Page 22 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

The drone lifted off with a soft whirr, rising above the trees in a steady arc. I guided it up and out, letting the camera pan across the vast sprawl of trees, lazy waterways, and weather-worn buildings scattered in the distance.

We watched the monitor in silence for a while, the drone drifting over narrow trails and thickets, scanning for anything that didn’t belong. A flash of movement had all three of us tense, but it was just a deer crashing through the underbrush, startled by the humming overhead.

“I still think we should’ve painted it neon pink,” Eddie murmured, crouching beside me. “No one would suspect a drone that ugly.”

“We want people to think we’re bird nerds, not blind,” I shot back.

“Same thing.”

Webb leaned over my shoulder, pointing to a split in the trees near a long-abandoned barn. “There, get closer.”

I shifted the drone left, lowering it just enough to get a good view. A car sat tucked under the trees—a black SUV, its dark paint blending into the shadows. Dirt was still kicked up around the tires as if it had pulled in sometime during the night and hadn’t moved since.

“Zoom in,” Webb ordered, his voice low.

The drone cam tightened on the image, and Eddie let out a sharp breath behind me.

“No plates,” he sighed.

“And that’s not a local vehicle,” Webb added. “There's no mud or dents. It’s new.”

I hovered there for a moment longer, scanning the area. There was no movement around the barn and no sign of anyone.

“Think they’re inside?” I asked.

“Or nearby,” Webb hedged. “Watching and waiting.”

I pulled the drone back slowly, rising higher in case someone was down there listening. We drifted farther west, sweeping the edge of town, but the SUV was the only hit.

Eddie stood and stretched, keeping his eyes on the trees. “Well, now we know they’re definitely here. Still think we should just let ‘em make the first move?”

Webb looked at him. “Depends on what they want.”

“And how far they’re willing to go to get it,” I said quietly.

The drone battery started flashing low, so I pulled it back toward us, descending carefully through the canopy until it landed with a soft crunch of grass and dirt. Webb knelt and powered it down while I handed over the controller.

“What’s the plan?” I asked, brushing dirt from my knees.

He looked at me, then at Eddie. “We don’t confront yet. Not until we know how many and what they’re after.”

Eddie nodded slowly. “All right, I’ll keep a closer eye on the area. We can get some cameras up near that barn, too.”

Webb’s jaw tightened. “Let’s move fast.”

I picked up the drone, the weight of it suddenly heavier in my hands. They were here, watching and waiting. But now, so were we. Knowledge was power and all that jazz.

“We’ll go ahead,” Webb suggested, crouched low beside the thick curtain of bushes we’d found near the split in the trees. “You stay here and keep yourself hidden. We’ll be within earshot the whole time.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re asking me to sit in a pile of leaves and twigs while you two idiots go play bait?”

Eddie grinned, already checking the magazine in his sidearm. “Not bait, recon.”

“Sounds an awful lot like bait,” I replied smartly.

Webb rested a hand lightly on my shoulder. “We’ve got to see how many are there and get a read on them. You’re the last line, Gabby. If something goes wrong, you’re our eyes.”

I hated that it made sense. “I still don’t like it,” I grumbled, hunkering down deeper into the underbrush.

“It doesn’t matter if you like it. It’s what we’re doing,” Webb clipped, flashing me a brief, tense smile before rising to his feet. “Now, stay low.”

“I am low,” I hissed. “I’m basically a human swamp mushroom at this point.”

Eddie snorted as they crept off, their weapons hidden beneath loose shirts and moving like men who’d done this kind of thing more than they should’ve.

When they were out of sight, I let out a slow breath and settled back.

I pulled a bottle of water from my backpack, twisted the cap slowly to avoid the usual crack of betrayal, and took a sip.

The bayou was buzzing around me—birds chirping in warning tones, the low drone of insects, and frogs croaking like they knew secrets.

I kept an eye out for movement and swamp beasties alike, knowing my luck would absolutely have me bitten by a snake mid-surveillance.

Boredom crept in, so I fished out a little plastic bag of Goldfish crackers and started munching quietly.

The salty, fake-cheese tang was a tiny comfort in a very uncomfortable situation.

I popped another in my mouth and paused, debating whether the cheddar or parmesan ones were my favorite.

I really liked the extra toasty kind, too, but the classic cheddar had that perfect?—

Crunch .

Mid-thought, my molars locked down on a particularly crispy fish, and a loud crack of branches echoed nearby. I froze, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, a solid mouthful of dry cracker now tasting stale on my tongue.

Two men stepped into view, their boots heavy on the forest floor, and stopped a few feet in front of where I was crouched. My entire body went still, lungs straining against the sudden pressure of panic.

One of them had a beard that looked like he’d forgotten razors existed. The other wore a cap, pulled low, and carried himself like someone who didn’t need to talk to be in charge.

“I picked up a cell ping around here,” the bearded one said, scanning the trees. “Wasn’t long ago. The old man in town said he saw movement. Said it didn’t look like locals—people moving around this area, acting suspicious.”

The other guy scoffed. “That old drunk? You really trust him?”

“He might be pickled, but he’s lived out here his whole damn life. Knows when something doesn’t smell right.”

“He also said a ghost dog keeps raiding his trash cans.”

I stayed frozen, barely breathing, myheart slamming against my ribs so hard I was convinced they could hear it. My hand trembled slightly as I pressed myself tighter to the earth, wishing I could melt into the roots.

Then, a soft rustle came from my right. I turned my head ever so slightly, just in time to hear more movement. I swallowed the mouthful of cracker too fast, wincing as it scraped all the way down like I’d just eaten a handful of gravel.

I tugged the hem of my black T-shirt up and over my red wig and cap, trying to hide even the hint of color from their line of sight. Everything felt ten times louder—the bugs, the wind, my heartbeat, the dry scratch of panic in my throat.

The men were getting closer, eyes narrowing as they scanned the underbrush, and I was aware that something was making noises as it moved on the other side of me.

And then a possum waddled out from the brush. It stopped just in front of my hiding spot, twitching its whiskered nose like it had stumbled into the wrong meeting.

“Oh, fuck this place,” one of the men muttered, taking a step back. “Everything out here wants to bite you or give you a disease.”

“This job’s a death trap,” the other growled, his voice low with disgust. “We should be getting paid more for this kind of bullshit.”

It sucked that I felt this way, but it was a hard agree from me, even though I was barely daring to breathe because of them.

Just then, their radios crackled. “Got someone approaching the cabin perimeter. Stay alert, it could be them.”

The men stiffened, turned on their heels, and ran back the way they’d come without another word, disappearing into the trees. I stayed frozen for a long moment, the possum now sitting contentedly in front of me like some kind of furry guardian angel.

Figuring it deserved it, I reached into the bag of Goldfish and tossed a few toward it. “Thanks for the save, swamp buddy.”

It sniffed them, gave me a blank look, and wandered off. I exhaled shakily and stared into the trees where the men had gone, praying Webb and Eddie were okay—and that whatever was coming, we’d be ready.

I crouched deeper into the brush, eyes still locked on the direction the men had disappeared. My pulse hadn’t quite calmed, and every snapping twig or rustle of leaves had me jumping like I was made of exposed nerve endings.

If Webb and Eddie were tracking the two at the property, that meant there were two more men to add to the group out here.

That made at least four who were all armed, coordinated, and close.

And I couldn’t even warn Webb and Eddie.

I didn't have a radio or a signal, just my stupid bag of crackers and racing thoughts.

I clenched my jaw, my frustration bubbling beneath my ribs. My guys were behind their positions. If the guys walked into an ambush—if something happened because I couldn’t say anything?—

“Hey.”

I nearly screamed, but at the last second, I swallowed it down.

What came out instead was a strangled croak—something that wouldn’t have sounded out of place among the frogs in the bayou.

I spun around, heart lodged firmly in my throat, and found Webb crouched just a few feet away, his brows raised in surprise.

The moment he saw the fear on my face, his expression shifted—instantly alert and ready.

Eddie stepped out from the trees behind him, hands raised. “Easy, killer.”

“You scared the shit out of me!” I hissed, clutching my chest like I could press my heart back into place.

Webb’s gaze flicked over me, tense. “You good?”

I nodded, still trying to breathe. “Two men were just here, but I couldn’t warn you. They were right behind where you were headed, talking about a cell ping and an old guy in town who saw movement.”

Eddie’s face darkened. “That confirms it.”

“They think they’re hunting something,” I continued.

Webb exchanged a look with Eddie, then reached out a hand to help me up. “We need to get back to the house and regroup.”

I dusted off my hands, gave one last glance at the spot where the possum had saved my life—kind of—and crouched down to leave a few more Goldfish crackers in the grass as a little thank-you offering.

“You think it’ll come back?” Eddie asked, already walking.

“Maybe.” I stretched my back as I joined them. “If I feed it enough, it might start guarding the perimeter for us.”

Eddie laughed. “What are you gonna do next, train the gators to sit and roll over?”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said seriously, squinting up at the dappled sky as we moved through the trees. “I could have a whole bayou army. Possums, gators, frogs...maybe a few pissed-off raccoons. It’s the South—we’ve got options.”

Webb gave me a sidelong glance. “You really are going feral out here, huh?”

I smirked. “Give me two more days, and I’ll be communicating in bird calls and chewing cypress bark.”

They both chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach their eyes. The tension was still thick beneath the surface, because now it wasn’t just paranoia or theories, it was real. They were here watching and searching.

As the house came into view through the trees, my hand dropped unconsciously to the gun at my belt, just in case.