A Christmas Kiss (3 page)

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 herself 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 into 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."

Joey felt a tingle down his spine that signaled real trouble. His gut was telling him that there was more to Cori St. John's desperate trip to New Orleans than determination to
see
the NOPD captain who had headed Kit's investigation. Something—or someone—had pushed her into this trip. All of his senses snapped into full attention as he scanned the opening of the alley. This woman was in danger. If not from DeCarlo, then from herself.

"What happened?" he asked her.

Telling Joey Tio she'd endangered her life because she'd found candies would be foolish, so Cori merely shook her head.

"If someone has threatened you, or made contact with you..." He thought again of Emmet Wyatt.

Wyatt had picked up a new life in Atlanta, Georgia, with barely a hitch. Not the kind of man to develop lasting relationships, he'd left New Orleans with the nest egg provided by the sale of his restaurant and the money supplied by the WP program and developed a plush life-style in Atlanta. Why had he come back to New Orleans? Why had he chosen to dance with death by returning to a past that he knew could kill him?

Cori started walking away from him.

This time when he reached for her, he caught her shoulder. Ignoring the feel of her bones and muscles clearly defined beneath her sweater, he restrained her. "One witness is dead. As you pointed out, that's a certain amount of failure on my part. Emmet Wyatt was my responsibility. He made it back to New Orleans, and I had no idea he was coming. Now, if someone is luring back the DeCarlo murder witnesses so they can knock them off one by one, I
have
to know."

For the first time, Cori looked past her own predicament and saw that her actions gravely affected others, including the man who stood before her. Assisting her was his job-not following her around to keep her from killing herself in traffic accidents. He had not asked for the responsibility of protecting her any more than she had asked to be a witness to a heartless double murder.

He saw the softening of her anger. Joey released his grip on her, his hand still warm from the contact. "Look, we've gotten off to a bad start here. I don't think tackling you in the street was exactly the best introduction I've ever made." One eyebrow lifted, and this time it was self-mocking.

Cori felt the tears, always so near the surface, begin to well in her eyes. The last thing she needed was a show of kindness.

"Since you're already here, let me take you to a place, a safe place, where we can have some lunch.

We can talk. You can tell me what's happening, and I promise that I'll look into it."