Jazz smiled to herself. Crazy.
“Est-ce que je peux vous aider?” the man behind the counter asked.
“I’m sorry,” Jasmine said, making her way toward him, the lamp, a silk scarf and a necklace clutched in her hands. Not that she needed any of the items but the prices were so good and Jazz was a sucker for a good deal. “I don’t speak French. Do you speak English?” She leaned on the display case, her gaze drawn to the gorgeous jewelry inside.
“Yes, a little.”
“Those are so pretty,” she said, pointing to a pair of emerald-drop earrings.
“Would you like to take a look?”
Oh, yes please, she nearly gushed before she remembered her reason for being there. She absently rubbed the polished silver of the lamp and said, “I have a ring I’d like to sell.”
“To sell? May I see?”
She set the lamp down on the counter and reached into her purse. Room key. Wallet. Cell phone. Passport. Hmm...where had she put that ring?
“It’s in here somewhere.” She dug around. Seriously, where the hell was the ring and what would she do if she’d lost it? She was sure Parker had paid about twenty grand for it. Not that she’d looked it up online or anything.
Okay. Maybe she had.
She located the ring at the bottom of her bag and placed it on the counter for the man to inspect, straightening her shoulders as he picked it up and scrutinized it through the lens of a loupe.
“C’est belle,” the man murmured as he checked the ring from all angles.
The bells over the door tinkled but she didn’t bother to look because something inside of her had shifted. An unknown weight lifted from Jasmine’s shoulders, making her feel like a brand-new person. Could she really put her broken engagement behind her and be the woman Ash had described—carefree and adventurous? A woman who lived in the moment and was on the lookout for a sex-venture...
“Mettez-vous par terre!” a deep male voice shouted.
She turned toward the voice but nothing about the man behind her made sense. It was like she’d stumbled upon the set of a movie and her already muddled brain was having a hard time computing why a man would be wearing a ski mask in spring and brandishing a crowbar.
To her bewilderment, he strode forward and smashed the display case she’d been leaning on with one massive blow.
What the...?
“Écoutez-moi!” He shouted right in her face.
So weird. Was she dreaming? Because this whole thing had an otherworldly quality to it and it just got worse when the dude reached into his beat-up jacket, pulled out a gun and pointed it at her.
“Par terre!”
Before Jasmine had time to consider what the man was shouting, he grasped the back of her neck and shoved her to the floor.
Oomph!
That hurt.
But now that she was on the ground, the thief ignored her and she lifted her head to find him swiping handfuls of jewelry and dumping the items into a leather satchel. Her ring was among the things he took.
Something inside of her gut, something hot and heavy and furious, was not about to lie benignly on the floor while some petty criminal robbed this delightful shop.
And her.
After all she’d been through? She deserved that fucking ring. Or, rather, she deserved the money from that fucking ring so she could move on from the disaster that was her life.
With energy she had no idea she possessed, Jasmine sprang to her feet, grabbed the outstretched arm of the thug and clung to it like her life depended on it.
“You fucker!” Jasmine growled, twisting his arm in a move she’d learned in a self-defense class, forcing the man to drop the gun. She grabbed the strap of the satchel, pulling it off his shoulder.
“Salope!” The man swung the crowbar catching the side of her head.
The pain in her temple was so sharp and stinging, that warrior-Jasmine drained out of her system as she curled on the ground, gripping the satchel like a beloved teddy bear, feeling like she might vomit from the pain. What happened next would have confused her at the best of times, but her head was still spinning from being clocked and her body was still pumping with adrenaline, lack of sleep and jet leg...
There was a crash.
Followed by a wet thunk and a man cried out in pain.
A body crumpled heavily half on, half off her.
A hand appeared in front of her face, gesturing for her to take it in order to help her to her feet. “Ça va?”
And then Jasmine was standing on noodle-y legs, gazing into the face of a stranger. The man wore a black leather jacket and a black helmet with the visor raised, revealing a face with a scruffy beard, dark brows and...the clearest, bluest, most amazing eyes she’d ever seen.
And then there were four eyes, then six...
“Mademoiselle?” He snapped his fingers in front of her face.
She shook her head, and then wished she hadn’t as stars appeared, dancing in front of her open eyes. She would have fallen if not for the strong hands gripping her arms, holding her up.
However, there were equally strong hands tugging on the strap of the satchel she was still clutching. The thug on the floor grappled for the bag and two things happened simultaneously. The bag slipped from her hands, spilling the contents on the tile floor just as a black leather boot swished past her line of vision, kicking the thief in the face and knocking him out. The rest happened in slow motion. Rings, earrings and necklaces scattered, jumping and skittering across the polished tile floor like live things freed from captivity. Jasmine caught sight of her ring bouncing along the hard floor, ricocheting off the bottom corner of the counter and landing—plunk—inside the passing boot of the stranger.
Without thinking, Jasmine lunged for the man’s leg, reaching into the top of his boot for her ring, but he shook her off, glaring down at her and speaking harshly—probably cursing—in French. Then the man stilled, his head jerked toward the door and the street and Jasmine became aware of the sound of sirens approaching.
“Merde!”
With one powerful shake, the six-eyed man dislodged Jasmine from his leg and strode toward the door.
“Wait!” Jasmine scrambled to her feet and hurried out after the stranger in black. Once on the street, she saw him jogging toward a corner and Jasmine took off after him, calling, “Please, wait! You’ve got my ring!”
However, running in high heels was nearly impossible on the cobblestone street, so Jasmine paused to pull off her sling-back sandals and hurl them away—she’d grab them later. Then she ran the rest of the distance in bare feet. Her head pounded like a drummer was between her ears, playing a solo at a heavy metal concert.
When she got to the corner, her legs wobbled and she could barely see straight.
There.
The man with her ring was straddling a motorcycle, the engine roaring to life as she stumbled toward him, stepping onto the road, holding her hand up to stop him.
Her brain must not have been functioning, because just as the man revved the engine of the motorcycle the world went sideways, and where once there was a street, a man and a motorcycle, there were now only quaint French rooftops, an impossibly blue sky and a bird flying at an odd angle.
Then everything went black.