Page 26 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Chapter Nineteen

Gabby

W ebb and Eddie were already moving, talking in low voices as they circled around the table where the men we’d zip-tied were still unconscious or grumbling through their gags. The light from Eddie’s drone monitor painted their faces in shifting shades of blue and static white.

“We can’t keep them here,” Webb growled, running a hand through his hair. “It's too exposed, and there are too many chances someone will stumble across this place.”

“The ranch, then,” Eddie suggested. “There's more space and secure basements in a few of the buildings. Plus, no one goes out there without us knowing. And we’ve already got the backup generator if we need it if they cut the power.”

Webb nodded. “Good, we’ll move them at dawn. You drive ahead, we'll follow in the other vehicles.”

“Already checked them,” Eddie added, jerking a thumb toward the pile of weapons and gear we’d stripped from the intruders. “There's no working GPS left, no trackers, and nothing that pings or beams. Anything suspicious went straight into the bayou.”

I stood off to the side, pretending to sip coffee that had long gone cold, watching them plan.

They were good at this. Scarily good. It was a reminder of what they’d done before all this—what they were trained for, how much they knew how to handle.

The scariest thing was that it came as second nature to them, as neither of them had a military background.

But then, this wasn’t just tactical for them anymore, it was personal. They were planning around me—for the family and me—and that was the problem. Because the longer I stayed, the more danger I brought with me. Not just to them—but to everyone tied to them.

Webb had already been forced to ask whether his own people were in danger just for knowing me. I couldn’t let that question hang over them forever.

So, I made a decision. I’d wait until we got the men to the ranch, I’d help them settle everything, and then I’d go back to Orlando. Back to the place I should’ve dealt with myself a week ago. And I’d do the only thing I had left in my control: I’d hand myself over.

But I wasn't going to do it quietly. I’d invite Colin Maddox to meet me in a hotel—somewhere public, somewhere clean and quiet. I’d wear a wire and record every word. Because even if I didn’t walk away from that meeting, he wouldn’t either. That evidence would be enough to bury him.

I wasn't going to be hunted anymore.

I hadn’t told Webb or Eddie yet. I couldn’t. Not while the plan was still being formed, and my resolve needed to stay sharp.

I was still turning it over in my head when the satellite phone rang, making everyone in the room freeze.

Webb snatched it up and answered with a clipped, “Yeah.”

He listened for a beat. “Maddix?”

My stomach clenched until I realized—it wasn't Colin Maddox. It was the Maddix. The family friend and the one he trusted.

Webb hit the speaker button.

“I think you need to hear this, Gabby,” Maddix warned on the line, his voice low and tense. “Remember the man you think you saw being buried in concrete?”

“I remember,” I confirmed, stepping forward.

“This revolves around the head of contracting for Maddox Enterprises,” Maddix explained. “A missing person report just went public—filed by his parents.”

Webb swore under his breath.

Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the official line?”

“Internal HR reported that he ran off with a woman. His wife’s backing the story... but his parents aren’t buying it. They say he was planning a run for Senate next year and had high-profile meetings lined up.”

“And now he’s just gone?” I asked.

“Gone,” Maddix confirmed. “His wife just checked into a luxury resort in Cabo. She's giving no press statements, no appeals, and showing no public concern. It's like she already knows there’s nothing to look for.”

We were all quiet for a second, then Webb leaned over the table and started typing the guy’s name into his laptop. After a few clicks, a polished headshot appeared on the screen—smiling confidently, dressed in a crisp suit, with teeth so white they looked like they could cut glass.

“Darren Redell,” Webb read aloud. “Born in Louisiana and based in Orlando. His public image is squeaky clean. If he was running for Senate, he’d either be a powerful ally?—”

“Or a liability,” Eddie finished. “Depending on what he knew.”

“And if he started asking the wrong questions,” I added, throat dry, “Colin would’ve made him disappear.”

I looked at the screen again, at that fake-polished grin. He was supposed to be the face of something better and cleaner. But all I could think about was that horrible, wet sound of concrete being poured and the way the men on that site hadn’t spoken a word as they'd done it.

Webb looked up at me, jaw tight. “They’re not just cleaning house. They’re silencing anything that could be used against them.”

I nodded slowly, knowing what he wasn't saying out loud—I was next on the list.

The drive to the ranch was long enough for me to think too much and short enough to feel like I hadn’t done anything about it.

I was behind the wheel of one of the bad guys’ SUVs, with the windows down, my hair tied up, and sunglasses covering my eyes that hadn’t slept.

It smelled like sweat, old fast food, and a hint of motor oil, and I hated how easy it was to slip into the role of someone I wasn’t.

Like I’d borrowed the life of someone dangerous.

Behind me, Webb’s truck followed close, and the taillights of Eddie’s ride were visible in the rearview.

They were transporting the prisoners between them, who were still tied, blindfolded, and hopefully—for Eddie and Webb's sakes—silent.

Well, unless they were divulging secrets that we needed to know. ..

I turned off the main road and followed the long gravel drive through vast pastureland lined with wooden fencing and tall oak trees.

It had to be noted that the suspension in the SUV was slightly better than Webb's truck because my teeth didn't rattle in my gums this time.

That didn't mean it didn't shake my brain around in my skull.

A few ranch hands came out to meet us, confusion turning to quiet understanding as Webb and Eddie unloaded the men from their trucks. Marcus walked out of the barn, wiping his hands on a towel, his eyebrows shooting up when he saw the haul.

“Christ,” he muttered. “This is your version of bringing home strays? At least I keep it to horses and wildlife.”

Webb didn’t bother with pleasantries. “We need to use the feed barn.”

Marcus nodded once, then barked something over his shoulder to the ranch hands. None of them asked questions, they just moved to do what needed to be done.

I helped where I could, but Webb kept me at a distance while they carried the men into the building.

It was remote, sturdy, and looked built like a bunker with thick walls and a single locked entry.

By the time they’d secured the prisoners and set up a rotating watch schedule, the sun was high in the sky, and the air smelled like dry hay and dust.

Marcus clapped Webb on the back. “Your usual place is open.”

Webb gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Appreciate it.”

We left the others behind and walked toward a small cottage on the edge of the property. It was made of white clapboard, with a deep porch and a narrow path lit by strings of solar lights that flickered to life as we passed.

Inside, the cabin was simple but warm, with a lived-in kind of charm.

Just a single open room that held everything—a bed tucked against one wall, a worn couch facing a fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been used in months, and a small kitchen area in the corner.

Webb locked the door behind us, then turned and leaned against it, watching me with an unreadable expression.

“You did good today.”

“I stole a car,” I pointed out, kicking off my boots. “Technically.”

“Borrowed,” he corrected. “From a man who was planning to kidnap you. I don’t think the law’s gonna split hairs.”

We didn’t speak for a moment after that. The weight of the day pressed down on us both. There were so many moving parts, each one entwined with the next—threats layered beneath even more threats. And the silence stretching between us was thick with everything we hadn’t said.

“Shower?” Webb offered softly.

I nodded, suddenly feeling like that was the best plan at this moment. “Please.”

The bathroom was small, the kind where you could touch every wall if you stretched, but it had hot water, and the window was cracked open to let in the cool night breeze. Webb turned the knobs, testing the temperature, until steam began to fog the mirror.

I stepped in behind him, sliding my hands under his shirt and lifting it slowly over his head. He let me, watching me in the mirror with that steady look of his like I was something he wasn’t sure he deserved but wasn’t about to let go.

He turned to face me, his hands gliding down to the hem of my top.

With deliberate slowness, he undressed me, one piece at a time.

Our fingers brushed as he pulled the fabric over my head, a quiet spark passing between us, our breaths gradually falling into sync.

Piece by piece, our clothes slipped to the floor in soft, unhurried piles.

When we stepped into the shower, the heat wrapped around us instantly.

I leaned back against the tile, and Webb’s hands came to my hips, his body pressing close to mine under the spray.

The water ran over his shoulders, down the lines of muscle, over the curve of his jaw and that mouth that had kissed me like I was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

I caught sight of the water pooling in the curves of his gauges before dripping steadily from them, and for a moment, I got caught up watching it. It reminded me to keep my fingers away from them, even though the urge to touch every part of him was strong and stupidly hard to ignore.