Page 29 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

Her face sharpened. “What is it?”

“Matty found Barris.”

Her eyes widened. “Maddox’s guy?”

“Yeah, and he’s scared. Word is that Maddox is in deeper trouble than we thought. There’s a federal audit starting on his contracts, permits, andshady paperwork. The works.”

Gabby blinked, taking that in.

“If what you found ties to that, you’re not just a loose end. You’re the whole thread.”

She exhaled like it physically hurt to process that. “And Barris?”

“He might might break if he’s not loyal. He's definitely nervous right now, and nervous people talk.”

She looked down at the empty plate. “Guess that means we’re done playing dead in the woods.”

I nodded. “Almost.”

She glanced toward the trees where her furry audience had disappeared. “I was just telling them I didn’t want to die. You know, to raccoons or corrupt developers.”

“That's reasonable.”

“And then you showed up like some kind of serious news fairy. With gunmetal eyes and terrible timing.”

I looked at her—really looked at her. Her eyes were tired, her skin still sunburned, but her voice was steady, and her spine was straight. Gabby was still here and still standing, looking ready to fight.

And I’d be damned if I let Maddox or anyone else take that from her.

“We’re getting close, nutter butter.” I hadn't planned my next insanity-related name for her, so that was the best I could do at such short notice.

She nodded, quiet but sure, and for the first time in days, I felt like we weren’t just reacting anymore. We were preparing.

“Come on.” I nodded toward the trees. “Let’s go skip pebbles.”

Gabby looked at me like I’d just invited her to wrestle an alligator.

“Why would I willingly approach the bayou?” she asked. “That’s where all thethingslive. The slithering, sneaking, bite-you-for-fun things.”

I shrugged. “You live here now, might as well enjoy some of it. Besides, you can scream at some frogs again. It’s therapeutic.”

She narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t some sneaky survival test, is it?”

“No,” I drawled. “Just skipping rocks, like normal people.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Well, you’re about to learn.”

And, to her credit, she stood up, dusted off her shorts, and muttered, “If I get eaten by a water monster, I hope you feel so guilty.”

The bayou waspeaceful at this time of day, with sunlight filtering through the moss-draped trees and casting dappled light on the water. The surface moved slowly and quietly, broken only by the occasional ripple from fish—or whatever else might be lurking just beneath. We stood near the edge, where the earth was packed and flat, perfect for tossing stones but not ideal for standing barefoot, especially if you were Gabby.

She kept eyeing the water like it owed her money.

“Here.” I handed her a flat stone. When she just stared at it, I explained, “Skimming’s about feel. Grip it between your finger and thumb like this.” I demonstrated. “Then keep yourwrist loose and flick it low and smooth, like you’re swatting a mosquito sideways.”

She did exactly none of that on her first try. The rock plopped into the water like a dropped potato.

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