Page 6 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t lie to her.

“I don’t know yet,”I admitted finally. “But I’m gonna find her. Sasha, I need her number so I can try and contact her or trace it. Do you have that?”

“She texted me a few days ago from one that I didn't have saved. I’ll forward it and her other one to you.”

“Good,I’llcall and leave a message if she doesn't answer. Maybe she’ll bite.”

I hung up right as a group of kids ran past the sidewalk, sticky with melted ice cream, while their parents chased after them. They were blissfully carefree, unlike their parents and me.

I opened my messages, typed in the number Sasha sent, and left a voicemail when she didn't answer.

“Gabby, it’s Webb. I’m outside your place. Listen, I'm thinking that you’re scared, and I know you think you have to handle whatever you're going through alone, but you don’t. I’m not here to drag you home or blow up your spot, I’m here to help. So, please, wherever you are, call me back or text me. Hell, send smoke signals if you have to, just let me know you’re breathing.”

I ended the call, threw the truck into gear, and started cruising the surrounding neighborhoods, my eyes scanning every block for a beat-up champagne Corolla.

If Gabby thought she could disappear, she clearly didn’t know how damn persistent my family could be.

Chapter Four

Gabby

Of course it broke down. Of course itfreakingdid.

One moment, I was cruising down a nearly forgotten state road, watching the GPS wheel spin in futile circles. The next moment, I heard an angry hissing noise, and steam erupted from under the hood as if the car were attempting to launch itself into low orbit.

“Nononononono—”

I swerved off onto the gravel shoulder, slammed it into park, and jumped out like it was on fire—which it might well decide to do. My boot caught on the edge of the frame, and I stumbled sideways, arms flailing like an idiot as more smoke puffed out from the engine.

“Okay,” I sighed, hands on my knees, “so this is how I die. Car explosion. It’ll be tragic and mildly ironic.”

Realizing I was accepting that fate instead of avoiding it like a sane person would, I backed up until I was in the weeds, just incase the thing actually blew. Thankfully, it didn’t. It just hissed and groaned like it was tired of being underappreciated.

Same, buddy. Same.

After a full minute of crouching behind a tree like I was in some low-budget spy movie, I crept toward the Camry. Slowly, like I expected it to leap out and bite me now.

“Okay,” I told it, pointing at the hood, “I don’t know what your problem is, but we are in this together now, and I need you to not kill me.”

It gurgled in response. Cool. Great. Totally fine.

The engine still steamed like a hot spring in hell, but the important part was that it wasn’ton fire.Then again, that was good in most situations. There was no way it was moving again, though, so I popped the trunk, grabbed my bag, and cursed immediately. Because I’d packed for survival, not stealth. I had three days’ worth of food, two burner phones, backup drives, a change of clothes, and... why the hell had I brought three paperbacks?

The bag weighed at least thirty pounds. I adjusted the strap on my shoulder and shut the trunk, tossing the red wig back on my head and jamming a cap over it. The glasses, the pains in my ass usually, but especially now, were starting to slide from the sweat.

I checked my phone again. The little SOS icon mocked me from the corner of the screen.

“Great,” I muttered. “No car, no bars, and I look like a Target-brand Veronica Mars.”

I started walking.

The road ahead curved through endless stretches of trees and fields, with no signs in sight to indicate where I was. I had no clue if I was even heading in the right direction. The GPS had died an hour ago when the signal dropped, and I hadn’t memorized enough to be sure of anything. But sitting still wasn’t an option.

If Colin Maddox’s people were behind me, I wasn’t going to wait around for them to catch up. I didn’t trust that they didn’t have a way to track the car, even an old junker like mine could be tailed with the right gear. So, I pushed forward, Toms crunching on the shoulder gravel, trying not to think about how hot it was or how much heavier my bag had become. And then something else became very apparent—my Toms were a huge issue. They were normally amazing for when you didn’t want to go out in flip-flops in the Florida temperatures, but on rocks on the side of the road? These things were freaking hell on earth. Why were the soles so thin? I could feel every single rock, stone, tiny pebble, and whatever else I stood on. I swear I even felt that cigarette butt I’d just stood on.

With the pain in my feet and the hot sun hitting me full-on, it occurred to me that, for the first time since this whole thing started, I wasreallyalone. Alone, on foot, in the middle of nowhere.

And no one knew where the hell I was. I was so screwed, and now in a new way to the ways I was already screwed.

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