Preacher (Montana Bounty Hunters - Dead Horse, MT #2) - Delilah Devlin Page 0,2

think they’d already have caught my ass?”

Marti’s laugh tinkled.

Preacher shook his head. Hell, he’d never heard her laugh before. And it tinkled.

After a pause, Marti said, “Oh, that’s good. I was really, really thirsty.”

“Got more where that came from,” Horse’s Ass said, sounding like he was talking into her ear.

“Bet you do,” Marti said under her breath, her flat voice sounding almost like her old self. “My daddy bought me a little Remington pocket pistol to carry in my purse. Fits my hand just right.”

“What are you doing?” Cage whispered in warning.

“Mmm. I just love the way a gun feels in my hand when I squeeze off a round.”

“That the only thing you like to squeeze off?” Horse’s Ass whispered.

“I swear I get off on the feel of steel in my palm.”

“Well, you should feel this one,” another male said.

“That one’s so big,” Marti said, sounding a little breathless. “Not sure my little ol’ fingers can get all the way around it. Ooh, but I like how that feels.”

Cage chuckled. “Get ready, Preacher. Our little missy is gonna get all the guns.”

“If she doesn’t get raped first,” Preacher bit out.

“Try mine,” Jasper said as Preacher climbed the steps and stood in front of the back door.

“Well, let me see. I’m not sure which I like better. That first one was heavy and so wide it gave me shivers. This one’s not so heavy, but it’s looong.” She giggled. “Let me feel yours.”

Horse’s Ass said, “Shoulda tried mine first. It’s the best.”

“Well, now, I have all three. However, do I choose?”

“Now!” Cage said.

Preacher raised his foot and kicked open the back door. The sound of more splintering wood echoed in his ears.

Shouts sounded from inside.

“Give me my gun!”

Clattering sounded and then a loud thud.

Preacher ran through a mud room and down a short dark corridor.

“Babe, why’d you toss the table?”

“Bitch! You set us up!”

When he stood in the kitchen doorway it was to see Marti standing over the men, a long-barreled revolver in her hand.

“Not so fake now, huh, Jasper?”

* * *

Dawn was breaking over the tops of the hills as they left the detention center in Bozeman heading toward home in Dead Horse. Cage was in his own vehicle and had a head start. Likely, he was pressing hard on the gas to get back to his pretty and very pregnant wife, Elaine. From what Preacher had learned from the hunters in the Bear Lodge office, Elaine had nearly been an inmate with a six-digit Department of Corrections number. However, Fetch Winters, who owned Montana Bounty Hunters, along with the hunters in Dead Horse, had gone to bat with the judge, getting her charges dismissed. The price for her freedom had been a quick wedding to Cage in the judge’s office.

Preacher had heard the story and had been pretty impressed with the op the hunters had run to rescue Elaine’s brother from Barney Whitcomb’s survivalist training camp. The first big op the crew in Dead Horse ran had ended well. Now, they were considered fully trained and operational. A new ops van was being outfitted for surveillance and command and control for bigger takedowns, and Cage was looking to hire more hunters now that he was in charge. After meeting with Cage, Preacher had been given the option of staying in Bear Lodge or helping to build the team in Dead Horse. He’d liked the idea of helping build something from the ground up. As well, he’d avoid being the “new guy” forever. Lacey and Dagger were only on loan to the Dead Horse office until Cage had a couple of new hires trained. He was still going through the interview process with several good leads.

Their new office building was nearing completion, which would be a huge step up from the crowded trailer they currently worked out of. Hell, most times, they convened at a table in the Dead Horse Walk-in Diner when reviewing their caseload.

Preacher had no complaints about the turn his life had taken, so far. He had plenty of money coming in, he had a real estate agent Elaine had recommended looking for the right place for him to put down roots. The world was right.

It looked like Dead Horse was going to be home. A strange concept for him, to be sure. He’d been an Army brat growing up, moving from post to post whenever his father had transferred to a new unit. Upon graduation from high school, he’d enlisted, working his way into the Special