Preacher (Montana Bounty Hunters - Dead Horse, MT #2) - Delilah Devlin Page 0,1
I supposed to say?” Marti groused. “Hey, is that a gun in your pants or are you just glad to see me?”
Preacher grinned in the shadows. Marti’s flat tone made the snarky comment all that much funnier.
“Yeah, like that,” Cage said, his smile gleaming.
“Okay. Stashed my shit,” she said.
Preacher gave Cage a thumbs up then made his way from the tree line to the corner of the house, just in time to see Marti crouch low and edge her way along the side of the house before straightening beside the porch. It looked like she’d taken a knife to her T-shirt to cut off the arms and most of the neckline, then she’d tucked the tight shirt into her black cargo pants. Her hair was loose and fell in fluffy waves around her shoulders; her lips were glossy and red. Until the moment she stood beneath the porch light, he hadn’t realized she was actually kind of cute.
He kept moving until he was behind the house and stood in the shadowy space beside the wooden back steps.
“Here goes,” Marti muttered. “Gawd, I can’t believe I’m letting you pimp me out.”
“Suck it up, buttercup,” Cage whispered.
Preacher listened as she knocked on the door.
After what felt like forever, the front door creaked open a crack, and then made a longer creaking noise as it widened. “Can I do something for you?”
“Ooh, what a big gun you have! Wow, are you some kind of cop or something?” Marti asked, sounding like a bad actress in a porn movie with her little girl tone and slight lisp.
“Or something,” the man said, his slithery tone telling Preacher that the man liked what he saw.
“Um, I was wondering…”
Preacher imagined her twisting her hair around a finger.
“Do you have a phone I could use? My date left me on the side of the road, and my phone’s still in his damn car.”
“Now, sweetheart, that’s no way for a man to treat a pretty little thing like you.”
Pretty little thing? While just medium height, Marti had an athlete’s build.
“You really think so?”
Preacher shook his head, thinking he’d underestimated his partner’s feminine powers. She was flirting with the thug, and he was eating it up.
“Why don’t you come inside? I have a phone. You thirsty? Need a drink?”
“What do you have?”
The sound of footsteps followed.
“Lookie, boys, at what showed up on my doorstep.”
Chairs scraped.
“That such a good idea?” one male voice asked.
“No big deal,” Marti’s host said. “She needs a drink.”
“And a phone,” she said, in a soft voice.
“Gotta be thirsty. How far did you have to walk?”
“Damn near a quarter mile,” Marti said. “In the dark. I was so happy to see your porchlight on. I was getting worried.”
“Well, don’t you worry about a thing now. Jasper, get her the chair out of my bedroom. Better yet, give her yours. You go fetch the other for yourself.”
Chairs scraped again, likely from the two remaining men and Marti seating themselves.
“Such a gentleman,” Marti crooned.
“Not too much o’ one.” The horse’s ass who was chatting her up laughed like a hyena at his own joke.
Footsteps clomped closer. Something thudded on the floor. “She’s sitting in front of my cards.”
“Jasper, we’ll get back to the game,” Horse’s Ass said.
“Well, you all have some fine hardware there,” Marti murmured. “Don’t think I’ve seen so many guns since my daddy took me to church in Whitefish.”
“Need to know how many,” Preacher whispered.
“You spend much time in Whitefish?” Horse’s Ass asked.
“My daddy used to go there a lot, until Mr. Whitcomb went and got himself arrested.”
“You knew Barney Whitcomb?” Jasper said.
“I met him a time or two. Seemed like a nice man. Can’t believe they’re trying him for kidnapping and assault. Daddy said the guy he hurt probably deserved it.”
“He did, indeed,” Jasper said. “I was supposed to be there the night the FBI and ATF took him off.”
“Really? Well, aren’t you lucky? You coulda been sitting in jail with him.”
“Oh, I’m lucky all right. Had some bounty hunters after my ass a while back. Dumbasses never could catch me.”
“Seriously? Bounty hunters? Like Dog the Bounty Hunter?”
Preacher rolled his eyes.
“More like those fake bounty hunters on Bounty Hunters of the Northwest.”
“Do you really think they’re fake?” Marti asked, her voice tightening a tad. “They all look like they can take care of business.”
A laugh sounded. “Come on, you ever seen Bounty Hunter Barbie? She’s got her own action figure now. It’s all fake. Besides, if they were really good at their jobs, don’t you