Return of the Italian Tycoon

by Jennifer Faye

  Nothing hit.

  One thing was clear. JD had resources. Whether legitimate or not was another question. No hits on his prints only proved he’d never been caught. Yeah, call her a cynic. But why else wouldn’t he want to give them his name? This guy wasn’t adding up. He appeared familiar yet Mark hadn’t known him.

  The leatherwear shouted motorcycle, but where was the vehicle, his gloves and his helmet? Why was he walking along the side of the road?

  The 101 ran right through the middle of town. Maybe someone ran him off the road and then robbed him? It fit the evidence. But why not tell them of the crime? Submissiveness didn’t suit him, but he could be disoriented. He had a bump on the head. People often forgot events leading up to an accident. Maybe he was hurt more than the EMT was able to determine.

  Time for a conversation with JD.

  * * *

  Thump. Thump. Pain pounded relentlessly through his head. Keeping his eyes closed helped marginally. Plus when he opened them there were only gray walls and cell bars to look at.

  Man, he’d messed up big, to be laid out in a jail cell with a throbbing head.

  Thump. Thump.

  Problem was he couldn’t remember what he’d done. The squat cop claimed he’d been drinking, but he had it wrong. He wouldn’t feel as if he’d tangled with a semi if he had any alcohol in his system. His right shoulder and leg throbbed in time with his head.

  At least he had the cell to himself.

  Thump. Thump.

  He wasn’t even sure what map pin he inhabited. If only his head would clear, he was sure it would all come back. Then he’d get out of here and be on his way. Yep, as soon as his head got with the program, he’d explain things to the squat cop and then he’d be gone.

  Thump. Thump.

  The cell door clanked. He squeezed an eye open, spied the lady cop. He remembered her. The attitude. The uniform. The pretty blue eyes.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked in a much friendlier voice than when he arrived.

  “Like I was hit by a truck.”

  “Is that what happened?”

  Thump! Thump! Suddenly his head hurt worse. Have mercy, he didn’t think it possible. Couldn’t people just leave him alone?

  “I thought I was here because I was intoxicated.”

  “You denied drinking.”

  He had no answer for that. He’d jump on it if he thought she’d let him go, except he wasn’t ready to move.

  “You were walking when the officer came across you.”

  “It’s not against the law to walk.”

  “No. But it’s uncommon for tourists to arrive by foot.”

  He didn’t respond. It hadn’t been a question, after all. The low, husky timbre of her voice might be soothing if not for the interrogation.

  “What do you drive?”

  Drive? His brows drew together. Hadn’t she just said he was walking?

  “You were wearing a leather jacket and chaps. Where’s your motorcycle?”

  Thump! Thump!

  He lifted his arm to lay it across his forehead. He gnashed his teeth at the show of weakness, but he had the desperate need to hold his head on, like if he didn’t brace it in place it might explode.

  “Are you okay?” Her voice hovered right above him and he smelled the freshness of peaches. She’d obviously moved closer.

  “Can we do this another time? My head hurts.”

  “I’m going to check your wound,” she warned him, the warm breath of her words blowing over his forearm. “It’s possible you’re hurt worse than we originally thought. This may hurt.”

  Her body heat warmed him as she loomed close. He shivered. With the pain racking him, he hadn’t noticed how chilled he’d grown.

  Thump! Thump! Sharp pain shot across his head.

  “Ouch.” He flinched away from her probing, all thoughts of the cold chased away.

  “I’m sorry.” She softly ran her fingers through his hair.

  Yes. That felt good. He leaned toward the soothing touch.

  “I need you to move your arm. I’m going to check your pupils.” She suited action to words and he suffered the agony of a flashlight scorching his retinas.

  “Irregular pupils. You have a concussion. I think we need to get you to the hospital,” she declared.

  “I’d be fine if you’d leave me alone.” He dismissed her claim, waved off her hand. “I just need to rest here for a while.”

  “It’s not up for discussion,” she stated simply. “I’m obligated to see to your care. It’s up to you whether we go in my cruiser or I call for an ambulance.”

  “I’m not riding in any cryptmobile.”

  “Then we need to get you on your feet.”

  “I think I’ll just lay here for a while.” Just for a bit, until he could breathe without pain and the room stopped spinning.

  “I can’t allow that. You have a concussion. You’re disoriented. You need to be seen by a doctor. It’s department policy.”

  “Well then.” She wanted to disrupt him, ratchet up the pain, all to meet department policy? Right. He had fifty pounds on her. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  “How did you get hurt?”

  Thump.

  “Where’s your motorcycle? Your wallet?”

  Thump, thump.

  “What’s your name?”

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  “Will you stop? Your talking hurts my head.” So a few details were missing. It would come back once the pounding stopped.

  “That doesn’t really reassure me. Tell you what, if you stand up, look me in the eyes and tell me your first name, I’ll consider leaving you alone.”

  “I don’t want to stand up.” Why wouldn’t she just go away?

  “Don’t want to? Or can’t?”

  The taunt brought renewed pain as he frowned. He put his arm back on his head. Nice as her touch was, her insistence undid any good her soothing brought. Her goal, no doubt. It would take more than pride to drag him to his feet tonight. Possibly a crane would do it.

  “Look, I’m not interested, okay? You’re a beautiful woman, but I’m injured here.”

  “I’m not hitting on you.” Outrage sent her voice up an octave. “I’m concerned.”

  “Are you sure? I’ve never had a cop run their fingers through my hair before.”

  “So you’ve been detained before?” She was quick to pick up on the inference.

  He just stopped himself from shaking his head. “Just saying.”

  “That’s it. I’m calling for an ambulance.”

  Everything in him rejected the option of being delivered to the hospital.

  “Wait.” He opened his eyes. She stood over him, hands on shapely hips, a scowl pinched between her stormy blue eyes. Clenching his teeth against the need to scream like a girl, he shifted to sit, and then pushed to his feet. Holding his shoulders back, he forced himself to meet her poppy blue eyes without flinching.

  “Satisfied?”

  She ran those cop eyes over him, assessing him from top to bottom. She nodded once as if satisfied by what she saw. It took all his strength not to sag in relief. But he wasn’t out of hot water yet.

  She cocked a trim black eyebrow. “And your first name?”

  He was tempted to lie, to toss her any old name. But that felt wrong. Too easy. The falsehood didn’t bother him—being predictable did. She expected him to blow her off. It was what he’d been doing since she’d entered the cell.

  Forget that. Now he’d made the effort to get on his feet, he saw the value in getting a doctor’s opinion. And some serious meds.

  He met her stare-for-stare and confessed. “I can’t remember.”

  * * *

  “I can’t remember.�
�� The words seemed to echo through the cell.

  Grace blinked up at him. A rare enough occurrence—at five-nine she didn’t often have to tip her head back to look a man in the face—but standing at his full height of six-three JD required her to do just that to assess his truthfulness.

  Amnesia?

  It seemed a stretch. Still, he had a sizable bump on his head and displayed signs of a concussion. It would explain his disorientation and his unwillingness to talk about himself.

  Then again it was a tad convenient. Except why bother? He’d been told he’d be free to go in the morning.

  “You don’t remember your name?” She needed to determine the extent of his missing information.

  “No.”

  “Do you know what year it is?”

  He answered correctly.

  “How about the President of the United States?”

  Another correct response. He swayed on his feet, reminding her that, regardless of the state of his mind, his pain was all too real. She decided to let the doctor sort him out.

  “Let’s go.” She led him to her desk, where she handed him his jacket. “I already made a call for Parker to come drive you. He should be here any minute.”

  “Oh, joy.”

  “At least he’s familiar to you.”

  “I’m not dim-witted, you know.” He sprawled in her desk chair with his jacket in his lap. “Just memory-challenged.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched at his show of humor. “All the more reason to stick with what you know until you’ve seen the doctor.”

  “I know you, and you smell better.”

  Now, why did that send a rush of heat to her cheeks? “I’d take you, but my duty is up in thirty minutes.”

  Probably a good thing. JD had managed to shake her up more than a little over the course of a mere hour.

  “Check that.” A deep voice announced. She recognized one of her other patrol officers. She stood to see him escorting a happy prisoner toward the back. “Brubaker, the new sheriff, has been monitoring the radio calls. Since I was bringing someone in, he told Parker to stay in the field. He wants you to take John Doe to see the doctor, and I’m to cover the rest of your duty here.”

  “Who will replace me at the hospital?”

  The officer shrugged. “I’m sure Brubaker will send someone.”

  Right. She clenched her hands at having her control yanked away early. Brubaker had no authority to usurp her orders before midnight. But there was no use arguing.

  “Okay,” she said to JD. “Let’s go.” She’d already put her box of personal items in her SUV, so she grabbed her backpack and slipped into her hip-length leather coat.

  The effort it took JD to gain his feet showed as it had in the cell, but he managed it and donned his jacket without uttering a sound. He stayed silent on their trip to her hybrid Escape.

  In the vehicle he braced his head on a raised fist. “So I’m a John Doe.”

  “You’re familiar with the term?”

  “An unidentified person or body. I watch TV, the movies. I guess that means you didn’t get a hit on my prints or you’d have a name for me.”

  “Right on both points.” She stopped at a light on Main Street and three women in party hats, winter jackets and heels laughed and joked as they crossed in front of them. The light changed and she pulled forward.

  “What happens if I don’t get my memory back right away?” He slowly turned his head to pin her with a pain filled gaze. “How do you figure out who I am?”

  Copyright © 2015 by Teresa Carpenter

  ISBN-13: 9781460387191

  Return of the Italian Tycoon

  Copyright © 2015 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Jennifer Faye for her contribution to The Vineyards of Calanetti series.

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