Page 44 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Webb

G ladys wasn’t having it. The second she noticed I was still standing tense by the kitchen counter, she clucked her tongue, picked up a heaping plate she’d just made, and marched over to me.

“Sit,” she commanded, waving the plate like a weapon. “You can’t catch bad guys on an empty stomach.”

I didn’t have the energy to argue. Hell, part of me didn’t dare. I dropped onto the chair nearest the window and let her set the plate down in front of me, still steaming and smelling so good it was damn near criminal.

She gave a satisfied nod once I picked up my fork, then turned back to the rest of the room like a general surveying her troops.

“We need to find that naughty Barris boy,” she told us, hands on her hips. “And fast.”

Jesse coughed into his drink, trying not to laugh out loud.

Gladys didn’t miss a beat. “His mama’s onboard too. I called her this morning.”

All of us stared at her in disbelief.

“You...called his mother?” Marcus asked incredulously.

Gladys shrugged, completely unbothered. “Of course. We old birds have our networks. She’s sick of his behavior too and said if she hears from him, she’ll call me immediately.”

The room was absolutely silent except for the faint clink of Sasha setting out more plates.

“You can’t let kids get away with murder these days,” Gladys continued, not sounding like the mother of a man like Colin Maddox. “And I mean that literally.”

Wes leaned back and muttered, “I’m terrified of her. Genuinely terrified.”

Gladys ignored him and pressed on, walking slowly around the table and talking like a seasoned military strategist. “Barris will still go after that sweet girl, Gabby, wherever she’s hiding. But”—she raised a finger— “he doesn’t have the resources he used to.”

“That’s because Maddox’s assets are frozen,” Malcolm said, picking up the thread immediately.

Gladys nodded. “So are Barris’s. And anyone connected to them is being watched closely by the Feds. Real close.” She gave an exaggerated wink.

“Which means,” Jackson spoke up, thinking out loud, “he’ll be desperate.”

“Exactly.” Gladys pointed at him approvingly. “He’ll be mad as hell and humiliated, so he’ll fall back to what he knows.”

She moved closer to the table and dropped her voice slightly as if she were sharing classified information. “He'll likely go back to his street days. Mugging, stealing, laying low, and getting nasty. So, if you want to find him first, you watch the police reports.”

She nodded toward the laptops and phones scattered around the table. “Muggings, stolen cars, assaults. Those will pop up first, so you boys keep an eye on them. That technology’s amazing these days—small little things,” she tapped Matty’s laptop, “but they open up the whole big world like magic.”

Malcolm looked half in love. “She’s the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

Benny grinned over his plate of fried chicken. “Dibs on getting adopted by Gladys.”

Gladys beamed at them both before bustling back into the kitchen to check the cobbler, leaving the rest of us momentarily stunned, full plates in hand, and very aware that somehow, once again, she’d come in, taken charge, and steered us all back on course.

I stabbed a piece of chicken with my fork, my mind running a thousand miles an hour.

If Barris was operating on rage and desperation, he was even more dangerous now.

And Gabby, injured and hidden probably in the bayou, was still the biggest target painted in his sights.

We had to find him, and we had to end this before he got to her first.

Once the laughter over Benny's "adoption" request faded, the room settled back into a more serious focus.

“Gladys,” Jesse called, leaning forward, arms braced on the table, “do you know where Ira took Gabby?”

She shook her head, frowning slightly. “No, he didn’t tell me. Said you never know who’s listening these days. Airwaves, he called it—like he was living back in the Cold War or something.”

She huffed a little, smoothing her hands over the front of her blouse. “The only thing he said was that Gabby had a place in mind.”

The room went quiet for a second before Sasha piped up. “Well, that’s helpful.”

Immediately, she and her cousins started throwing out possibilities as if it were some deranged brainstorming session.

“Maybe Disney World?” Malcolm offered.

“Universal,” Benny argued with a grin. “You know she always wanted to live in the Transformers area.”

“Six Flags?” Matty guessed.

“SeaWorld?” Remy added.

Someone—maybe Jesse—said something about Busch Gardens and another about some weird dinosaur roadside attraction halfway across the state. I dropped my face into my hands and dragged them down slowly, trying not to start banging my forehead against the table.

Jackson leaned over and explained slowly and patiently as if he were talking to toddlers. “Gabby would hardly become part of the It’s a Small World attraction. Think about it.”

Before I could even feel vindicated, Sasha snorted loud enough to make Malcolm choke on his drink.

“You don’t know Gabby then,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “She absolutely would. She’d climb into one of those boats and wave at the tourists all damn day if she thought it’d throw people off.”

Benny snickered. “She would too.”

Sasha grinned. “Although... probably not this time. Her injuries would make that shit a nightmare. Spinning in circles with a head injury? Not ideal.”

At that moment, Gladys, who'd wandered over to the side table to rearrange some of the bags she brought in, suddenly let out a shriek.

“What the hell happened to your poor kitty?”

We all jolted like gunfire had gone off. Gladys was pointing dramatically at Sasha’s cat, who had just sauntered into the room like he owned the place.

He was cross-eyed, wearing a tiny leather jacket with a red bandana tied snugly around his neck.

Everything about him—from his fur to his lopsided stare—gave off the unmistakable vibe of a tiny, grizzled biker who’d seen a few things and didn’t care what you thought about it. Sasha beamed with pride.

Gladys turned to look at her, eyes wide. “He’s cross-eyed!”

“And a motorcycle-riding, cross-eyed boss,” Sasha told her proudly as if that explained everything.

Gladys just shook her head slowly and muttered, “This whole family’s insane. I love it.”

I sat back, arms folded across my chest, watching them all with a mix of affection and exasperation. Only this crew could plan a tactical operation and still get sidetracked by a cross-eyed biker cat.

But under all the jokes and weirdness, a current of tension was still running just below the surface. The noise around me—the joking, the planning, and the chaos—faded into the background as I sat back and thought hard.

Where would Gabby go? She was hurt, so she wouldn’t risk being somewhere obvious, and she was too damn smart to pick a place tied directly to family or friends.

It'd have to be somewhere familiar enough to navigate even when injured. Somewhere we’d already reinforced.

Somewhere secluded enough that someone like Barris couldn’t just stumble on it easily.

The answer clicked into place so hard it almost hurt.

I'd nixed it earlier, but it had to be the goddamn bayou cabin. It made too much sense. She knew it, and we’d gone over its security measures a dozen times together.

It already had traps set up from before—and if anyone could improvise extra defenses, it was Gabby.

And hell—she had Ira.

I stood and ran a hand over my jaw, gathering my thoughts. “She’s at the cabin.”

Everyone turned to look at me.

“That’s where she’d go,” I continued. “It’s remote, tucked far enough away that it doesn’t draw attention.

We’ve already mapped out its security—it’s nothing we can’t handle.

And it’s secluded enough that she’d believe it was safe, which makes it the perfect place to hide…

or to trap someone who thinks they’re in the clear.

Plus, if she’s thinking ahead—and she always is—it’s a place she can control. ”

Wes set his drink down with a thud. “Then what the hell are we waiting for?”

I was already gathering stuff that I'd need. “I’m going tonight. I’m not sitting here and letting Barris get ahead of us.”

Jesse and Eddie exchanged a glance, then nodded in silent agreement.

“We’re going too.” Jesse was already moving toward the pile of gear stacked near the door with no hesitation in his stride.

Wes clapped his hands together. “Road trip. I'll bring the guns.”

We decided quickly: we’d head out closer to nightfall. If Barris was moving—and we knew he would be—he’d use darkness for cover, and so would we.

The house shifted into high gear. Everyone started packing tactical gear, communications equipment, medical supplies, and enough weapons to arm a small army.

Gladys wandered into the room as we laid everything out—rifles, shotguns, handguns, extra magazines, body armor—and paused, looking over the arsenal.

After a long, appraising moment, she gave a sharp nod. “Ira’s gonna love those.”

Jackson barked a laugh. “We’re not arming a man in his eighties, Gladys.”

Gladys just smiled slyly. “I’ll bet you anything he can outshoot every single one of you.”

Wes raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Oh, seriously.” Her eyes twinkled. “Tell you what—you survive this mess, I’ll set up a shooting contest. The winner gets my peach cobbler recipe.”

“That’s the most Southern thing I’ve ever heard,” Malcolm muttered, grinning.

She winked and leaned down, patting a pistol fondly. “You should see his property. Ira has his own workshop where he even makes his own ammunition.”

Remy, who was checking over the comms equipment, froze and raised his hand like a cautious schoolkid. “Uh, quick question.”

Gladys tilted her head, amused. “Yes, sugar?”

“Where exactly is this ammo workshop?” Remy asked. “Just...you know, for future reference.”

She gave him a sugary smile. “Why?”

Remy deadpanned, “So we can avoid it in case it explodes.”

The room burst into laughter, some of the tension finally easing, even as we continued packing and preparing.

Because as much as we needed that brief spark of humor, a flicker of light in the middle of all the tension, we all knew the truth. The real work was just beginning, and we were heading straight into the heart of it.