Page 35 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Webb

R emy’s voice cut through the quiet like a scalpel. “We’ve just had a Jane Doe admitted to Orlando Regional Medical Center. She’s a female in her mid-twenties, currently unconscious, with no identification on her.”

I looked up fast. “That could be anyone.”

“She came in with two people claiming to be her grandparents,” Remy added, clicking away on his keyboard. “Gladys and Ira,” he read aloud. “According to the intake notes.”

I froze, and my stomach twisted, tightening into a hard, sour knot. “That’s not Gabby. She doesn’t have grandparents named Gladys and Ira.”

Jesse raised a brow, arms folded across his chest. “It's still worth checking out, right? Stranger things have happened.”

Remy nodded, his tone even. “There’s more. She was brought in following a road traffic accident and transported by emergency services. The medical team is currently running a head CT and checking for any signs of internal trauma.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged, not bothering to look up. “Hacked into the hospital’s patient monitoring system. I’ve got eyes on their incoming logs, just in case Maddox got spooked and tried to dump a body somewhere.”

I inhaled sharply, trying to keep my face neutral, but the idea of Gabby showing up as a body—just a name on a coroner’s form—made it feel like the room had shrunk.

“Jesse,” I called, my voice raspier than I intended, “go check it out.”

He was already grabbing his keys. “I’ll be careful,” he assured, clapping me once on the shoulder before heading out the door.

The rest of us regrouped around the monitors. The whiteboard now had half a dozen photos of Maddox’s known associates, notes scribbled in red and blue marker, and a running timeline of Gabby’s disappearance. Everything was pointing inward, circling closer, but nothing felt solid.

“Matty, anything on that tracker yet?”

He was hunched over his laptop, eyes darting behind the lenses of his glasses, one hand rapidly scrolling. “Hold on…hold on. I just got the email.”

He clicked it open, muttering as he scanned through it. “The manufacturer says it’s tied to a remote dashboard. They gave me emergency access based on the serial number the shop sent over. Give me thirty seconds to triangulate.”

We waited in suffocating silence. The only sounds were Matty’s fingers against the keys and the soft hum of machines around the room.

Then his eyes widened. “I’ve got a signal. Tracker’s active.”

“Where?”

He pointed to the screen. “The same hospital Remy flagged.”

I didn’t even wait. I was on my feet, grabbing my jacket. “Let’s go.”

Marcus, Elijah, and Matty were already moving with me, grabbing gear, prepping in instinctive formation like we’d done this before. There was no discussion and no hesitation.

My phone buzzed just as we stepped out onto the porch. Checking the screen, I saw Jesse's name, so I answered it on speaker.

“I think it’s her. She’s unconscious, but it looks like her. I’ve been watching the two pretending to be her grandparents—Gladys and Ira. They’re beat up bad, but they’re hovering over her like hawks.”

I exchanged a look with Marcus.

Jesse continued, “The guy—Ira—has stitches across his forehead, and his arm’s bandaged up like hell.

Gladys…man, she’s bruised to hell and has a broken arm, but she’s holding a cloth and gently washing the blood off Gabby’s face.

Keeps stroking her head like she’s her kid.

If they’re faking, they’re Oscar-worthy. ”

My throat went tight as I turned to Matty. “The tracker—can you confirm it’s coming from her? Not just the building?”

Matty looked up from his screen. “The signal’s not moving. Either she’s wearing it, or it’s fallen off somewhere in there.”

That was all I needed to hear.

“Let’s move,” I decided, already heading for the truck. “She’s in there, and this time, we’re not leaving without her.”

By the time we reached Orlando Regional Medical Center, my chest felt like it was being crushed from the inside.

I jumped out of the truck before it had even come to a complete stop, barely waiting for the tires to settle before I hit the ground running.

Marcus and Elijah were right behind me, while Matty stayed on the phone with Remy, squeezing out whatever last-minute intel he could before we reached the front desk.

Inside the ER, the air buzzed with that specific kind of hospital tension—too many voices, the constant shuffle of feet, the faint beeping of machines from down every hallway. The woman at the reception desk didn’t even blink when I stepped up.

“I’m looking for my fiancée.” I only just managed to keep my voice steady and low. “Her name’s Lara Maddox.”

The lie came out effortlessly. I didn’t care what name she’d been admitted under, I just needed to get to her.

The woman gave a quick nod and typed something into her system, then pointed us down a corridor toward a private exam room. “She’s in Room seventeen. Her grandparents are with her just now.”

I didn’t correct her. I just nodded and went to where she pointed, grateful for the easy access but annoyed that she hadn’t questioned it more. Still, I wasn’t about to say anything that might delay me from getting to Gabby.

I spotted them through the narrow window in the door before I even stepped inside—an older man and woman, who I vaguely recalled Remy identifying as Ira and Gladys.

They stood on either side of Gabby’s hospital bed with identical postures: upright, alert, and rigid, like a pair of battle-worn, geriatric sentries.

The man’s arm was wrapped in a thick bandage, with a row of stitches just visible beneath his temple.

The woman’s arm rested in a sling, and her bruises had settled into a mottled pattern of deep violet and fading green.

Despite it all, they stood firm, as if they were ready to protect Gabby with their last breath.

When I stepped inside, they both turned toward me, wary and calm at the same time. I kept my hands visible and my voice soft.

“I’m Webb, Gabby’s boyfriend. I get the sense that you’ve been protecting her—and it’s clear you want to keep doing that. I do, too. Would you be willing to talk?”

For a beat, neither of them spoke. Then Gladys, eyes tired but still sharp, gave a slight nod.

“She hit her head,” she rasped, glancing at Gabby’s pale face.

“It was Clayton Barris’s fault. He’s a very naughty boy, always has been.

I told Colin not to hang around him, but does anyone listen to their mothers?

” She sniffed. “I took her to Ira’s to keep her away from all the bad things my son’s been doing. ”

The way she spoke made something twist in my gut.

Like she believed Colin Maddox wasn’t inherently bad—just misled and mismanaged.

Like she’d never accepted the truth of what he’d become.

Maybe it was grief, denial, or simply the unbearable weight of admitting her son had become a monster. Whatever the reason, I didn’t push her.

Gabby was what mattered.

She lay completely still on the bed, her skin unnervingly pale and her lips slightly parted as if caught mid-breath.

A bulky inflatable cast encased her lower leg, and a rigid foam brace supported her neck, keeping it locked in place.

The monitors behind her blinked in steady, rhythmic patterns, offering the only signs of life in the room.

But she hadn’t moved since I'd walked in, and the sight of it made my stomach drop.

“What have the doctors said?”

“We’re waiting on a CT scan and full X-rays,” Ira replied, adjusting his glasses. “They’re concerned she hasn’t regained consciousness yet. There’s some swelling, and the impact to the back of her head has made them understandably cautious.”

My fingers brushed against hers—cool to the touch, but not cold, not lifeless. There was still warmth beneath the surface, just enough to stir a flicker of hope. I held onto that, even as the silence around us pressed in.

“She hasn’t been conscious at all?” I asked, barely able to get the words out.

Gladys shook her head. “Not once. She moaned a little when we got her out of the car, but she hasn’t opened her eyes.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, dialing Marcus.

“Yeah?” he answered quickly.

“I need you to call Parker. Ask him about arranging emergency medical transport—see if there’s a way to move her out of Florida and into Texas, quietly and without drawing attention.

” Parker was my cousin's husband and a doctor.

It was the only way I could think of to help Gabby and keep her safe right now.

“You think she’ll be safer there?”

“It's what I'm hoping and the only thing I can think of.”

“On it,” Marcus assured me before he hung up.

I stayed by her side, gently brushing a strand of dried blood from her temple as the burn in my throat grew sharper, making it harder to swallow.

“We used my daughter’s name,” Gladys admitted softly. “Lara. She died in the ocean when she was fifteen. When they asked for a name, it was the only one I could think of that Colin would never expect. I hope that’s okay.”

I swallowed hard, unable to speak for a moment. Finally, I looked up and met her gaze. “It’s more than okay. You saved her life.”

She gave a faint, tired smile, then looked down at Gabby again and gently stroked her hair, just as Jesse had described. “We’d like to stay with her,” she added. “For as long as we can.”

I nodded. “You will. For as long as she needs.”

But inside, I was already forming a new plan—because until Gabby opened her eyes, nothing felt safe. Nothing felt over. And I wasn’t letting her go, not after how close we’d come to losing her.

The sharp shriek of alarms shattered the quiet. I jumped to my feet, heart slamming into my ribs, as the monitors around Gabby erupted in a chorus of warning tones. A nurse rushed in seconds later, followed by two more staff and a man in dark blue scrubs with a stethoscope already around his neck.

“What’s happening?” I demanded, moving toward them, only to be stopped by a firm hand on my chest.

“Please step back,” one of the nurses ordered quickly.

Another nurse was already adjusting lines, and the man in the lead barked out orders I couldn’t track fast enough. Something about possible internal bleeding and her vitals dropping.

A moment later, a doctor rushed in with a trauma cart and shouted, “Page surgery now. Get her down to OR three!”

“Internal bleeding?” I repeated, my voice hoarse.

“Ruptured spleen,” one of them told me, moving fast. “It’s most likely a result of the accident. It didn’t show up on the initial imaging, but then her blood pressure dropped too suddenly for us to wait. We need to go—now.”

“And the head injury?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

The guy I was talking to was so involved in what he was doing for Gabby that he answered it automatically, likely not meaning to be as blunt as it came out. “Fracture to the skull, which we'll monitor closely. But we need to stop the bleeding first.”

And then they were moving, wheeling her out in a flurry of bodies and clipped voices. I stood in the hallway, watching the blur as her bed vanished around a corner, feeling helpless in a way I hadn’t felt since the moment I realized she was gone.

Ira stepped up beside me. “Come on, son. Let’s wait somewhere we can sit. You won’t do her any good pacing a hallway.”

The three of us ended up in a small family waiting room filled with tired beige chairs and stacks of outdated magazines no one wanted to read.

The overhead lights buzzed softly, casting a dull glow over everything, while the air carried a sharp mix of coffee and disinfectant—an unpleasant experience for the nose.

I sat hunched forward, elbows resting on my knees, eyes fixed on the floor as if it might offer answers no one else could.

“Do you think it'll be risky because of the fracture?” I murmured.

“She’s strong,” Ira assured me gently. “She made it this far.”

Gladys sat quietly in the chair beside me, her uninjured hand working a tissue into frayed ribbons in her lap.

Her gaze was distant, unfocused as if she were listening to something only she could hear—memories, maybe, or thoughts too heavy to speak aloud.

After several long minutes of silence, I finally turned to her.

“Do you know what Maddox is planning next?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Then, in that soft, wistful tone of hers, she replied, “Colin’s not a bad boy, he’s just…been led astray. Clayton was always trouble. That boy whispered in his ear for years—never let him be the man I raised him to be.”

Ira’s head turned sharply, and when he spoke this time, his voice was firm. “Gladys, it’s time.”

She looked at him, startled.

“It’s time you accept the facts,” he told her gently. “He’s not a boy anymore, and he didn’t just fall in with the wrong crowd. He is the wrong crowd.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “But if I say it out loud…if I admit it…”

“Maybe it’s the only way. Help Webb stop this before someone else gets hurt.”

She nodded slowly, then turned to me with tears sliding down her cheeks.

“He’s building on land that should’ve never been approved,” she admitted, her voice trembling.

“It’s swampland—unstable ground that shifts with the rain and collapses during storms. No one should be building anything out there, but he got the land cheap and knew exactly who to pay off.

Inspectors, politicians, it was all handled under the table. ”

My breath caught.

“He’s trying to build a whole development,” she went on, “but if it fails, he owes his investors millions. Colin doesn’t like owing anyone money, and he’s never allowed himself to lose a deal.

When things start to unravel, people have a way of disappearing—either because they know too much or because there’s a chance they might talk. ”

She pressed her hand to her lips as if to keep from sobbing outright. “He doesn’t leave things to chance.”

I sat back slowly, the weight of her words settling in like cement. Gabby hadn’t just seen something she shouldn’t have—she’d threatened to unravel everything.

This wasn’t about damage control anymore. This was about survival for all of us. And if Gabby made it through that surgery, we were going to make sure he paid for every last crime he thought he could bury.