"…and there were some private papers in the bag. too. That's the worst. That those records are probably gone forever. I have no way to replace them, no way to…"

"Hey," Will said gruffly. Tears suddenly magnified her eyes, making them look extra huge and exotic. "Take it easy there. It'll all get straightened out."

Well, it wouldn't, of course. Losing a passport in a foreign country was a guaranteed nightmare. Times fifty.

The cop heard about the "private papers," but he was tuned to the same practical channel that Will was. It didn't really matter what Kelly had lost, because the mugger was long gone. She'd still need a police report, which was a pain for the gendarme to fill out when there was about zero chance in a zillion they'd ever find the guy. But he'd get her one so she could pursue a replacement passport.

That wasn't going to happen overnight.

"Je sais," Will said drily. He knew. American bureaucracies and French bureaucracies-even if the French didn't like to think so-were kin. Ghastly. Time-consuming, inefficient, frustrating, etc., etc.

The cop had some questions for him to translate… Did Kelly have enough funds to survive, someone who could wire her money, a way to live until the paperwork got sorted out, what was the address where she was staying. All that yadda yadda.

"You're from South Bend, too?" She motioned to his sweatshirt.

"Yeah." Like it mattered? He suffered a gulp when he heard the address for her hotel. She was damned lucky she hadn't been ripped off there, too.

"Oh my God. The key to my room was in my purse, too. I can't even get into my room." She'd been doing okay, or reasonably okay. But now the more she realized how much she'd lost, the more panicked she got. "I don't have anything. I don't even have money to buy lunch. Or dinner. Or enough to buy another hairbrush. Or lipstick. Or even to wire home. I don't even have my coat-"