A Christmas Kiss (11 page)

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.

"I thought you might."

"Information always has a price."

"I'm willing to pay, if it's the right information.'' Cori felt as if she'd stepped into a movie. Behind her the music pulsed and the girl danced. The sound track seemed endless, and the smoky air was choking her.

"What might that information be?" he asked carefully.

"Proof that Kit is alive?"

"Merely proof. You wouldn't want a... reunion?" Danny's smirk was almost unbearable.

"No. Just proof."

"What, the romance is dead? And you never even got to enjoy the honeymoon. Maybe it's that marshal you've developed some feelings for. I hear Joey Tio is a handsome man. And some women, they just go from one uniform to the next."

Cori gritted her teeth and held back an angry remark. "Do you have any proof, Mr. Dupray?"

"Think about this, Brently Wells. Why should I help the woman who was always making trouble for me? As I recall, you repeatedly called the police to protest my business."

"I did, and if I were living next door to you, I'd probably still be calling. My concern is Kit, not our mutually antagonistic past."

"Well said." Danny pretended to clap lightly. "So how much would you pay for this proof?"

"It depends on what it is."

"Say a photo of him holding a newspaper with today's date. Isn't that what they do in kidnappings?

They always get the little tyke to hold up a newspaper with the current date." He laughed. "I like that. I wonder if Kit could be persuaded to cooperate. You know if he's alive he's gone to great lengths to make you and everyone who ever knew him believe he's dead. Perhaps he doesn't want to be resurrected."

"I don't intend to bother him, I just want to know. So I can get on with my life." It struck Cori that she had made a transition from finding Kit to finding the truth. For two years she'd not been able to imagine a future without Kit. Now it was difficult to project him into her life. She only wanted to know what had happened to him—and why he kept lurking on the fringes of her life.

"Champing at the bit to be free of the past? Joey has caught your fancy, hasn't he." Danny gave his shark grin.

Danny Dupray was too astute to ignore. Reality struck home with a force that made Cori weak-kneed. She had changed. Even more than she'd thought. And part of it had to do with Joey Tio.

She wasn't certain what her feelings were, exactly, but something in her heart had changed. Some cold, frozen place had begun to thaw and come to life, and Joey Tio was responsible for that.

"Tell me, Mrs. Wells, does the marshal know that you're out visiting the Twinkle?" Danny's eyes glinted as he shifted from her to the bouncer. A secret communication passed between them and Cori felt the back of her neck prickle with a whisper of fear.

"Of course Joey knows where I am." She intended to stand her ground.

Danny's grin widened. "I doubt that, Mrs. Wells. Not to call you a liar, but I seriously doubt that Joey or anyone else knows what you're up to. Surely a federal officer would recognize the danger of you being here. Surely he'd never allow such a... foolhardy endeavor."

Cori had never felt such a rush of pure fear. Once she left the Twinkle, Danny had only to pick up the telephone and dial, and within five seconds, the entire DeCarlo family would know she was in New Orleans and on foot on Dumaine Street.

Joey had warned her about the danger. He had told her repeatedly about the eyewitness, Emmet Wyatt, who was shot in the head and left in the trunk of his rental car.
Gangland Murder.
She had read those words and they had failed to hold significance for her until this moment as she stared into Danny Dupray's soulless eyes. She had been foolhardy and worse than stupid to ignore Joey and Jolene.

She looked toward the dark wall where she knew the door had to be. If she got up and walked out, maybe she could dart into a shop and call a taxi.

Danny was watching her with the cool interest of a snake coiled and about to strike. He motioned the bouncer over. "Tell Candy to do her Christmas number next."

Cori wondered if it was some kind of code he spoke, some signal for the bouncer to call the DeCarlos while Danny detained Cori in the bar.

"I have to go." She turned abruptly.

"Kit and I became very close." Danny's voice was smooth in the vacuum left when the music finally stopped. He stepped in front of her. "We were close as only associates can be. I knew a lot of Kit's secrets, and he paid well for mine."

Cori wanted to tell him that Kit despised him as a stoolie and a lower form of life, but an outburst would only compound her already stupid behavior. "Thanks for your help, Mr. Dupray. One day, I hope you finally reap the rewards of your profession."

"Ah—" he smiled "—a message is hidden in there somewhere, and if I examine it closely, I don't think I'll like what I find."

"I didn't come here to play verbal games with you. If you have any information about Kit, any proof, I'll pay for it. Otherwise, I'm leaving."

Danny looked at the runway, which had darkened except for the constant twinkle of the tiny white lights. "Okay, Candy!" he called. "Let's see it." He turned to Cori. "You'll like this. A Christmas theme."

The spotlight struck the black curtain that was flung open by a thin white arm. A blond girl with large breasts and slim hips strutted onto the stage to a very jazzed-up version of "Silver Bells." She wore a costume fashioned of silver foil-wrapped chocolate kisses that had been glued to some sheer fabric.

Cori felt the air expel from her lungs, as if she'd been kicked in the gut.

"Nice, isn't it?" Danny said. "Kit gave me the idea."

Cori fled the club, not caring that Danny Dupray knew he had frightened her. She had to get out of that smoke-clogged hell and into fresh air. The nightmare version of Christmas playing out on the stage was a fantasy from the mind of a demented, evil man.