Всё самое интересное обо всём на свете. Дмитрий Кошевар

the other, and each time he instructed her to touch her finger to her nose while balancing on one foot. There were some more balance and coordination tests before he helped her back onto the bed. He pulled up a chair right beside it and leaned forward.

      “I’m going to ask you some questions, okay? You might not know the answers to some but don’t worry. It’s normal to experience some short-term memory loss after a head injury.”

      “Okay.” Jasmine touched the side of her head gingerly.

      The doctor proceeded to ask her full name, where she lived, what she did for a living. All of those were easy to answer. She may have fibbed that she was still employed.

      “How long have you been in Paris?”

      “Just a day. I think. What day is it? The twenty-fifth?”

      “Yes, June twenty-fifth. Good. Where are you staying in Paris?”

      “Um...a hotel. It’s very pretty, very posh.”

      “Do you remember the name?”

      “Ahh...l’hotel...d’something?” Jasmine bit her lip. “I can’t remember, but it’s near the Eiffel Tower.”

      The doctor raised a single brow. “I see. So, what brought you to Paris?”

      “It’s my honeymoon.”

      The man straightened. “And where is your husband, madame?”

      “My husband?” Jasmine put a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry. No. It’s not my honeymoon.” She shook her head and then wished she hadn’t. “I’m not married. I just always wanted to come to Paris on my honeymoon.” The words came out in a flurry.

      “So, are you here with anyone?”

      “Um...no. Just me. By myself.” Jasmine was vaguely aware of the doctor getting up and going to speak quietly to the man who had been observing from the corner of the room.

      “What happened to me?” Jasmine asked.

      The doctor didn’t answer as the conversation between the two men increased in volume. Were they arguing? Over what? Surely not her?

      “Excuse me?” She waved. “Hello?”

      Still the men did not respond. The doctor was gesturing at her and speaking rapidly in French. The other man made some guttural remarks and then threw his hands in the air.

      “Hey,” Jasmine called. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

      “Oui, bien sûr.” The doctor turned toward her. “We were just discussing your situation. You have a mild concussion. It’s nothing to worry about. However, you must be observed for twenty-four hours.” He glanced back at the man in the corner. “I can take you to the hospital—but you have no passport.”

      “Oh, yes I do,” Jasmine said. “It’s in my bag.”

      “And where is your bag, mademoiselle?”

      “It’s—” She bit her lip. Blinked. “Isn’t it here?”

      The doctor turned to speak quietly to the other man who answered quickly. “Non. You have nothing here except for what you are wearing.”

      “Really?” Where the hell was her bag? It would have everything. Her phone, her hotel key, her ID, Parker’s credit cards!

      Dammit!

      “So,” Jasmine said slowly, “what will happen to me if I go to the hospital?”

      “You will be asked to show identification and because you don’t have any, they will have to contact the embassy and your next of kin.”

      Jasmine held up her hand. “No.” The last thing she needed was to have to contact her parents, or worse, Parker, and ask for help after being in Paris only one day. She wasn’t ready to face him yet. Absolutely not an option.

      “What are my other choices?”

      “That you stay here. My friend has kindly offered to observe you for twenty-four hours.”

      The man standing in shadows muttered something beneath his breath. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound like he was thrilled with the idea of observing her. Well, Jasmine was not overly keen on being watched by a complete stranger, either, thank you very much.

      “There must be some other option.”

      “You don’t know where you’re staying. You are here alone and have no identification or money. Unless you know someone in Paris, you do not have many choices, mademoiselle.”

      Slowly—very slowly—Jasmine tilted her head to the side. “What about you? Can’t I stay with you?” She pointed at the doctor.

      “Je suis désolé. I’m sorry but it is impossible. My work has me flying to Italy this evening.” The doctor turned toward the other man and gestured him forward. “Luca is a good man.” The doctor coughed as if to cover up a chuckle. “He will take excellent care of you until you remember where you are staying.”

      “What if I can’t remember?”

      “Your memory should return soon. But if it doesn’t, I’m sure the two of you can figure things out.” The man’s lips twisted as if to repress a grin. “Now,” he glanced at the watch on his wrist. “I really must go before I miss my flight.” He nodded to Jasmine. “Au revoir, mademoiselle.”

      The doctor exited the bedroom and the other man—Luca—followed. Jasmine could hear the two of them continuing their heated discussion outside the door, though it became more muted as they moved farther down the hallway.

      She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyelids, willing herself to remember what had happened. Something.

      Anything.

      But for the life of her, the last thing Jasmine remembered was Ashley saying, Buy condoms, lots and lots of condoms.

      * * *

      “She can’t stay here,” Luca insisted once the bedroom door was closed.

      Hugo, who was the team physician for Luca’s racing team, had not only treated Luca after various wipeouts—including the shattered leg that had ended his career—he’d been a close friend ever since Luca joined the team five years ago. While he’d briefly explained his predicament with the family estate, and Hugo understood his need for discretion, Luca had kept most of the details to himself. Including the robbery.

      “I’m sure she’ll remember the name of her hotel by the morning. Anyway, you know how important observation is in these first twenty-four hours. This woman has no one to watch her.” Hugo smiled gently. “Except you.”

      “Isn’t there another way? I am supposed to be lying low. Not harboring an amnesiac tourist.”

      “It’s only for one night.”

      Luca groaned in defeat.

      Hugo patted his arm. “Everything will be fine.” Just then, Hugo’s phone dinged and he tapped on it. “My cab is here.” He tucked his phone into his pocket and headed for the front door.

      “Hugo, wait.” Luca exhaled. He hated the fact that he had to say this. “You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, do you understand?”

      “Of course.” The expression Hugo wore was kind. And most welcome after the way others had treated him since the sex scandal. “Give her acetaminophen for the pain. You know the drill. Rest. No TV.” Hugo reached for the door handle. “Bonne chance, mon ami.”

      Luca banged his head—once, twice, three times—against the closed door after Hugo left, and then a noise from down the hall had him spinning around. The woman stood there, eyes wide, her feet bare, thick waves of dark hair shadowing half her face.

      “I’m