The wind was mild, the sun bright, the waves cool and steady with a long swell period. Perfection conditions for Isabel’s first lesson, Dutch thought to himself.
He was in the water waist deep. Next to him, Isabel was on his board, wearing a provocative one-piece with a zipper down the front and cutouts on her waist. Her killer curves had been apparent from the formfitting clothes she wore, but in a swimsuit, her figure was jaw-dropping.
For an hour or so, they’d practiced on the sand, going over training footwork, teaching her how to pop up on the board and read the waves. Then they’d spent another hour in the water. Sitting on a surfboard seemed easy, but as Isabel discovered, it wasn’t. Simply something you had to learn, feel. Right along with falling over—a crucial part and inevitable for all, especially beginners—and paddling, a key to good surfing.
“Remember,” Dutch said, “when you’re riding on the board, bend your knees, not your back.”
She pushed her wet hair back from her face, focused on the water. “Okay.”
As a wave rolled in, Dutch positioned the board. “Go. Now.”
Isabel paddled like the devil to catch the wave, got up into a solid crouch, then stood and balanced.
Yes! She stood!
Even better, she rode that wave all the way to the shore.
Dutch marveled at how well she was doing on her first day. She had the potential to be good at it.
He whooped and cheered and encouraged her to try it again. They did a few more sets and took a break on the beach.
Isabel went to shower off and Dutch ran a towel over himself. He opened the cooler, took out the food he’d packed and set it on a blanket. Surfing always worked up his appetite. He figured it’d do the same for her.
She returned wearing sunglasses and a white cover-up over her bathing suit. Her skin was smooth and flawless. He loved her like this, carefree, no makeup besides a sheer lip gloss she’d applied. Not that she needed it with that natural rosy tint to her lips. She sat beside him, putting her tote bag down.
A breeze carried that divine scent of hers to him. Warm amber, floral and spice. “What perfume did you put on?”
“It’s a perfume oil.” She dug a delicate bottle out of the bag and showed it to him. “Marula Oil is the base, making it great for my hair and skin.”
He leaned over and ran his nose up her neck, inhaling deeply. Vetiver struck him this time, the scent reminding him of Indonesia and wading through the tall, fragrant grass on an assignment. “I really love it on you.”
“Then I’ll have to stock up.” As she was dropping the bottle back in her bag, the tote tipped over and a black baton rolled out.
Dutch picked it up, noting the wrist strap, rubberized armor coating and prongs on the end. “Stun baton?”
Turning her head away from him, she looked out at the water. “It’s a deterrent.”
“For whom? Chad Ellis?”
She went ramrod straight. “This has been such a lovely day.” Reaching over, she took his hand in hers and looked at him. “I don’t want to spoil it by talking about him. Please.”
The vulnerability in her touch, her voice, tugged at his heart. Tied his gut into knots. He wanted to take away her pain, to mop up this problem of Ellis like a spill on the floor.
Isabel was an incredible woman, easy to fall for. Not at all the stuck-up princess he’d imagined her to be. If not for this assignment, their paths might never have crossed. He hated the circumstances and the necessary deception that had brought them together but spending time with her made him feel like the luckiest man on the planet.
Dutch put the baton back in her bag. “Okay.” He rubbed her leg to reassure Isabel there was no need to discuss it, but his hand lingered longer than he’d intended. Her skin was so soft, supple as butter. “Hungry?” He started opening the containers of food he prepared.
“Starved.” She flashed a bright smile. “You thought of everything.”
AFTER CHAD PAID the parking fee, he pulled into a spot in the lot on the ridge above the beach. He double-checked that there were no CCTV cameras. Then he glanced down at the phone and read the text messages again.
Isabel: I’m excited, but nervous. Hope you’re a good teacher, Dutch.
Dutch: You’ll do great. Trust me, beautiful. Topanga Beach. 10 a.m.
Isabel: See you later.
ONE NIGHT SEVEN months ago, while Isabel had slept in his bed, Chad had taken her cell phone and the key fob to her car. He’d handed them off to his tech guy who did freelance work under the table. Two hours later, Chad had a clone of the RFID key fob and spyware had been downloaded on her phone. The malicious software gave Chad her GPS location, browser history, text messages, social media chats, emails and the ability to eavesdrop on her phone calls.
She’d been none the wiser. Still wasn’t.
Despite the fact she’d changed her number, the mobile device itself and the SIM card were the same. Until she upgraded her cell, which wasn’t going to be any time soon since he’d encouraged her to get the latest model shortly after they started dating, he was able to surveil her in ways even Olga couldn’t. But the PI filled in the gaps.
If it hadn’t been for Olga, it would’ve taken him days to find out about Dutch.
This was the first time Isabel had sent a message to another man.
Blood burned through his veins again, anger and adrenaline spurring him on.
Chad dialed Olga. She was somewhere down below on the beach. Like any good private investigator, she kept a variety of outfits in her car to blend in wherever she needed to and even had a bicycle in her trunk. “What are they doing?”
“Eating lunch.”
“When they get ready to leave, I want you to film Isabel.”
“I don’t understand,” Olga said.
“Record them saying goodbye and focus the video on Isabel getting into her car and driving off.”
“Why?”
“Because I told you to,” Chad snapped, letting his thinning patience resonate over the line. “No matter what happens, follow the man. Find out where he lives. Get me a full name.”
“What’s going to happen?”
Chad hung up, huffing his irritation. Olga was paid well not to ask questions and to do as she was instructed discreetly.
Before getting out of the car, he pressed down the fake mustache, ensuring it stayed in place, lowered the bill of his ball cap over his wig and slipped on gloves. He grabbed the robin’s-egg-blue Tiffany box that he’d poked air holes in earlier, got out and walked quickly to Isabel’s Maserati.
He hit the cloned key fob. Her lights flashed and the doors unlocked.
Grasping the handle, he opened the door and lowered to one knee. He slipped his little gift of tough love underneath the driver’s seat, flicked off the lid—the faint sound of the box’s inhabitants lifting his spirits enough for him to manage a smile—and slammed the door shut.
No fingerprints or any DNA traces of his left behind. His brother Brett, a reliable alibi, would swear that Chad had been at his house the entire day, where his car was still parked in the driveway.
He climbed back into the Chevrolet that belonged to Brett’s gardener, an undocumented worker who enjoyed living in this country and understood the cardinal Ellis principle.
See no evil, speak no evil and no evil shall befall you.
Or as their crass thief of a mother would’ve said if she were alive and hadn’t died in prison—snitches get stitches.
He turned the key in the ignition and the old engine rumbled to life.
Turning onto the Pacific Coast Highway, his one regret was that he wouldn’t be able to see Isabel receive the punishment she deserved firsthand.
The video would have to suffice.
BEING WITH DUTCH was like finding a haven during a storm. Isabel imagined spending time with him every day for the foreseeable future and her smile deepened. He was laid-back and thoughtful. Made things easier in a way no one else she knew ever had.
The spread of food he’d brought was simple. Peeled hard-boiled eggs, hummus, baguettes, Manchego and cheddar cheeses, grapes, figs, carrot sticks and prosciutto. Even two prepackaged slices of chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. The simple meal hit the spot.
“The only thing missing is a glass of chilled chardonnay,” she said.
“I would’ve brought wine or champagne, but you said you don’t drink.”
“Not for a while.” At his curious expression, she said, “I’m not an alcoholic, but I’m on medication that doesn’t mix well with alcohol.”
Pressing her lips together, she considered whether to go on without opening the door that led to the freak show of Chad Ellis. Dutch had shared deeply personal things with her last night. About his call to serve in the army, losing battle brothers in dangerous military operations, how being in Delta Force took so much out of him that it’d scraped his soul bare and he needed a break.
She owed him the same transparency. In baby steps. “I’m on Ativan.”
“I had a buddy who was on a cocktail of pills for his PTSD. Ativan was one of them. You don’t have to tell me details, but I take it that you went through a rough breakup with Ellis.”
“Yeah. You could say that.” She was still going through it. Would it ever be over?
“I know you have Brenda, but with your uncle being down in San Diego, I’d like to be there for you.”
Brenda was family. They’d been close since college, and she knew the ugly specifics of what Isabel had gone through. There were times she’d contemplated telling her uncle, since she shared everything else with him, but his support would’ve come with the strings of pity and bodyguards who’d spy on her. There had to be a happy medium.
Maybe Dutch was it. He was a good listener and didn’t push.
“My uncle is coming up to have dinner with me on Wednesday,” she said.
“Oh yeah. I’d love to meet him.”
Lowering her shades down the bridge of her nose, she met his eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a little premature? We haven’t even slept together. Why would you want to put yourself through such scrutiny?”
“You don’t realize how special you are.” He slung his arm around her, gripping her shoulder. “Maybe you should make all the men you date run that gauntlet. Trial by fire to see if they’re worthy of your affection.” His fingers moved along her arm, massaging, caressing. “Let me be the first. When I told you that I wanted to know you, I was serious. That includes meeting your uncle.”
She enjoyed the possibility of endless tomorrows with Dutch and wasn’t ready to lose him. “I don’t think you understand what you’re asking for. Once my uncle puts his stamp of disapproval on you...” That was it. There’d be no future.
Grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he angled her face toward his. “I’m not a foregone conclusion, Isabel. If he doesn’t approve of me, we cross that bridge when we come to it. But the way I see it, you’re grown and financially independent. You date who you damn well please.”
“He’ll scare you off. He’s very powerful, judgmental and can be a bit of a bully.” A snobbish bully and that was putting it mildly.
“Do I seem like a man who’s easily intimidated?”
No. He didn’t.
“The only way I’ll walk away from you is if you ask me to.” Smoothing hair off her cheek, his fingers lingered, caressing her jaw, then gliding down her neck and back up again, sending tingles shooting through her. “I’ve gone up against my fair share of bullies. I can handle your uncle.”
He drew closer, his hand tangling in her hair, bringing her mouth toward his. But he stopped short of giving her what she wanted, what she craved. Another taste of him.
So, she took it.
She kissed him and hummed her approval at the wet heat of his mouth as their breaths tangled. His eager tongue met hers, velvety stroke for stroke. Need drove urgency, bringing their bodies together into a hard squeeze of a hug that ended with him sucking on her tongue until her belly twisted with arousal.
“Isabel,” he murmured against her lips, something raw and hungry in his voice.
She didn’t want the kiss to end, didn’t want to let him go. But she straightened, her thoughts bouncing back to the things he’d said. “Let me think about you meeting my uncle. Okay?”
He kissed the tip of her nose, trailed more across her cheeks. “Sure, beautiful.”
Resting her head on his shoulder, she traced the lines of one of his tattoos. Inside the outline of an arrowhead were two black daggers crossed behind a skull with Latin inked beneath it, De Oppresso Liber.
To free the oppressed.
“I get how hard it was for you in Delta Force, losing your friends, having to kill people, the constant pressure, but you never told me why you stayed for twelve years.”
He put his arm around her. “Just because it was tough doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. I believed in the mission, protecting our country, and the army gave me a family that had my back no matter what. That I could count on to pick me up if I fell, to hump me out if I got shot. Honestly, getting booted was harder than the grind of the high-ops tempo.”
“Why?”
“Because I lost my battle brothers and my sense of purpose in one fell swoop. But I, uh... I know there’s a new place for me out there, where I belong,” he said, staring at the ocean, his voice somber.
She gave him a hard, quick kiss, wanting to erase his sadness.
“Promise me something,” he said.
“Sure. What?”
“I hate the way we met, how the universe brought us together with you getting mugged, but I don’t regret finding you, being with you.” He cupped her jaw, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “This feels right. You and me. I want to keep doing this with you, see what’s on the horizon for us, together. For as long as you want. Promise me you’ll remember that.”
She frowned, not understanding what possessed him to say that.
He must’ve read the concern in her face because he rubbed between her eyes with the pad of his thumb, smoothing away her worry lines. “Every relationship has highs and lows. When we hit a low point, I don’t want to lose you. So, promise you’ll remember.”
“Okay. I promise.”
Dutch kissed her nose. “Let’s have dessert.”
THEY FINISHED EATING, packed everything up and headed for the parking lot. Refusing to let her carry anything, except her tote bag, he managed the surfboard, blanket and cooler on his own.
After he got everything loaded into the bed of his truck, he walked her to her car.
“Hey,” he said, and she stopped in front of her door and looked at him. Dutch wiped her lip and licked the chocolate frosting off his thumb. The gesture was intimate and assuming and she loved it. Dutch reached for her. “Come here,” he said, roping his arms around her. He released a satisfied sigh as if he’d been aching to hold her. “When am I going to see you again?”
Sliding her hands up his bare chest, she appreciated that he was in magnificent shape, tip-top condition as one could get.
She was tempted to tell him tonight, but she was scared. Of how good his muscular body felt beneath her palms. Of how he stared at her with a mix of affection and attraction that made her knees a little weak. Of how the air, charged with desire, stimulated her skin, quickened her pulse. Of how his arousal pressed against her lower belly made her want to explore every inch of him.
“If you come by later, I think we might have sex,” she admitted, her reservations lost in the enthralling deep brown depths of his potent stare.
“Would that be good or bad?”
“Both, I think.” She chuckled. “It wouldn’t be taking things slowly, but the more I’m around you, the more I feel my boundaries slipping away.” Nerves fluttered in her belly and she chewed on her bottom lip.
“I don’t want you to worry about stuff like that. Here’s my promise to you. The possibility of sex is off the table until I meet your uncle.”
Was he serious?
On her first date with Chad, he’d taken her to dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant, they’d had dessert upstairs, drinks on the rooftop. Then he’d taken her home and swept her up in an aggressive tide of sexual energy, where she’d gone with the flow of it rather than drown.
Looking back on it, every time she’d slept with him had been more about survival than passion and she wanted to kick herself for being so easily manipulated. So weak.
One bad decision, one poor choice, and she was paying for it months later.
“Why?” she asked incredulously.
“Intimacy should be earned, and you should be treasured.” He stroked her cheek and gave her a tender, slow kiss.
Dutch touched her the right way, with gentleness and respect, and said the perfect thing. Maybe he was too good to be true. This could quite possibly be the most brilliant use of reverse psychology.
Deny her sex to make her want it. But she still fell a little harder, faster, deeper for him.
“Well, that settles it, you’re meeting my uncle on Wednesday,” she said, and they both laughed. That was another remarkable thing about him. No guy had ever made her smile so much or laugh until her cheeks ached. “I want to see you later.”
Spending time with him was the best kind of escape from her troubles.
“Then you will. I’ll bring takeout. Thai or sushi?”
“Thai. Surprise me with your favorites.” She hit the key fob, unlocking her door. “Spice isn’t a problem.”
“I’m not shocked you can handle the heat.”
“How about seven?” She grabbed the door handle. “Is that enough time for you to miss me?”
He smiled and, cupping her face in his hands, kissed her. She lit up warm and bright as if she’d swallowed the sun.
“I don’t need hours to miss you, beautiful. Before you make it out of the parking lot, I’ll want you back in my arms.”
“You’re setting the bar pretty high for other men.”
“Good. You should have high standards. Never settle for anything less than what you deserve.”
She opened her door, slid in and tossed her bag in the passenger’s seat. Turning the key in the ignition, she waved to him.
Dutch lifted his hand and stepped back while she put the car in Reverse.
After cranking the wheel, she threw the gear in Drive. Something buzzed past her head. She swatted it away.
A bee landed on her dash.
Isabel stiffened. Her gaze locked on the yellow jacket.
She was severely allergic to bee venom. A sting would send her into anaphylactic shock within minutes. How did it get in the car?
Don’t freak out.
Rolling down the window, she prayed it would fly out as she drove slowly through the lot. Too bad she didn’t have a magazine in her bag to help shoo it from the car. But the little insect stayed on the dash, unfazed by the breeze.
A second bee flew past her face, landing on the steering wheel. Dread slid down her throat and dropped in her belly hard and cold.
She pressed back against her seat, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the tiny flying killers, but the car cabin seemed to shrink around her.
A terrifying thought popped into her head. Chad. Did he put a couple of bees in her car?
Just as quickly, she dismissed the irrational idea. The planning, the logistics it would’ve taken, not to mention, he would’ve had to have known that she’d be here.
That was beyond crazy.
Hitting the button to roll down the passenger window, she cursed the perfume oil she’d rubbed on her skin and hair. It’d only attract them. Way to go to smell sexy.
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.