Flynn Book I

“Words out that you shot and killed an old woman.”

“It was necessary.”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“I didn’t like it either.  It’s tearing my guts out, but it was either shoot her or watch her kill Ruth.  It’s not my nature to kill, it’s my duty.”

“But you do it well.”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be wearing this badge.”

Preston’s instincts screamed that Henry’s threat was only seconds from reality.  He saw the narrow line of his forehead above Ruth’s hair and in that split second, squeezed the trigger.  The gun roared and spit fire simultaneously.  Henry’s head arched back, his arms flew out at his sides, and he dropped with a soft thump, a neat hole drilled just above his right eye.

She felt his perfection as she explored his body, playing her fingers over muscle, bone, and flesh, caressing his smooth member.  “Make love to me, Preston,” she said shuddering.

“I can’t manage it, not with this wounded shoulder.”

“You can,” she urged.  “Oh, you must.  Please try.  I’ll help.”  She rose to her knees, pulled her gown up and over her head, and straddled him.

Preston was like a rock; he knew no fear, and Bomar (his deputy) had easily escaped the reality of failure because Preston was always there standing between him and danger.  The first time he met Preston he had been overwhelmed by his size and the easy movement of his powerful body.  He was calm and relaxed, yet intimidating.  He had been memorized by his startling blue eyes, the intensity of his penetrating gaze.

Bomar hitched up his gun belt and stepped outside, saw a crowd had gathered.  His stomach gave a sickening lung as he stepped into the street.  Hal was still laughing.

“Any time deputy,” Hal taunted.  “I got all day.”  He spit into the dirt.  “Take your time.  Say your prayers.”

Bomar tried to remember everything Preston had taught him, he even smiled, but he could feel doom settling over him.  He saw Hal take a wide stance, flexing his fingers just inches from his pistol grips before he settled down.  He was watching for the signs Preston had told him about, a twitch, a blink, the whisper of a finger.  He felt a knot of nerves in his stomach, his throat closing up.  Hal saw him too, and dropped his arm, but kept his stance.

Preston took a few more strides toward Bomar, but stayed clear of the street.  They made eye contact; he saw blue fire dancing in the shadows under the brim of Preston’s hat.  His nerves settled down.  He swallowed to clear his throat, his eyes still glued to Preston’s face.

“Call him,” Preston said.

His voice shivered Bomar’s bones.  He couldn’t believe he was hearing right, then he read the look on Preston

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