answers. Once she found him, she'd be able to figure out how to get on with her life. With or without him. Kit might not be a part of her future, but he was the past that held her chained in limbo.
She dropped her bag in the back seat of the black Supra and felt the crisp morning sun on her face like a blessing. The front door opened and Joey followed her out, and the reality of her thoughts struck her. Somewhere during the long wait for morning her thoughts had shifted from finding Kit as the primary goal to getting on with her life. She took a deep lungful of the cold air and felt it travel through her. She held it, feeling the wonder of it. Before, she'd begun to feel as if the air entered her lungs and leaked out of her skin, as if she were too porous to hold oxygen. Now, though, the air was bracing, invigorating. She couldn't stop the smile that grew on her face at Joey's approach.
"Whatever happens, I'm glad to be alive," she told him. As he slipped into the car seat she missed the expression of surprise, and happiness, that touched Joey Tio's face for only a fraction of a second.
They were out early, and for New Orleans the traffic was sparse. Joey pondered the problem of what to do with Cori while he made a visit to the NOPD and Captain Blake. He'd told Cori he would take care of Danny Dupray—and he fully intended to pay the owner of the Twinkle a visit. But Blake first. There were several issues that had to be resolved.
He would ask about the investigation into Kit Wells's disappearance, but his primary goal was to deliver a warning. Blake had to get his officers into line and shut their mouths—with whatever force necessary. Law enforcement officials were connected by webs and webs of state and federal laws.
When one branch leaked, all the others suffered.
"Where are we going?''
Cori's question interrupted his brooding, and he glanced at her to find that there was a hint of expectation in the slant of her lips.
"I thought we might walk along the levee for a while. Watch the boats." The words surprised both of them. Was it really anticipation he saw in Cori's eyes before she lowered them demurely to her hands?
He felt like a jackass. They had work to do and here he was pretending it was a lazy Saturday afternoon and he was out on a... date. "It's too early for any of the offices to be open, and Blake doesn't come in until ten. As you said, the Twinkle won't open until closer to noon." His excuses sounded paper-thin even to himself.
"I love the levee," Cori said softly. "I used to get up early when I'd spent the night at the studio and walk down to watch the sunrise. Could we stop by the Cafe du Monde and get some cafe au lait? I can't get coffee like that in Houston. It's one of the many things I miss about New Orleans."
If she could have bitten her tongue, she would have. As if coffee was the thing that drew her back to her home and the danger that surrounded it! Joey would surely think she was as idiotic as she sometimes acted.
Joey parked the car, and they walked in the brisk morning to the cafe and got two large coffees to go. Steam rising from their cups, they walked side by side up the steps and onto the levee. Mist rose off the river, creating a world of wisps and diffused light.
"It's like a dream," Cori said, stopping to sip the sweet, rich coffee. "The smells, the tastes, the sounds. I think I'll wake up back in Houston and find I've only dreamed of being here."
A riverboat blazing with Christmas lights churned through the fog. "Look," Cori pointed, excitement in her voice. "Christmas on the river right before our eyes."
Joey chuckled at her easy pleasure. She did love Christmas. That was one thing she hadn't lied about. "Where I come from, we decorate all the boats in town and parade down the Bayou Teche. And in Breaux Bridge, Santa drives a giant crayfish in the Christmas parade."
"It sounds delightful." The image pleased her. Santa's sleigh hooked to a mud bug! What a spectacle.
"Everyone decorates their houses. Of course, there aren't so many big homes like here in New Orleans, but even the small homes put up lights and a tree." He laughed. "Laurette says we all go a little crazy under the colored lights. And the swamp is beautiful. The trees are so bare, with just the moss and no leaves, and the water hardly moves at all."
Cori held herself perfectly still. Listening to Joey speak of his home made her realize that he, too, missed his family. His mother was dead, and what of the rest? She wanted to ask, but felt she didn't have a right. His life was personal, a closed door. Hers had become public property for everyone to poke at and explore.
'' My memories of growing up are very good.'' He smiled at her, seeming to encourage her interest.
"You grew up in New Iberia?" Cori had never really explored that part of Louisiana. For decades that portion of the state had been cut off from New Orleans, isolated by the Atchafalaya Basin. She knew her history well enough to know that the French Acadian immigrants who fled Canada and settled in the area had lived in near isolation for decades, harvesting the riches of the Gulf of Mexico and the sugar cane, rice and salt that were the backbone of the agricultural economy.
"We were a very strong community, until oil and television." Joey spoke as if he read her mind.
"Now things are changing. I sound like the old folks, but it isn't all for the best."
"Do you get home often?"
"Not often enough. It seems my work wraps around my ankles and holds me here.'' He pointed to a small tug headed through the fog. "Look, there's a band."
Cori saw the figures with their instruments on the deck of the barge just as four men struck a few chords and sent the rock 'n' roll reverberating off the fog and water. They broke into a rendition of
"Proud Mary."
Joey groaned. "Every band in the world has to play that song."
"Especially when they're rolling on the Mississippi." Cori laughed at his mock anguish. "Do you play an instrument?" She knew that he did. She guessed guitar.
"Fiddle," he said, grinning with a streak of shyness. "My father taught me when I was younger. We used to play every Saturday night. For the dances." His face lit with the memory. "Everyone danced. My father was the singer, and he sang only in French. We never spoke English in our home, just French.
When I started school, Laurette gave me English lessons in the afternoon."
"Your parents didn't speak English?" Cori found it fascinating.
"The whole community spoke French, mostly. Everyone could speak English, but it was a second language. In school we all spoke English, but the home language was French." He looked down at her and his smile gave him away as teasing. "We all speak French, a
nd we all dance. The true prerequisites for being Cajun."
"Well, I can't do either," Cori confessed. "My tongue and my feet are clumsy."
In the soft morning light, filtered through the fog, Joey could not resist the softness of her cheek. He touched her, a feather-light brush. "I could teach you to dance," he said.
For a few seconds, Cori enjoyed the image that flitted into her brain. She could feel Joey's arms around her, holding her, guiding her in the lovely dipping and turning step called the Cajun Waltz. She had seen it performed, by octogenarians and grammar school children. It had always seemed so magical to her, a dance of laughter and fun where everyone seemed to have a good time. "That would be wonderful," she said.
"Let's start back toward town." He took her elbow and led her down from the levee. The intensity of his feelings for her had unsettled him. He'd always been able to differentiate between work and play. If there was any problem, it was that he worked all the time and played hardly at all. Now he was asking a witness in his program to dance. A widowed woman, to boot. He felt a wave of concern at his own emotional state. And he'd thought she was coming unhinged!
He checked the time. He'd fibbed about Blake. The man was in his office by now, but he didn't want Cori along. It was decision time. Since he knew she'd never agree to go back to Texas until he talked with Blake and Dupray, he had to think of something to occupy her time and keep her out of trouble. Unfortunately, he hadn't come up with a single thing.
"Joey, I know you won't let me go with you. Why don't you leave me at the federal building. I'll stay in the Marshals office while you talk to Captain Blake and Danny."
He glanced at her, seeing only sincerity in her eyes. This was a little too easy.
"When you're done, I'd like to walk down by my old studio." Cori looked up at him. "Not to go in or anything, just to see what type of work they're showing. I've heard, through the grapevine, the new owner is successful."
So, she still had plans to visit the Quarter. That was more in line with her character. "Let me talk to Blake and Dupray, and then we'll see about going to your studio. Maybe we could drive by." Maybe being the operative word. He had no intention of putting her at risk.
"You will press Kit's case, won't you?"
"You have my word on that."
She nodded. "Okay. Then I'll stay in your building." She brushed her hair back out of her eyes. "And I promise to stay out of trouble."
"If I talk to Blake, will you promise to go back to Houston until the trial?"
She shaded her eyes from the sun that had peeped over a building and was glinting directly in her face. "I can't make that promise."
"I'll check the files myself, Cori. I'll tell you everything that's in them. You have my word, but you have to promise me you'll leave New Orleans."
She had come here to find out the truth once and for all. What Joey offered wasn't necessarily the total truth, but it was more than she had now. "Okay." She could go back for a few more weeks—if she knew the truth about Kit.
They returned to the car and headed toward the federal building. "I'll meet you at twelve o'clock.
That should give me plenty of time to strong-arm my way into the file and ran down Dupray. Even if the club isn't open, he'll be on the premises."
"Thanks, Joey." Cori leaned back in the seat.
As they neared the building, Joey sighed. "I'll have to check in there soon, and I have a feeling there's going to be hell to pay when my boss, Clayton Bascombe, sees me."
"Because of me?"
"You haven't exactly made my job a piece of cake." There was no censure in his tone, just fact.
"I know. I am sorry about all the trouble."
"It's okay, Cori. I'll survive. The important thing is to make sure that you do."
"At twelve." She gave him a smile and a look of total innocence. They got out of the car, and he walked her to the door. "Stay in that building, Cori."
"I'll see you right here at twelve." She walked up the steps and went in the door.
Even as he walked away, doubt nagged at him. Cori St. John was a trouble magnet. He didn't feel great about leaving her, but the Marshals office was the safest place she could be—in New Orleans. If he took her into the PD headquarters, not a single officer would talk, and Blake would surely never open the file to a civilian. And there was also the little matter of Officer Lewis. Joey wanted him called in and dressed down, something that would never occur in front of Cori.
A sharp pang of longing touched Cori as she watched Joey's back. He disappeared into the crowd, and she took the empty coffee cups to a trash can and dropped them. The fact that she'd held her crossed fingers behind her back when she'd lied did not absolve her of guilt. She was going to the Quarter, and her destination was the Twinkle.
As soon as Joey was gone she hurried back to the curb and flagged down a taxi. In fifteen minutes she was cutting through the Quarter, among the thousands of tourists who hunted for bargains, liquor, sex or ambience. She had always enjoyed watching the tourists, though a lot of the Quarter residents generally felt anger toward the invading hordes. Without the tourists, the old French Quarter would have fallen into disrepair and ruin. And for an artist, the tourist dollar was survival.
She walked along, noticing the new stores selling furniture, clothes and jewelry, the restaurants and bars. The old familiar landmarks were still in place, but plenty of new businesses had sprung up in the two years since she'd been there.
At last she turned onto Dumaine and spied the marquee of the Twinkle. Though it was daylight, the running lights circulated around the letters advertising Buxom Babbette and Candy. The Twinkle had once been a movie theater, but it had long ago been converted to a bar with a runway where young girls danced and stripped. Even from a block away she could hear the music. So Danny was now open twenty-four hours a day. It disgusted her, but it served her purposes.
She stopped in front of the studio that had once been hers. A series of delicate watercolors were hung in the show window, and Cori judged they would be a good draw. The painting was fresh, filled with color and light. It was a good choice for the window, and she absently nodded her approval while casting an eye on the front door of the club. Now that she was here she wasn't certain exactly how to approach her mission. Her nerve faltered; only her desperation forced her forward. The cops had lied to her. No one wanted to bother with finding Kit. Danny was her only option. He was a dangerous man, but he had worked closely with Kit. He might know something. And he might tell her.
As she stood in front of the paintings, the door of the Twinkle opened and a man in a very rumpled business suit came out. He lurched slightly, found his balance, and tottered down the street, his tie in his hand. Cori shivered in distaste, then recalled that Jolene had worked in the Twinkle. Lots of bright young girls thought dancing was an easy way to make money. But it took a woman with a lot of self-confidence not to be eaten alive by that life-style. Jolene was obviously one who had survived.
With Joey's help.
Knowing that if she didn't act soon she'd lose her nerve completely, she pushed open the door and walked in.
The darkness of the room, the layers of smoke, the loud music from the jukebox stopped her in her tracks. She'd been in plenty of dark, smoky bars before, but in the Twinkle the only lights were focused on the stage. A young girl was doing a bump and grind on the runway while two men, almost too drunk to stay in their chairs, waved dollar bills at her.
It took a moment for Cori to notice that the entire runway was strung with tiny blinking white Christmas lights. Something told her that these had been in place a long time and were responsible for the establishment's name.
"You lookin' for someone?"
Cori turned around, trying not to show how badly she'd been startled. "Danny. I'm looking for Danny."
The guy was big, his T-shirt stretched across his chest and arms. "Who shall I say is calling?" he asked, his tone mocking her.
"He wouldn't know my name. I,
uh, I used to live near here." Maybe she should just add she was the one who had reported him to the police for roughing up one of his girls out on the sidewalk.
"I'll tell him a mystery lady is calling. Are you looking for work?" His eye appraised her.
"No. Certainly not." She spoke before she thought.
"Right." The man laughed out loud. "You don't look like you've got enough flexibility for our requirements." He turned around and walked off.
Cori felt the fury whip through her. To be put down by a bouncer! Then she realized how ridiculous her reaction was. Who cared what a man who worked in a place like this thought? She looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps and recognized Danny Dupray. The lizard hadn't aged at all.
"Well, well, if it isn't Brently Wells."
Cori was completely taken aback. He did remember her. Right down to her married name.
"Mr. Dupray."
"You're something of a celebrity. I saw your photo in the paper this morning. What a ruckus you created down at the French Market. It appeared you were trying to abduct someone's child."
"Hardly." Cori found her tongue and her wits. "I'm surprised you remember me."
"How could I forget Kit's lovely bride? Bride is correct, isn't it? You were never really his wife."
"That's right." If he thought he could rattle her with a few ugly digs, he was wrong. She looked him squarely in his flat, blue eyes. His nose was sharp as a knife's blade, matching the narrowness of his face.
His entire body was narrow. "In fact, it's Kit I've come to see you about."
"Old Kit. You know, I never believed he was murdered. Kit was far too smart to be caught like that."
At his words, Cori felt her heart racing. She had to be cool, not give away her intentions. "I don't believe Kit is dead, either. That's why I'm here."
"So you think I might know something about your husband?" Danny smiled, and even his teeth were narrow.
A Christmas Kiss Page 8
