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 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 Forces and then being tapped for Delta Force. There, he’d spent ten years hopping from the States to the Middle East and back. When his last enlistment had come around, he’d surprised everyone, including himself, when he’d decided to walk away and try something new. Something new that might include finding a place he could call home, since he’d never really had that.