A Christmas Kiss (8 page)

Just as she slipped beneath the cotton sheets, she heard a tap on the door. Jolene entered with a tray holding black bean soup and thick, crusty bread. A gingerbread cookie man was on a Christmas dish. "There's a stocked bar in the kitchen, and soft drinks in the refrigerator." She put the tray on the bed. "Will you be okay?"

"I can't thank you enough___" Cori felt as if she were a guest in this woman's home, not some stranger thrust upon her.

Jolene waved a hand. "I owe Joey a lot more than I can ever repay him. This is a small thing. And you look as if you need a port in a storm."

"An understatement." Cori lifted the tray onto her lap.

"Eat the soup. Have a glass of wine and sleep." Jolene moved back to the door. "I'll lock this behind me."

"Thank you," Cori called again to the sound of the lock sliding into place.

She was almost too tired to eat, but she finished the soup and rinsed the dishes in the sink before turning out all the lights and falling into the bed. The hodgepodge of the day's events flitted behind her closed eyes, a nightmare of bad decisions and worse actions. But she could not deny the powerful need for sleep, and she felt herself drifting into blackness that was strangely peopled with the eerie shadows cast by huge oak trees.

Cori was uncertain how much time had passed or where she was when she opened her eyes. The rapid drumming of her heart soothed her while at the same time she realized she was afraid. Trying to get her bearings, she kept herself perfectly still. The high ceilings of the house shifted with the shadows of the oaks as the wind moved gently through them. From her bed she looked north and saw the twinkling garden and remembered where she was.

Though she had never been a heavy sleeper, the past two years had robbed her of even a pretense of getting eight hours. She was lucky to get four, and then maybe another two somewhere between the wee hours of the morning and time to get up.

The pattern of shadows that lay across her bed shifted again, and she felt a chill. The oaks were beautiful, but they were also creepy. As a child she'd never liked the darkness. Only with Kit had she found the sweet, velvety nights to be a place of pleasure and enjoyment. Now, in a strange place, she watched the dancing shadows shift across her body, warm beneath the covers, and knew her life had been touched by darkness. She felt as if the shadows had laid a claim on her soul, tugging her gently after them into the blackness of the night.

It was foolish to indulge such thoughts, but she couldn't help herself.

In the pattern on the bed she could see the graceful branches bend and sway. But there was one shadow that didn't move. She sensed the danger before she could even comprehend what it was. Slowly, very slowly she turned to look out the large window that covered the south wall. She knew what she would see before she looked, but she had to look.

The man standing at the window stared in at her. He wore an overcoat that hid his body, but a gusty wind whipped his medium-length hair about his head. In the illumination cast by the lights in the oaks his hair looked silvery, but Cori knew it was sandy, with a bit of a curl.

Kit had somehow managed to follow her from the French Market. Fear held her in a viselike grip of paralysis. She could not see his face. It was in shadow. Light fell on the top of his head and across his shoulders, hiding all other features.

"Kit?" She whispered the word, unable to do more.

The figure stood, watching her as if she could not see him.

"Kit?" She sat up in bed, turning to face him directly.

He stared a few seconds longer, then backed away.

"Kit?" Cori got up and went to the window. Her fingers fumbled at the lock that would open it wide enough for her to slip through. "Kit?" She called out to him, louder now.

He was leaving, fading among the enormous oaks, a shadow lost among the deeper shadows of the trees.

"Kit!" Cori cried his name as she broke a fingernail on the lock. It was jammed. She pounded on it, first with her fist and then with a shoe. When it wouldn't give, she went to the door. Frantic, she searched for the key that would open the dead bolt lock. Where had Joey put it? She had a clear picture of him holding it in his hand, but she'd been so tiled, so preoccupied. Maybe he'd given it to her. She finally found it on the dining room table and ran to the door. It took her shaking hands several tries to manage the lock. When it was open she threw the door wide and ran into the darkness. The grass, crisp and frosted, crunched beneath her bare feet as she ran toward the oaks where Kit had completely disappeared.

"Kit!" She screamed his name. "Kit! Don't go! Please, don't go!" She ran toward the trees. "Kit!"

The lights in the main house shot on. Every room, every window, bloomed with light. In a moment the back door opened. "Cori?" Jolene's voice was afraid. "Cori, are you out there?"

Cori stood in the midst of the trees, whirling one way and then another as the breeze shifted the tree limbs overhead and played with the shadows. Her feet were numb and moisture froze on her face. "Kit."

His name was barely a whisper.

Jolene rounded the corner of the cottage with a flashlight in one hand and a deadly nine millimeter semiautomatic pistol in the other. She held the gun as if she knew how to use it.

"What is it, Cori? Was someone here?"

Cori turned slowly to face her. "It was my husband. Kit was here." She spoke almost as if she were asleep. "He came up to the window but he didn't say anything, and when I woke up he disappeared."

Jolene shifted the light among the trees, searching for any sign of life. When she was certain no one else was in the backyard, she hurried to Cori and wrapped an arm around her. Easing her back toward the cottage, she kept the gun ready and the flashlight moving over any areas where an intruder might hide.

Cori watched the trees where a ghost from the past had hidden, watching and waiting for the moment he sought.

Cori was still huddled in a blanket when Joey arrived. Jolene handed him a cup of coffee and drew him into the big kitchen of her house.

"She claims it was her husband." Jolene's brow was furrowed. "I didn't see anyone." She shrugged.

"It was dark. He could have been there."

Joey looked down into the steaming cup of black liquid. "She might have seen someone, but it wasn't her husband. Kit Wells is dead."

"Oh." The word rushed from Jolene's lungs. "She was so certain. She saw him so clearly." She rubbed her arms and refilled her own cup. "She hasn't spoken a word since I brought her in here."

Joey sighed. "We need her testimony, Jolene. And I'm afraid she's going to break apart before the trial." He stopped himself. There was no need for Jolene to know the details of Cori's plight.

Holding her cup, Jolene stared at her friend. "It's the DeCarlo trial. I've already figured it out. But is it just her testimony, Joey? I saw the way you looked at her. It occurred to me it could be something more."

He turned and walked to the doorway where he could watch Cori. Her coffee cup sat on the table, untouched. "I can't let it be anything else. My job is to protect her and to make sure she's able to take the stand when DeCarlo goes up for retrial. Any other feelings will only get in the way of my job."

"You can't help your heart, Joey." Jolene put her cup down and went to him. Her hand on his arm was light, comforting. "I've known you for four years. There was a time when I hoped you might look at me the way you look at her. Then I worried that you'd never look at any woman, that you'd chosen a life alone. You have feelings for this woman, and no matter what else you do, you shouldn't deny your heart.

Love is a gift, Joey. Don't turn it aside when it's offered."

He sipped his coffee. "Love is a gift only if it's returned. Cori is in love with a dead man."

"There's a lot of guilt there. Perhaps she's begun to mistake guilt for love." Jolene hugged Joey lightly and stepped back. "Enough of a lecture, Joey Tio. You didn't come here for a lesson in love."

"Sure enough, I did not," he answered, letting his speech fall into the natural patterns of his childhood. Growing up in New Iberia, he'd learned the easy rhythms of the French Acadians. Unlearning those patterns had been difficult, but a necessity to advance in the U.S. Marshals. At times, though, and with close friends and family, he allowed himself the luxury of drifting into the familiar ways. "Did you see anyone last night?"

She heard the slight half note of hope. "No one. But dawn is breaking. We can look for tracks or some signs."

Jolene was right. If Cori had seen something other than a shadow cast by the trees, there would be physical evidence.

"I'll talk to her." Joey took his coffee and went into the den. He sat on the hassock facing Cori. "Can you tell me what you saw?"

Without even looking up, Cori repeated the story exactly as it happened. As she talked, the sun rose, casting a slanting light into the room that touched the crystal ornaments on the Christmas tree and made them glitter. Jolene worked in the kitchen, humming audibly so that both Joey and Cori knew she was not listening.

"He left again." Cori finally looked up, at the end of her tale. "Why did he leave? I tried to open the window but the lock was broken. I couldn't find the key to the door, but when I finally got it open and ran outside, he was gone. Why didn't he wait?"

Joey touched her cheek with his palm and caught the tears in her lashes with his thumb. Very gently he brushed them away. He had no answers, and he felt an unpleasant ache in the region of his heart as he looked into her grief-stricken face. To be left over and over again by the one you loved, even if it was only in the imagination. It was a torture, and he felt pity for her and sorrow for himself. It was clear she loved Kit Wells, dead or alive. Whatever he felt for her, there was no soil for the seed to grow.

"I'm going outside," he said. As he started to rise, he felt Cori's hand on his. She clung to his hand, and for a moment he felt his chest constrict with a band of hope. But when he looked down at her, he knew it was not him she reached for but Kit.

"Find him, Joey. Please." Her voice broke.

At a loss for words, Joey nodded as he disengaged his hand and walked out into the sunlight. How had he allowed himself to begin to care for Cori St. John? He had not planned it, had not even acknowledged it to himself until Jolene had forced the issue. But care for her he did. Whatever he could do for her, he would, though he knew his feelings for her were hopeless. Cori St. John was caught in a time warp. He might finally provide for her the evidence she needed to escape, but he wasn't certain she wanted to. Or had the strength to try.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he went to the cottage and began to examine the ground, doing the job he did best. If only he could find evidence that someone had managed to tail him to Jolene's. And that someone was using the past in a very cruel way to push Cori over the brink into insanity— and to destroy her testimony. He had to believe that was the case, because the other alternative was that Cori had already slipped beyond reality to a place where not even all his considerable law enforcement skills could help her.

Making the first move she'd taken since sitting in the chair in Jolene's living room, Cori walked to the window. She watched Joey as he moved among the trees, forming a pattern as he walked carefully along the backyard, working his way to the cottage and the sloping lawn beyond where the giant oaks kept their many secrets. He had to find something. A print. Something. There had to be some trace of Kit that would prove that she'd seen him. That he was alive.

But instead of joy at that possibility, Cori felt a slowly growing dread. If Kit was alive, if he had been standing at the window staring in at her, why hadn't he talked to her? Why had he allowed two years to pass without even a sign that he was alive?

Why had he abandoned her?

She heard the sound of the morning paper thudding on the front porch and did not turn around as Jolene went to the door and retrieved it. Seconds after Jolene returned, Cori heard a soft exclamation of dismay.

"Joey is going to be furious," Jolene said as she finally drew Cori's attention from the window. She walked into the living room, the newspaper opened before her.

"What is it?" Cori knew it was not good news.

Jolene held the paper out to her. The headline was bold. One by One: Eye Witnesses in the DeCarlo Murder Trial Return to City. Beneath it was a photo of Cori at the French Market surrounded by cops and the woman and her crying child.

Cori studied the photo, hoping for a second that somehow Kit had been captured in the background. But the only hopeful note she found was that the picture had been taken before Joey arrived. He was not shown.

"Joey is going to be furious," she agreed, handing the paper back to Jolene. "And he has every right to be."

Jolene was scanning the story. "So the news is public that you're back in town and going to testify at the retrial. The other witness who was in New Orleans was murdered. Found in the trunk of his rental car." Jolene lowered the paper. "Why are you here, Cori? The trial isn't for another few weeks. Don't you see how dangerous this is?"

"It's a long story." Cori felt a sense of friendship with Jolene, and at the moment she didn't want to destroy it by proving she was crazy.

"How did that photographer happen to get your picture?" Jolene was looking at the paper again.

"And how would he have identified you as one of the original witnesses in the trial? It was a sensational case. I remember it well. And I watched the television accounts and read the paper. I must have seen your picture, but that was two years ago. Two years and there have been many more murders, many more newspaper stories."

Cori suddenly remembered the cop. Officer Lewis. He had recognized her. And more than likely he had offered the scoop to the
Times-Picayune
reporter. "I think one of the policemen at the scene might have told a reporter." She walked over to Jolene's side to find the byline of the writer. Farris Quinn. The same person who had written the story about Emmet Wyatt's murder. The reporter obviously had a snitch in the NOPD, and it could easily be Lewis. Cori had not liked him.