Page 24 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Chapter Eighteen

Webb

T he last man hit the floor with a dull thud just as Gabby lowered her weapon, her expression unreadable beneath the low blue cast of Eddie’s drone monitor.

We hadn’t planned it—hadn’t even exchanged a glance—but somehow, we’d worked in perfect tandem to take them down. Gabby had dropped the first guy with a sharp, clean shot to the shoulder. The other two hadn’t even had time to react properly.

She'd kept them off balance with calculated shots that cracked over their heads or struck just close enough to make them flinch while one of us moved in to finish it. A strike, a hit, and a takedown. It wasn’t rehearsed, but it was effective and fast.

Eddie was already grabbing zip ties from the emergency gear crate in the corner, so I bent and hauled one of the guys onto his stomach, yanking his arms back and locking them tight behind him with a practiced tug. He groaned but didn’t fully wake up.

Gabby kept her pistol raised, covering us as we worked. Her hands were steady, eyes sharp, sweeping from one window to the next as we secured each intruder in turn.

“Three inside,” Eddie confirmed, his voice low. “The raccoon guy’s still outside but barely moving.”

“We’ll bring him in.” I hoisted the second guy and dragged him toward the far wall.

“Should we even bother?” Gabby asked, following me. “He already met the business end of expired seafood and angry trash pandas.”

“We want them all together,” I pointed out. “They're easier to control that way.”

Eddie headed for the door. “I’ll grab our fish-scented friend.”

While he was outside, I knelt to check each guy again to make sure they were still alive and also disarm them.

Their pulses were steady, and they were all breathing just fine.

They were armed to the teeth—guns, extra magazines, and one of them even had a switchblade strapped to his ankle.

Everything about them screamed professional muscle.

There were no identifying marks. No badges.

No insignias. Just a quiet, calculated readiness that made it clear they weren’t here by accident.

This wasn’t law enforcement or amateurs, these men were brought in for one reason only—force.

“Check their pockets,” I told Gabby as I finished tying the last one’s ankles.

She crouched beside me, silent and focused, patting down one of the men with practiced efficiency.

“Phone,” she said, handing it to me. “It's locked, though.”

I shoved it into my back pocket. “We’ll get Eddie to work on it later.”

The door opened, and Eddie returned, dragging the last guy by the collar like he was hauling a sack of potatoes. The man’s head lolled, eyelids fluttering.

“Still breathing,” Eddie reported. “Might not be for long if he wakes up smelling like that.”

"I didn't technically do anything to him," Gabby admitted. "It might be the stench that knocked him out."

We secured him to the others, lining them up along the far wall with their hands zip-tied and their weapons collected and stored on the opposite end of the room.

Gabby sat back on her heels, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm. “Okay,” she exhaled. “They’re down. What now?”

I glanced at Eddie, then at her. “Now we keep them here, and we wait.”

“For what?” she asked, her voice tight.

“For the others to realize their buddies aren’t coming back.”

Gabby nodded, her jaw tense. “And when they do?”

I looked her in the eye. “Then we finish this.”

We went quiet for a beat, the only sounds the creak of the floorboards and the faint rustle of wind outside the windows.

As Eddie finished checking the three men, I turned to Gabby. She was still near the doorway, Tinkerbell tucked away, breathing a little faster than usual. There was a flush in her cheeks that I figured was from adrenaline, and her hands trembled just enough for me to notice.

I stepped over and caught one of them gently. “You okay?” I asked, my voice low.

She nodded, but the movement was automatic—detached, like her mind was still catching up.

I didn’t let go of her, not yet. My eyes moved over her quickly, searching for anything out of place.

Thankfully, there were no visible wounds.

Still, I gently turned her hand over, checking for cuts or bruises, then glanced down at her knees, making sure she hadn’t scraped or injured herself in the chaos.

“You didn’t get hit or cut?”

“No,” she murmured. “Just got elbowed a few times. Nothing serious.”

I let out a slow breath and pulled her into me before I had the chance to overthink it.

She came without hesitation, her arms sliding around my waist as she rested her cheek against my chest. I wrapped both arms around her, grounding myself in the solid weight of her—in the simple, overwhelming truth that she was still here.

Still standing. Still breathing. Still safe.

I dipped my head and pressed my forehead to hers, holding it there for a moment before brushing a quick kiss against her lips.

But when her hands tightened against my back, I kissed her again—slower and deeper this time.

It wasn’t driven by hunger or heat but by something far more powerful: sheer, overwhelming relief.

Behind us, zip ties snapped with practiced precision.

“Do you two want me to leave the room,” Eddie said dryly, “so you can make some more fighting noises again?”

Gabby pulled back from the kiss and groaned, her forehead falling against my chest. “Eddie,” she muttered, “could you just hush.”

I chuckled and kissed the top of her head, still holding her close. Eddie smirked but kept working, stacking the three unconscious intruders like cordwood along the far wall.

“Just sayin’, some of us are trying to work over here, and I’d like to not hear trauma being processed through creative moaning.”

Gabby turned her head and glared at him. “Do you want to be force-fed expired catfish, too?”

That shut him up, at least for a few seconds. I held her a little longer before finally letting go, brushing a thumb along her jaw before stepping back.

“You did good, Gabby.”

She smirked faintly. “I almost vomited on a guy and still managed to kick him unconscious. I feel like I deserve a merit badge.”

“You’re getting one,” I snickered, already turning back toward the weapons table. “Right after this, I’m designing you a patch. ‘Raccoon General.’”

“Better than Queen of the Rotten Fish,” she muttered under her breath.

I grinned as I grabbed my rifle and turned back to the door.

The house was secure. The bodies were restrained. And Gabby was still standing—sharp, steady, and unshaken.

But it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Gabby

One of the zip-tied guys started to stir with a low groan, his head lolling like he’d just woken up from a bender in a swamp—which, to be fair, he sort of had.

I was already crouched in front of him with a flashlight under my chin like some kind of unhinged camp counselor.

“Rise and shine, swamp muffin,” I cooed, tapping the bottom of my flashlight against his boot. “Time for a little heart-to-heart.”

He blinked blearily at me, trying to focus, then jerked his arms, realizing they were bound. “What the?—”

“Easy now,” Eddie warned, stepping up behind me like a calm, sensible shadow. “We’ve got some questions, and you’re gonna answer them.”

The guy sneered. “You've got no idea who you’re messing with.”

“Actually,” I chirped, holding my hand in the air, “I do! You’re part of the Dumbass Express that tried to sneak up on this house, in this swamp, where I happen to be the unofficial ruler of all things unhinged and possibly rabid.”

The man stared at me.

Eddie didn’t even look at me, even though I knew he was doing his best not to laugh. “Start talking. Who sent you?”

He didn’t answer—just fixed Eddie with a stubborn glare that said plenty on its own.

“Okay,” I drawled sweetly, setting the flashlight down and pulling out a dented can from behind me. I held it up like a magician about to reveal her best trick. “This, my dear swamp invader, is three-year expired tuna in mustard sauce. It's a one-of-a-kind.”

He frowned. “What are?—”

I leaned in. “You know what happens when you crack this bad boy open in an enclosed space?”

Webb, seated on the edge of the table across the room, coughed like he’d already smelled it.

“You get thirty-seven raccoons,” I whispered. “ Minimum . And that’s not counting the angry possum who’s been very protective of me since I fed him.”

Eddie rubbed his temple. “Gabby…”

“No, no,” I insisted, waving him off. “He needs to understand the gravity of the situation. These aren’t normal raccoons, they're military grade. I’ve trained them using expired Spam and cheese puffs, and they fear nothing. Not even man.”

The guy opened his mouth, then closed it again. Probably trying to decide if I was serious. Spoiler: I wasn't entirely, but he didn’t need to know that.

Eddie knelt down in front of him, eyes sharp. “We know you’re not from around here, and we know you’re not working alone. Who are you reporting to?”

He remained stubbornly silent.

I cracked the can slightly and waved it in front of the guy’s face. The faintest whiff escaped, and he flinched like I’d hit him with a blast of pepper spray.

“That’s just the preview,” I teased, grinning. “I open this all the way, and by morning, we’ll be digging you out from under a furry avalanche.”

Webb sighed from his seat, “I can’t believe this is working.”

“I can,” I answered proudly, straightening up. “Fear is a versatile tool.”

Eddie tried again, this time in a colder tone. “We know there are more of you. Where are they based? What’s the objective?”

The guy finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “We’re just the first sweep that's meant to locate and clear. There are more are coming if we don’t check in.”

“Who sent you?” Eddie pressed.

He looked at me, then at the can still dangling from my hand, then back at Eddie. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try us,” I urged. “Worst case, I feed you to the swamp rats.”