Page 52 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

I tugged the hem of my black T-shirt up and over my red wig and cap, trying to hide even the hint of color from their line of sight. Everything felt ten times louder—the bugs, the wind, my heartbeat, the dry scratch of panic in my throat.

The men were getting closer, eyes narrowing as they scanned the underbrush, and I was aware that something was making noises as it moved on the other side of me.

And then a possum waddled out from the brush. It stopped just in front of my hiding spot, twitching its whiskered nose like it had stumbled into the wrong meeting.

“Oh, fuck this place,” one of the men muttered, taking a step back. “Everything out here wants to bite you or give you a disease.”

“This job’s a death trap,” the other growled, his voice low with disgust. “We should be getting paid more for this kind of bullshit.”

It sucked that I felt this way, but it was a hard agree from me, even though I was barely daring to breathe because of them.

Just then, their radios crackled. “Got someone approaching the cabin perimeter. Stay alert, it could be them.”

The men stiffened, turned on their heels, and ran back the way they’d come without another word, disappearing into the trees. I stayed frozen for a long moment, the possum now sittingcontentedly in front of me like some kind of furry guardian angel.

Figuring it deserved it, I reached into the bag of Goldfish and tossed a few toward it. “Thanks for the save, swamp buddy.”

It sniffed them, gave me a blank look, and wandered off. I exhaled shakily and stared into the trees where the men had gone, praying Webb and Eddie were okay—and that whatever was coming, we’d be ready.

I crouched deeper into the brush, eyes still locked on the direction the men had disappeared. My pulse hadn’t quite calmed, and every snapping twig or rustle of leaves had me jumping like I was made of exposed nerve endings.

If Webb and Eddie were tracking the two at the property, that meant there were two more men to add to the group out here. That made at least four who were all armed, coordinated, and close. And I couldn’t even warn Webb and Eddie. I didn't have a radio or a signal, just my stupid bag of crackers and racing thoughts.

I clenched my jaw, my frustration bubbling beneath my ribs. My guys were behind their positions. If the guys walked into an ambush—if something happened because I couldn’t say anything?—

“Hey.”

I nearly screamed, but at the last second, I swallowed it down. What came out instead was a strangled croak—something that wouldn’t have sounded out of place among the frogs in the bayou. I spun around, heart lodged firmly in my throat, and found Webb crouched just a few feet away, his brows raised insurprise. The moment he saw the fear on my face, his expression shifted—instantly alert and ready.

Eddie stepped out from the trees behind him, hands raised. “Easy, killer.”

“You scared the shit out of me!” I hissed, clutching my chest like I could press my heart back into place.

Webb’s gaze flicked over me, tense. “You good?”

I nodded, still trying to breathe. “Two men were just here, but I couldn’t warn you. They were right behind where you were headed, talking about a cell ping and an old guy in town who saw movement.”

Eddie’s face darkened. “That confirms it.”

“They think they’re hunting something,” I continued.

Webb exchanged a look with Eddie, then reached out a hand to help me up. “We need to get back to the house and regroup.”

I dusted off my hands, gave one last glance at the spot where the possum had saved my life—kind of—and crouched down to leave a few more Goldfish crackers in the grass as a little thank-you offering.

“You think it’ll come back?” Eddie asked, already walking.

“Maybe.” I stretched my back as I joined them. “If I feed it enough, it might start guarding the perimeter for us.”

Eddie laughed. “What are you gonna do next, train the gators to sit and roll over?”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said seriously, squinting up at the dappled sky as we moved through the trees. “I could have a whole bayouarmy. Possums, gators, frogs...maybe a few pissed-off raccoons. It’s the South—we’ve got options.”

Webb gave me a sidelong glance. “You really are going feral out here, huh?”

I smirked. “Give me two more days, and I’ll be communicating in bird calls and chewing cypress bark.”

They both chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach their eyes. The tension was still thick beneath the surface, because now it wasn’t just paranoia or theories, it was real. They were here watching and searching.

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