Page 35 of High-Priority Asset

Another bee buzzed up between her legs. Then another and another and another, coming from the foot well underneath her.

Dear Lord in heaven.

Panic exploded across her nerves, her heart clutching. Bees swarmed near her head, hissed across her arms. The whirring drone filled her ears.

Isabel screamed, swatting at the yellow jackets. Impossible for her to duck and dodge, there was no place to run. She felt trapped in the car.

One buzzed up her leg. The creepy-crawly sensation inched past her calf, featherlight over her knee. Oh, God. Glancing down, she watched in horror as two bees disappeared under her cover-up and a third landed on her chest.

No, no. Fire nipped her. A pinprick of agony, a hot match to her skin.

When a bee stung, it released a chemical that attracted others. She jerked her legs reflexively, waving wildly to swat at the rest, and slammed down on the accelerator.

“Isabel!” Dutch called.

A telephone pole rushed forward to meet her. Isabel’s heart flew up into her throat. The car smashed into wood, the crunch of metal ringing in her ears.

An airbag inflated, knocking her back.

Pain bloomed in her skull, punching behind her eyes. She coughed on dust particles saturating the air.

Dazed, she registered the familiar itch spreading over her skin, deep in her flesh. She’d been stung, more than once.

God, it hurt like hell. Pure agony.

She fumbled with her seat belt, groped for the door handle and fell out of the car onto the hard concrete. Kicking the frame, she pushed her legs free and crawled to get away from the bees.

Her body’s autoimmune response was happening fast—skin itching so badly it burned, face swelling, her tongue growing thick and heavy, throat closing, lungs squeezing—too fast.

Dutch scooped her up into his arms. “Isabel?” His face was pinched in fear.

“Bees,” she said, wheezing. “Allergic. Epi—Bag...”

He carried her several feet from the car, set her down and took off.

A woman stepped up beside her and lowered to her knees. She held up a cell phone over Isabel’s face like she was recording.

Was she videotaping this?

“Are you all right?” The woman hit a button and the phone beeped. “Oh, my God! Your face. You’re breaking out in hives all over.” She lifted her cell and dialed 911. “We need an ambulance. Topanga Beach parking lot. Hurry.”

Isabel’s lips tingled, growing numb. It was getting harder to breathe, her airways shrinking to the size of straws. Tears leaked from her inflamed eyes.

Dark spots clouded her vision, distending, swallowing the sky.

Dutch’s face came into view and then oblivion.

Chapter Ten

Isabel’s swelling had gone down somewhat. Her face was no longer so distorted that she was unrecognizable. But with the oxygen mask, puffy cheeks and swollen eyes, she looked fragile, wounded, not quite like herself.

The doctor estimated that six bees had stung her, on her feet, legs, arms and chest. Every spot was surrounded by inflamed skin and punctuated with an angry red mark.

According to the doctor, if she hadn’t had an EpiPen in her bag, she would’ve died.

Dutch sat in a chair next to her bed, holding her hand. He’d never been so terrified in his life when she crashed her car and came crawling out, barely able to breathe, her face blown up worse than a prize fighter’s.

His fear had nothing to do with his job, though it should’ve, considering how many people were counting on him. His only concern had been Isabel’s well-being and safety.