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
"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
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