Page 7 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Chapter Six

Gabby

C urses, curses, and every actual curse word that existed and had ever been created.

I sat on Marcus’s leather couch with my thighs sticking to it, mentally flipping through every swear word I knew in English, Spanish, a bit of French, and even that made-up language from that one sci-fi show.

My mind was stuck in a loop of "You idiot, you absolute moron. They’re going to think you're insane and send you to a facility with padded walls and suspicious oatmeal. "

Webb and Marcus weren’t blinking. They were just...watching .

Finally, I sighed, knowing I wasn't getting away from this. “Fine,” I muttered. “But you need to make sure no kids can hear this.”

They exchanged a look, one of those looks that seemed to carry full conversations without words, andthen Marcus disappeared through the front door.

From the kitchen, I heard Adrienne say, “Oh, no problem,” followed by Santana’s bright laugh.

A moment later, the door creaked open again, and the unmistakable sound of children's laughter erupted across the porch as their tiny feet pounded down the steps.

Yup, the kids had officially beendeployed elsewhere .

Marcus returned, leaned against the wall again, and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Go on, then.”

I took a breath. “Okay, so I was hired to find out ifColin Maddoxwas cheating on his wife.”

Webb’s jaw ticked.

“Only,” I continued, “he wasn’t just cheating. Or, maybe he was, too, I don’t know—that wasn’t the part that really stuck with me.”

Marcus’s brow rose, and I charged ahead before I lost my nerve.

“He pouredconcrete on a body.” The words I’d been avoiding flowed out of me.

“I watched him as he hauled a body out of his trunk at a job site and dumped it into a foundation they were prepping to pour that night. And then he just—” I waved my hand vaguely, “—kept going. Like it wasjust any normal Tuesday , it wasn’t, though, it was a Thursday. ”

Silence followed what I'd just divulged, making my palms sweat. Granted, that last bit was unnecessary, but come the hell on.

I swallowed. “And he’s also breakingtons of building codes. Like, major safety stuff. I looked it all up online—everything from improperly poured footings to skipped inspections and a bunch of the sites he’s built? Total disasters waiting to happen.”

I waited anxiously for their surprise and questions, expecting them to say, "Oh, sweetie, you’re just overreacting."

Instead, Webb looked at his brother. “Matty’s been digging too,” he told him.

"Maddox is cunning. He pays off inspectors, city planners, and legal professionals—he even has a couple of retired cops running security.

Half the people who should have nailed him have either disappeared, resigned, or conveniently changed their stories. "

Marcus’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s not the kind of guy you want on your back,” Webb continued, turning back to me. “And guess what, nowyou are because he put a private search out on you—Gabriella Voss, real name and all.”

My stomach sank. I had hidden my real name as much as possible, even hiring someone to cover it up when I began this job, just in case someone got angry about me uncovering their dirty secrets and them being a dirty birdy.

The fact that my real identity had resurfaced—and that Maddox might have discovered it too—fuck my life.

“Wonderful,” I mumbled. “So, I’m sunburned, dehydrated, and apparently being hunted by a man who owns half the state.”

Webb’s jaw clenched. “You should’ve told someone sooner.”

“I was going to ,” I snapped. “After I got to the middle-of-nowhere ranch and was maybe rehydrated enough to string two sentences together.”

“Instead, you gave us the discount version about debt collectors.”

“Would you have believed me if I led withcement corpse?”

Marcus held up a hand. “She has a point.”

Webb muttered something that sounded a lot like "unbelievable," but I saw the way his eyes scanned me again—like he was reevaluating something, shifting from irritated to a protective wolf on high alert.

I looked at both of them, then sighed. “Well, aren’t you both glad I came?”

Marcus ran a hand over his face and sighed, “Thrilled.”

Webb crossed his arms and looked at me like I’d already caused him a migraine that would last until Christmas.

“Your crapped-out Camry’s being picked up,” he said. “I'm having the guys bring it here so we can stash it somewhere out of sight.”

“Wow, thanks. I guess that explains why the search party I imagined never came.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.

I took another sip of my now-slightly-less-cooling water. “I sent three copies of the files. They're encrypted and stored on different servers. All of them were sent to people I trust—two for sure and one who’s so paranoid he lives off-grid and doesn’t believe that birds are real.

Webb stared at me. “Bird guy?”

“He’s shockingly good with computers.”

Webb exhaled and muttered, “Okay, so the files are safe.” Then, with all the subtlety of someone declaring war on his weekend plans, he added, “So now I’m going to hideyou . ”

Before I could respond, he and Marcus were already deep in the plans.

“No good keeping her at the ranch,” Marcus mused, scratching his jaw. “They’ll trace her here. Especially if they’ve figured out the family connection.”

“They will,” Webb agreed. “They’ve got the resources. They’ll know Sasha’s family tree by now, so this place’ll be watched.”

Marcus grunted. “Cabo?”

Webb snorted. “Sure, let’s fly her straight into a tourist trap with her own passport. Brilliant idea, dipshit.”

“I was beingtheoretical.” Marcus sounded insulted at the possibility his mind wasn't the devious wonderland he thought it was.

“Alaska?” Webb tossed out.

“Yeah, okay. She’ll blend right in with the bears.”

I sat there, blinking between them, and slowly raised a hand like a student in a very unhinged classroom.

Marcus snapped his fingers. “Adrienne’s family still has that place in Italy?—”

“—which she’d need her passport for,” Webb cut in. “Unless we want her arrested at the airport under a fake identity, and then we’re really up shit creek.”

“Ugh,right , ” Marcus agreed, dragging a hand through his hair.

Meanwhile, I perked up. “Wait, Italy ? I could go to Italy. I could absolutely lay low in Tuscany with a glass of wine and maybe some mozzarella therapy. Do you know what that would do for my stress levels?”

Both of them ignored me.

Webb groaned like someone had just kicked over his last brain cell. “Fine, I’ll take her to the cabin.”

Marcus immediately burst out laughing—that rare, wheezy, can’t-catch-his-breath kind of laugh that sounded like an asthmatic donkey after a sprint.

His whole face scrunched up, eyes nearly disappearing behind tears as his shoulders shook with the effort of it.

He gasped between fits, trying to speak, but all that came out were snorts and another round of breathless, braying laughter that made it impossible not to smile, even if I wasn’t entirely sure what was so damn funny.

“No one would find her there,” he eventually gasped. “Hell, I’m not even sureI could find it again without GPS and a bloodhound.”

Webb was already rubbing his temples. “Exactly.”

I sat up from my slouch. “Wait, an actualcabin?”

They both turned to look at me.

I straightened, a little hopeful, despite the low-grade terror still buzzing in my chest. “Okay, that sounds perfect. Cozy, rustic, maybe with a cute fireplace? A little deck where I can read and recover from theliteral skin melting off my body? Maybe there’s a jacuzzi?

” Admittedly, sitting in a hot jacuzzi right now sounded like torture, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice later.

Marcus actually choked, and Webb didn’t even crack a smile. “There isn’t a jacuzzi, but there’s a pretty body of water.”

I beamed. “Amazing! A little soaking time would be great right now.”

They said nothing, not one thing. And that’s when it occurred to me—I might’vevery seriously misunderstood the assignment.

Seven hours later…

We left the ranch just before sundown. Marcus had handed me a reusable grocery bag filled with travel snacks, water, and what might have been the entire aloe vera shelf from their bathroom.

I’d already slathered myself up like a greased lobster in hopes of my skin not blistering mid-drive, but the supply would come in handy, given that this sunburn would likely take a few days to calm down.

Webb didn’t say much on the way out. He just loaded up the truck, opened the passenger door, and gave me a look that said, 'Don't make me regret this . ' So I didn’t. I got in and stayed quiet. Cooperative. Graceful, even if I daresay.

Or at least Iwas until we hit the first pothole.

My teeth clicked together like a wind-up toy, and I grabbed the door handle in a white-knuckled grip. “Jesus Christ,” I gasped. “What's this road paved with, regret and craters?”

Webb smirked slightly. “You wanted rustic.”

“Rustic, yes. I didn't sign up for spinal realignment via truck suspension.”

“No refunds,” he shot back, his eyes never leaving the road.

The sun dipped lower, casting long golden fingers across the backwoods highway. We passed exactly zero other cars, three signs warning about bears, and one suspiciously human-shaped scarecrow that Iswear tracked me with its button eyes.

“How much farther is it?” I mean, we were now in Mississippi. How much farther did we need to go?

Webb didn’t even glance at me. “Hour. Maybe more.”

“Is there, like, plumbing?” Looking around us at what was available, it was a pertinent question.

He shrugged. “Depends on your definition.”

“Oh god.” He didn’t answer—God or Webb.

When we finally turned off the main road—and by "main," I mean a barely-there strip of cracked asphalt—I had a sinking feeling in my gut.