A Christmas Kiss (10 page)

"Who?" Joey was taken aback.

"One of the eyewitnesses in the Ben DeCarlo double homicide trial. If you haven't seen the paper this morning, we had a shot of her in the French Quarter. She's in town and we want to know why."

"This isn't a good story." The very idea was deadly.

"Look, Mr. Tio, we've got one eyewitness back in New Orleans murdered. Then Ms. Gleason is spotted in some fracas in the French Quarter. We've talked to several witnesses, and what we're getting is a very, very interesting story. Something about her dead husband."

"Ms. Gleason is a protected witness. Any stories about her could jeopardize her life." Joey tried to think of some threat he could use, but none came to mind.

"It would seem she violated her agreement by returning to New Orleans, unless there's some secret meetings going on with the district attorney. We know the D.A., Travis Shanahan, is determined to see DeCarlo remain behind bars, no matter what it takes. Are there some strategy sessions going on here that involve the original witnesses? Or should I say, what's left of them?"

"What did you say your name was?" Joey stalled. The reporter had caught him flat-footed.

"Farris Quinn."

"How did you get this number, Mr. Quinn?" He saw Cori start. She recognized the name from the morning paper.

"We don't reveal our sources. Is there something going on with the prosecution of DeCarlo? Some new angle?"

"I have no comment. But I have to know where you got this number."

"Good investigative reporting, Mr. Tio, and Ms. Gleason hasn't exactly been subtle. That was quite a stir she caused yesterday. I understand no charges were filed."

Joey knew he was walking through a mine field. The worst possible thing for Cori would be additional press. But Farris Quinn bad a legal right to print whatever he could dig up. Consequences weren't the province of a free press.

"Quinn, the witness's life may be in jeopardy." He put it out there. The silence told him that he'd struck his target.

"That has to do with your job, Tio. My job is to print the news."

Joey liked the defensiveness he clearly heard. Farris Quinn was a man who took his job—and its consequences—seriously. "You know the DeCarlo trial comes up in a few weeks. This witness is vital.

There are compelling reasons for her to be in New Orleans, which I can't reveal. But I do promise you, as soon as I can, I'll let you know the details."

"I don't know that that's good enough."

"It's all I can promise."

"I've been told by other reporters that you're good for your word."

"I do the best I can." Joey felt that maybe, just maybe, he'd made it through the mine field without getting blown up. Of course, the boundaries of such a thing were never clear. There could always be one hidden bomb___

"Will you answer one question?"

"If I can."

"Is the witness here because she thinks her husband is still alive? You know there was never any evidence found that Kit Wells was murdered. Has something new broken in that investigation?"

Joey took a deep breath. "Off the record I can tell you there is absolutely no new information in the murder investigation of Kit Wells. Nothing at all. But it would greatly damage the witness if that issue was raised in print."

Farris sensed the hint of a story. "But if there is some new development,
you'll
call
me
with the facts, right?"

"You have my word," Joey said. He pulled a pen from his pocket and asked for the reporter's home number.

"Don't disappoint me, Tio," Farris said by way of goodbye.

Joey replaced the receiver and turned to Cori. "There's a leak as big as a fire hydrant in the NOPD.

If you want to live, you'll stop calling there, and you'll stay as far away from Blake as you can." The barely controlled anger in his voice crackled. "Whatever harebrained scheme you've cooked up for finding Kit, you can forget it. If you want to continue to breathe."

By the time Cori had showered and dressed, Joey's hot temper had cooled. His anger was at the loose-lipped police officers who were either giving information to the press, or worse yet, selling it. But Cori had caught the brunt of it because her life was at risk—a fact she simply refused to accept.

"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, and 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."