
Wings ePress, Inc www.wings-press.com
Copyright ©2007 by Angela Verdenius
First published in 2007, 2007
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
"When, exactly, are you going to let us out?"
"I figure a week should be good."
"You can't be serious!"
"Push my buttons anymore, Daamen, and I'll stretch it to two weeks."
Simon wanted to do more than push her buttons. In fact, his hand itched to do a lot more ... His jaw clenched. "What's the fine?"
Ignoring him, she watched the old man hand the trays of food through the bars.
"Peacekeeper?" Simon persisted. "I asked what the fine was. I'll have it paid."
Des looked at him. "I'll think about it."
"For how long?"
Her scowl deepening, she strode to the bars, stopped directly opposite him and glared. "Until I damned well choose."
"'Tis hardly fair---"
"No one ever said I had to be fair, trader. Right now, I don't need brawling jerks around my settlement."
"The brawl was due to my men standing up for some wenches---"
Her eyes flashed. "Look, trader, tavern wenches get roughed up. I don't like it, you don't like it, but it's a fact. They know it; they risk it. Getting into a brawl and having some of my peacekeepers hurt is something I won't tolerate."
Taking a deep breath, Simon inadvertently inhaled her scent. Beneath the dirt and taint of blood, was a soft, flowery scent. It seeped into his senses, and unconsciously he leaned toward her, inhaling again.
They stared at each other ... or rather, she glared, while he eyed her with renewed interest.
Heart of an Outlaw
An outlawed warrior saved by a Daamen trader. Love blossoms, a powerful enemy threatens. Passion, betrayal, bloody legends, and a shocking secret in a galaxy of enemies and friends.
Soul of a Mercenary
Reya walks the edge of insanity, her soul darkening beneath a bloody secret. For love, Maverk will follow the Reeka warrior into the nightmare reaching out for her.
Heart of the Betrayed
Betrayed once, Dana trusts no man. Garret will risk everything to prove his love---even if it means assisting her betrayer, and entering a country split by hate.
Love's Sweet Assassin
Trying to discover the identity of his enemy, the ruthless Argon will pit his wits against the short, outrageous assassin. It should be straightforward ... shouldn't it?
Soul of a Hunter
The bounty hunter's soul thirsted for vengeance, her life given to the hunt. He'd thought Sabra was dead. Now he's found her again, Cam won't give her up.
Love's Bewitching Thief
Felys female: thief, feline-like, bewitching---and coming on heat. Argon: sensual, looking for revenge---and captivated. The Cyborg: he just wants to kill the Felys.
Heart of the Forsaken
First Sonja high jacks his ship, then his heart. But can Red battle the evil legacy from an old Empire that threatens to engulf her?
Soul of a Witch
In a bid to save a boy's soul from powerful dark forces, a famous witch and a notorious pirate must unite. Will their growing love survive what is to come?
Heart of a Traitor
The Daamen trader shows mercy to the disgraced soldier who was flogged, branded traitor, and left for the outlaws. But now she's committing treason---and the law is closing in.
Soul of the Forgotten
A forgotten Reeka, freed after long years of imprisonment. Now she has to learn to live again ... and to love. But someone wants her dead.
Love's Beguiling Healer
An Argon healer and a Felys officer ... fur will fly and passion will flare. But Death is closing in, and now it's a race against time.
"...a delightfully grounded heroine involved in a melting pot of passion, betrayal and lazers a blazing!"
---Jemma Hipper reader
"The Taming of the Shrew meets Star Trek ... We have another winner. From the moment we are dropped into the latest scuffle between peacekeepers and outlaws, readers know they are in for a non-stop wild adventure ride.
Kelley A. Hartsell ck2s Kwips and Kritiques
"...has once again taken us on a fantastic journey to worlds far beyond ours, and given us a story to die for..."
---Lydia Funneman
Writers Unlimited
"...again Angela has brought you to the edge of her civilized universe and the Outlaw Sector to provide a tale of uniqueness and adventure ... the story is riveting, the characters strong and well developed, and the love is worth the fight."
---Rose!
Romance at Heart
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
To the peacekeepers of our society---the police, the soldiers, the bodyguards and security. To those who have fallen in the line of duty. You've earned your own little lot of peace in Heaven.
As always, my mother, Doreen Verdenius, who brings peace to me when times get rough.
To Leslie Hodges, my editor, and Richard Stroud, my artist---for all you do to get this book sounding and looking great.
To mates I've made, both in person and on the internet. You know who you are---\*hugs\*.
Laser fire seared past Des's cheek, making her curse and draw her head back quickly. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the grim face of her peacekeeper.
"Marcel, we need to get that sniper," she snapped. "Send Raf."
Without a word, he shuffled back to give the order to the other peacekeeper near the back wall.
Des's gaze darted around. Stuck in the damned alley, pinned down by laser fire, while a couple of outlaws yelled insults was not her idea of fun. When she got hold of the bastards---
"He's on his way," Marcel said tersely.
Touching the communication receiver in her ear, Des squinted out into the gathering gloom. "Aiken, Raf's on his way. Back left of here. Keep your eyes peeled in case he needs back-up."
"Gotcha." Aiken's gruff voice rasped in her ear. "I see him."
"Already? Hell---"
"It's okay, boss. He's on the pursuit scanner. I can't actually see him personally."
"A shame you can't bloody see the outlaws, either. Get the pursuit craft here now!"
"It's on its way!"
And would take at least ten minutes to get to them. Grimacing, she held her laser upright and risked another peek around the corner of the building. The laser fire came again, this time from two directions, and the gloom became her ally. She saw the two flashes, one from the right and one from the left, both high up. One from the roof of the store, one from the tavern roof.
"Got you," she murmured. "Raf! Top of the store to your left."
"Spotted," he confirmed. "Almost in position."
Distantly she heard the whining sound of the outlaw's ship as it hovered outside the settlement. A roar sounded, then the street ahead was peppered with laser fire as three outlaws on hover discs came hurtling down the street, their speed kicking up the dust. Before they even drew level with the alley, the sniper across the street starting firing from the tavern roof.
"Bastard!" Des swore as the laser fire seared through her coat sleeve and scoured a burning streak across her upper arm.
"Des---" Marcel began in alarm.
"I'm fine, but those bastards aren't!" Raising her laser, Des sent out a streak of laser fire, hitting the sign near the sniper's head.
He jumped and ducked, and the outlaws on their discs veered around, swooping high before converging on the alley with deadly intent.
"Cover me," Des snapped.
"The snipers---"
"We're dead meat sitting here, Marcel! I'm about to even the score! Now cover!"
Lasers spitting death, the three outlaws zigzagged down the street, dodging the laser fire from another peacekeeper hidden in the trading post not far down.
Judging the distance, Des leapt out and rolled, and one of the outlaws spun downwards towards her, taking aim as he did so.
Rolling into a crouch, she narrowly dodged the laser fire and when he neared, a sneer on his face, she suddenly surged upright, straightening to her full height.
His expression was priceless, but she had no time to smirk over the fact. Moving fast, she swung her laser up and blasted him, the fire power taking him in the chest.
He tipped backwards off the disc, and it hit the ground at the same time he did. The other outlaws were circling around, firing at her. Marcel covered her, making the outlaws duck and veer away.
Not about to let them go now, Des jumped onto the disc and slid her booted feet into the straps. Mentally she willed the disc, and it picked up her brain wave and rose into the air before shooting off after the outlaws.
Now came a deadly lycat and vagrat game in the street as the discs whirled and soared, the two outlaws trying to get a clean aim on Des, but her own skill on the discs combined with the covering fire provided by Marcel was enough to keep her out of line of their fire.
The sniper at the store fired at her, but then he gave a scream of pain and his body toppled off the roof to land in the street with a dull thud.
Raf was now out in the open, his laser trained on the two outlaws swooping down upon Des. Marcel came out from the alley, and the fourth peacekeeper, Yucel, emerged from the trade post.
The darkness had now set in, and the street lights came on. The windows in the tavern were dark, the owner not wanting to outline himself or his patrons in case of drawing laser fire.
Out of the night sky came another four discs, and Des swore.
"Fire!" she yelled into the communication receiver. "Fire now!"
"We could hit you---"Raf began.
"Damn it, I said bloody fire! They're coming from the sky! Fire, and that's an order!"
They didn't hesitate, and suddenly the night sky was full of laser fire, burning streaks of red-hot death that seared the skin and burned holes through flesh and bone.
Several of the outlaws died quickly, their discs smashing into the walls of the buildings, their bodies lying in bleeding heaps on the ground.
Des was having a hard time, the lights from the street blinding her when she spun to face another outlaw. The only thing she could do was rise higher, which she did. The four remaining outlaws followed, two of them concentrating on her while the other two fired at the peacekeepers below.
She had to finish this and fast. In the distance she heard the whine of the outlaw's ship as it started to move towards the settlement. If it got here...
Putting on a burst of speed, she sent the disc zigzagging dangerously, keeping her footing through sheer skill alone. Aiming directly for the nearest outlaw, she fired the laser.
The outlaw swerved, the fire going past him, while the second outlaw flew up even higher before bearing down on her from above.
She wheeled out of the way, spinning at the last second and flying almost upside down as she aimed and fired, the laser finding its target.
The fire from the outlaw's laser found its target as well, knocking her disc off balance.
Wildly she spun around, disorientated as she went fully upside down. The laser was knocked from her grasp as her hand hit the side of the tavern, and she swore as she felt the wood of the building a hair's breadth from her cheek.
Silently thanking her love of disc riding, Des reached out and grabbed the verandah post. Her glove gripped the wood securely, saving her from splinters, and she allowed herself to be pulled around by the action, using the slow down maneuver to flip upright.
The bottom of the disc smashed the glass of the front window, and she heard the yells of anger and dismay before she managed to regain control and lower herself to the sidewalk.
In the cover of the verandah, she caught her breath, narrowing her eyes as she listened for any sound of the outlaw.
The sound of boots thudded on the sidewalk, and she knew the peacekeepers were coming.
"Stay down!" she hissed into the communication receiver. "One outlaw still up!" Even as she said it, laser fire peppered the sidewalk around her, and she swore and took off on the disc.
Laser flare followed, and she scowled. She'd dropped her laser. If she could just spot it ... Crouching low, she kept to the shadows.
"Laser," she said, knowing the peacekeepers would hear her. "I need a laser!"
"Trading post," Yucel's voice sounded in her ear. "Front door on the ground. I'll put a laser there."
Flying back into the protection of the verandahs, Des made her way to the trading post. It was now across the street, and she had to make a fly for it across the openness.
Taking a deep breath, she soared out into the light.
There was nothing. Silence greeted her, but she didn't trust it. Increasing her speed, she sped across the street, and saw the glint of the laser on the ground in front of the trading post.
Lowering the disc, she reached for it, but even as she did so, instinct made her duck and swerve. Raf's shouted, "Des!" came just as a heavy weight slammed into the side of her.
The momentum smashed her into the wall, and the outlaw raised his laser, aiming it at her.
Grabbing his wrist, she easily forced his arm up. Satisfaction flowed through her as she straightened to her full height and the outlaw found himself staring up at her.
Yep, at six foot seven, she looked down upon a lot of men. Having the strength to match her height came in handy.
"Hello, you prick," she rasped. "I've got a score to settle with you."
He fought, his eyes narrowing.
The discs swung out into the street, and she tried to force her disc down even as the outlaw tried to force his higher. His disc clicked down atop the edge of hers, pulling her off balance.
There was only one way to fix this. Spinning dizzily down the street, the height from the ground fluctuating wildly, Des kicked free of her disc and slammed both her feet onto his disc.
The outlaw punched out at her, and she grabbed his arm with one hand while releasing his other wrist and grabbing hold of the verandah post once again. The disc sheared around and she let go of both the outlaw and the post.
The outlaw on his disc went straight through the window, but as there was no crash of glass, he obviously hadn't done any more damage. The crunch of glass beneath her boots as she landed in a crouch on the verandah alerted her to the fact that this glass had been broken already, which meant she was in front of the tavern. Backing against the wall, she scanned the lit street for any signs of more attackers, her gaze flicking up from the dead bodies to study the night sky.
Silence fell upon the street; the only sound that of the excited whispers behind her from the tavern.
In the night sky, a glow appeared, the lights atop it flashing yellow. The pursuit craft was approaching, three more behind it, and the outlaw ship suddenly spun and took off, heading out into space.
Three of the pursuit crafts soared off after it while the fourth pursuit craft headed for the settlement.
"Raf?" Des asked softly.
"Here."
"Yucel?"
"Here."
"Marcel?"
"Here."
"Aiken?"
"Coming."
"About bloody time you got here with the craft."
He chuckled.
"Huxley?" Des queried.
"I'm here." His breathing was labored.
"Report."
"I'm hit, but I'm okay."
"Raf," Des said immediately. "Scout him out."
"Yes, Boss."
"Anyone else hurt?" She straightened slowly, her gaze sweeping the street.
Behind her the lights flared on in the tavern, accompanied by the excited voices of the observers.
"A burn, nothing more," Yucel replied.
"Looks like the coast is clear." She moved slowly out into the street.
Nothing moved around them, except for a few cautious faces peering out of windows.
The peacekeepers gathered around her, lasers in hand.
"Collect the bodies," she instructed them. "Yucel, go and see to the one inside the tavern."
"Brack won't be happy with you." Yucel grinned as he indicated the broken window and the angry face of the tavern owner who was scowling out at them.
"Brack can go pull himself." She rolled her head from side to side, and holstered the laser that Marcel handed to her. "Thanks."
"Oy!" Brack bellowed. "What about my window, Demon? That's the second one broken this week!"
Her gaze still on the bodies of the dead outlaws, Des shrugged. "What do you want me to do about it?"
"Someone has to pay!"
"And it isn't going to be me."
"Damn it, Demon!"
"Shut the hell up, you moaning windbag." Scowling, she swung around to face him. "Unless you want to come out here and discuss it with me?"
Brack took one look at the threat on her face and wisely shut his mouth. Except for his mumbling, which he did while he turned and shoved his way back through the watching crowd, who were now spilling out onto the verandah.
And that's when Des saw him. The man was standing amongst the crowd in front of the broken window, his laser in one hand. He raised it slowly, his eyes on Yucel as the peacekeeper pushed his way through the crowd into the tavern.
Calmly Des strode forward. The crowd, suspecting nothing, watched curiously. Sensing the threat, the man swung his head around to look at her, and his eyes narrowed. In a fast move, he swung the laser towards her instead.
Those nearest yelled and tried to shift back.
Des didn't wait. In several fast bounds she was up and on the verandah, the laser flare burning the flap of her coat as she launched herself at the outlaw.
She caught him around the chest, slamming into him with enough force to send them both through the broken window and into the tavern itself.
Patrons cursed excitedly and surged backwards while Des and the outlaw rolled onto the floor and through the broken glass.
The outlaw brought the laser down towards her face, intending to knock her out, but she caught his wrist. They rolled over and over, both of them cursing and swearing, punching out at each other.
Des felt a cut open up near her temple, the sprinkle of blood as she rolled over onto him, trying to pin him down. But he rolled just as quickly, landing her a blow to her jaw. She retaliated by punching him full in the mouth, and he spat blood at her as he rolled atop her.
Slamming into a table, they sent it crashing down, and Des saw her chance. Reaching out, she grabbed a fallen bottle and smashed it against the side of the outlaw's head.
The bottle hit with a dull thunk, and the outlaw momentarily lost focus. But he wasn't unconscious yet, so she hit him again as they rolled, this time smashing the glass. He slumped over her and she rolled over him, flopping him onto the floor, before finally rolling to a stop herself against something hard and ungiving. A pair of solid, braced legs in rough, loose pants and black boots.
She found herself gazing a long way up into a pair of concerned, pale blue-green eyes in a roguishly handsome face surrounded by long, shaggy fair hair.
"You all right, lass?" The giant Daamen trader started to bend down, his hand reaching to assist her, those startling eyes seeming to pierce her.
Ignoring him, she pushed to her feet and looked around. No one moved; everyone was watching her. Yucel had a laser in his hand, while Marcel had stopped in the doorway, his searching gaze scanning the crowd.
From her height, Des had a clear view over the crowd, and she saw no further threat, but that didn't mean there weren't more outlaws in hiding, awaiting their chance to pounce. She jerked her head at Marcel and Yucel, and they nodded, one going back outside, the other heading up the staircase.
Silence reigned, but Des ignored the crowd now as she squatted beside the unconscious outlaw. Wiping away the trickle of blood that nearly ran into her eye from the cut on her temple, she riffled through his pockets, turning him over with ease to check his back pockets. Finding nothing, she relieved him of his laser and dagger, and straightening, she slid both weapons into the back of her belt beneath the coat.
Coming back down the stairs, Yucel shook his head at her inquiring look.
"No one," Marcel announced as he entered from outside.
"That's it, then." She gave the unconscious outlaw a kick in the rump. "Get this prick to the cells, and the bodies to the morgue. No one is to touch them until a full body scan has been done."
Aiken hurried through the door, his gaze falling on the unconscious outlaw.
"Use the craft hold." Des touched the receiver in her ear. "Raf?"
"Yeah?" His voice sounded.
"How's Huxley?"
"Fine. A bit of bandaging needed, that's all."
"Aiken's here. Get Huxley into the pursuit craft and then come and help load these carcasses into the hold."
"Coming, Boss."
Now she allowed her attention to wander over the crowd. Some of them had disappeared, which was nothing unusual. Running a settlement on the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector meant that two-bit outlaws were always present, and they were the first to disappear when the law came on the scene.
Those left weren't a whole lot better, but none were on the wanted list. Yet.
Her gaze drifted over them. Tavern whores, workers, business owners, and ... just great, Daamen traders from the Lawful Sector.
A group of them were watching her with varying degrees of concern and amusement, their giant heights of seven foot and more dwarfing the other men. With brawny, heavily-muscled builds, shown to perfection with their coarse linen pants and open, sleeveless vests, nothing of their bulging muscles was hidden from view.
Their dangerous good looks had the tavern whores deserting their usual clients to hang onto the giants, shivering deliciously at the knowledge that they had a chance of bedding some of the giants and experiencing first hand their lovemaking prowess.
After all, Des's lips twisted slightly, they're well known for wenching, brawling and fighting, not to mention their trading. Goody goody for the merchants and whores.
The fair-haired trader near the front met her gaze squarely, his pale eyes steady, while one big hand shoved his shaggy mane back over broad shoulders. His movement revealed the small, silver hoop in his left earlobe that caught the light. It also made the muscles in his arm bulge and flex impressively.
Just what she didn't need. Des scowled at him. Brawlers. She had enough problems on her hands without having Daamens brawling in her settlement. But right now she had the outlaws to deal with. She'd have to come back and check out these traders later.
"Marcel, when you've finished collecting these carcasses, I want you and Yucel to try and find out what anyone knows." Her gaze ran scathingly across the expectant faces of the patrons. "Of course, everyone will cooperate."
With a snort, she swung on her heel, strode out into the street, grabbed one of the dead outlaws by the back of his blood-drenched shirt, and dragged him easily up to the pursuit craft. The back of it was open, and she grabbed the back of the outlaw's pants and heaved him up into the back of the hold with a small grunt.
Simon shook his head.
"Now, that wench doesn't seem partial to you, Simon," Heddam laughed.
"The Demon isn't partial to anyone." The tavern whore hanging off Heddam's arm rubbed her cheek against his brawny arm.
Returning to their table by the far wall, the traders sat down, Simon, Heddam and Torkra on one side, while Aamun, Kel and Etol sat on the other side. Heddam sent his companion to get more ale, after a wink and a smacking kiss that had her giggling and blushing like the virgin she hadn't been for quite a few years.
Leaning back in his chair, Simon ignored the alarming creak of the wood beneath his weight. "The hardest thing about a wench being in a fight is to not interfere. 'Tis not natural." Even now he had the urge to go and punch the outlaw's lights out for even lashing out at her. He had a Daamen's dislike of wench beaters.
"Friend, I have no doubt that if you'd tried to help, she'd have had your balls for breakfast." Torkra grinned.
"Aye," Aamun agreed, his eyes twinkling. "And we've been around enough strong-willed wenches to know when to back off."
Simon grunted in agreement, but his gaze wandered back to the lit-up street outside the broken window. From where he sat, he had a clear view of the pursuit craft and the peacekeepers. The Demon, Head Peacekeeper of the settlement called Tyron, aka Des, as he now knew her to also be called, was helping her peacekeepers toss the bodies of the dead outlaws into the pursuit craft's hold, a frown on her face.
Not that a frown was unusual for her. From the few times he'd seen her and the brief dealings he'd had with her, she always looked---and was---bad-tempered. A scowl or a frown, and her conversation peppered with swear words and curses; she didn't come across as having the sweetest of dispositions.
"Unusual to have such an Amazon around," Aamun murmured. "The Reekas are the only wenches I know of who are so tall and strong."
"Aye." Simon studied Des.
Towering above her men, she was only about a foot shorter than Simon's own seven foot seven inches. Obviously she had the strength to go with it, something he'd also witnessed.
"I think Simon is quite taken with The Demon," Torkra said slyly.
"I think you need to be reminded who is captain, boy, and show some respect," Simon returned without rancor.
"Anyone can see how you watch her," Torkra retorted.
"And I've seen how you watch the brunette tavern wench." Simon grinned at the teenager on the verge of manhood. "Who, by the way, I believe is frolicking with your brother, Mikal."
Unconcernedly, Torkra waved his hand. "I changed my mind about her."
"Are you sure 'twasn't the other way around?" Aamun drawled.
"Nay!"
"I saw Mikal come zeroing in on the wench while Torkra was getting more drinks." Heddam smirked. "Boy, you'll have to learn to hold onto your wenches when your brother is around."
"I suppose you're the one to teach me?" Torkra gave a long-suffering sigh.
"I've been trying, I really have." Laying one hand on his bare chest, Heddam sighed. "I guess I'll just have to set more of an example."
Torkra rolled his eyes.
The tavern wench set a tray of ale on the table and plunked herself happily onto Heddam's lap.
"Lesson one," Heddam intoned.
"Oh!" Her eyes lit up. "Who are you teaching a lesson to?"
"My young friend." Heddam indicated Torkra, who crossed his eyes at him.
"I can teach him a lesson." Leaning forward, she batted her eyelashes at Torkra. "All three of us could go to my room and---"
Amused, Simon watched Torkra try to fend off the wench's suggestion. Heddam was shaking with laughter, enjoying teasing their younger crewmate.
The door at the front of the tavern opened, and he looked up, unable to say why he felt a prick of disappointment when the peacekeepers entering weren't Des. They began to work their way around the room, questioning the patrons about the presence of the outlaws. Everyone denied any knowledge of them, which wasn't unexpected in a place like this. Only a fool dobbed in an outlaw. A fool or an informer.
Transferring his attention to the window again, he saw the pursuit craft lift off. Des was walking down the street towards the Enforcer Building, her knee-length coat flapping around her legs as she took long, unhurried strides. Her hair was dark in the night, but he knew it to be a deep red. It matched her temper. The wench would be a handful for any man game enough to take her on.
Grinning at the thought, he turned his attention back to his friends. Heddam was already standing with the tavern wench clinging to his arms, her cheeks flushed.
"Well, my friends, I'm going to spend a delightful time with this little lass, so I shall catch you all later." Bending, he tossed the giggling wench over his shoulder and bore her away towards the staircase.
Torkra breathed a sigh of relief, and Aamun laughed.
"A bit much for you?" Simon's lips quirked.
"Taking two wenches to bed is one thing, but sharing one with another man..." Torkra shuddered.
"Does your mother know you've bedded two wenches at once?" Etol asked, laughter lurking in his eyes.
"There are some things one never tells his mother," Torkra retorted.
Simon shook his head. "The lusts of youth. Torkra, trust me when I say you're better off to have one wench at a time in your bed. That way you can devote your time to each other, without risking making another wench jealous or feeling left out."
Torkra rolled his eyes again.
Aamun shrugged, though his eyes still twinkled. "Youth and lust. Ah me, but you will learn, young friend."
"You say that because you are already wed," Torkra replied.
"And I love my Mina dearly. 'Tis the best thing that ever happened to me." Aamun took a deep drink of ale and gave a sigh of contentment. "And like all Daamens, once I found my wife, I desire no other. No, young friend, you can keep your tavern wenches. They're for you single blokes. Now we wedded blokes, we love our wives and would have it no other way."
"You only have to see how our other friends have fared since finding their mates," Etol added.
"Aye, they don't travel far from home---except Aamun, and sometimes Cam." Torkra shrugged. "Seems to me that wedding tames a man's adventure."
"Trust me, wedding is just the beginning of a new adventure." Chuckling, Aamun winked at him. "One day you'll find out."
But Torkra was only half listening, his attention taken by a pretty little tavern wench who was winking at him from across the room.
Draining his mug of ale, Simon grinned to himself. Aye, his friends who had wed were more than happy with their lot. He'd not found his true love yet, mayhap never would, but he was also content with his lot in life. He hadn't actively been looking for a wife---what would be, would be, and he was happy with that. Traveling, trading, family at home, friends ... could life get any better?
The peacekeepers looked over at his table and one of them nodded to the other and headed over. Well, looked like it was their turn to be questioned. The Demon's orders were being followed, and Simon had no doubt that her men wouldn't be game to do anything else but obey.
She really needed someone to teach her the sweeter things in life.
Flicking off the body scanner, Des's frown grew. As expected, there were no matches for the outlaws' body patterns in the records of the Peacekeepers file. She didn't know who they were, and the only one who could tell her was unconscious still, and being treated by the settlement medic. Waste of bloody time.
Coming out of the cold room, she nodded to the morgue attendant who was also the undertaker. "Do what you want with them, I'm finished."
"Cremate and disperse," he intoned.
"Burn the bastards, that's about it."
Aiken chuckled in amusement.
"What's so funny?" Des growled as they started down the corridor.
"You have such a nice way of putting things."
She grunted.
"So, how's your arm?" He nodded to the burn hole in her sleeve.
"It hurts."
"The medic seen it yet?"
"Yeah."
"And?"
"Moresby put stuff on it."
"Is it bad?"
She glared at him, and Aiken stopped asking questions, though his dark eyes danced in amusement.
Aiken in an amused mood was a thorn in the side. Disgruntled, Des touched the door of the pursuit craft and it registered her body pattern and slid up. Getting in, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes while Aiken got in the other side.
It was late, she was tired, her arm hurt like hell, and she wanted to go home. But there were a few things she had to sort out first.
"Home?" Aiken started the engines, which hummed to life almost soundlessly.
"I wish. No, back to the Building."
He didn't argue, but raised the pursuit craft and flew back over the settlement to the Enforcement Building. As they landed in the docking bay behind it, Des sourly noted that the other three pursuit crafts were docked, but of the outlaw ship there was no sign.
The three pursuit peacekeepers were waiting for her inside the building. Holding steaming mugs of una, they watched silently as she entered the room, crossed to her desk, shrugged out of the coat and with meticulous care hung it up on the hook on the side wall. Just as silent, she took the dagger and spare laser from her belt and dropped them into the safe, locking it securely. Next, she poured herself her usual glass of cold, bubbling berry juice and took it back to her desk.
Leaning her hips against the front of it, she took a deep swallow of the berry juice, her gaze fastened on the three pursuit officers. They returned her gaze a little uneasily.
No doubt they were wondering on her mood. Well, it was bloody sour. She scowled, and the shorter pursuit officer winced a little.
"Report, Emory," she growled.
"The outlaw ship was pursued---"
"No shit?"
"Uh ... we lost it in space."
Gaze boring into him above the glass, she took another sip. These were her pursuit officers, and they were good at their job. Being good didn't get her what she wanted right now, though.
"Did you spot anything unusual up there?"
"No," he replied.
"Any other craft?"
"Only the usual traffic to be expected at that time of night."
"And you lost them how?"
Emory glanced at Chas and Orde before looking at Des again. "I've never seen a ship with such speed. It disappeared from the radar."
Digesting that bit of information in silence, Des drained her glass and smacked it back onto the table with a sharp thud, making the pursuit officers jump. Leaning her hands back on the edge of the desk either side of her hips, she braced her weight on her hands and squinted into the night beyond the open doorway behind the officers. "You're telling me that the ship disappeared?"
"Yes, Boss."
"Vanished."
"Uh ... well, fast enough to have vanished, yes."
"Bloody hell!" Shoving upright, she stalked over to the Craft ID unit situated against the far wall and keyed in Flying Crafts. "Ships don't just vanish. Right, let's get an ID on this craft."
The Flying Craft signal bleeped, and then a picture appeared on the screen before splitting into four sections. Each section showed the same ship from four different angles---top, bottom, side and front-on.
Tapping the key code on the top right of the screen, she started scrolling through the different makes, going first by brand, then by size.
The pursuit officers, including Aiken, gathered around her as the computer flicked through one craft after another, but none of them matched the one they'd seen not far from the settlement.
"Damn!" Swinging around, she found them hovering around her, their gazes glued to the screen.
She didn't have to shove through them, because they immediately stepped back and to the side. Crossing to the desk, she grabbed her glass and poured another drink from the urn in the corner. Tossing it back in several gulps, she lowered the glass with another brisk snap to the desk, and looked up as Marcel and Raf walked in.
"No one knows anything," Raf reported.
"Oh, surprise me some more!"
Unfazed, the peacekeepers took off their coats and hung them up on the wall hangers.
"Well, we've got another problem," Des stated.
"Oh?" Marcel raised his brows at her.
"Yeah. The craft is unknown."
"The Flying Craft ID didn't register it?"
"What did I just say?"
Well used to her temper, Marcel reached up and took down his coat. "I'll see what I can find out---"
"Forget it for now." Des folded her arms. "Those not on shift tonight, go home. The outlaw craft is long gone, and any threat tonight looks like it's over for now. You'll be called if we need you. Meanwhile, those on shift will continue to patrol the area and keep scanners on the skies." She took a deep breath. "This many outlaws on the attack while we have this many peacekeepers available is a little unusual."
"Activity is picking up," Raf agreed.
"Too much so. Get your rest." Abruptly she turned on her heel and headed for the door that led into the corridor from which the cells veered off.
"What about you?" Raf queried.
"I'm going to check up on the prisoner, see if he's awake. Then I'm going home."
Voices broke out as the door clicked shut behind her, but Des's mind was already on the prisoner. He held answers, and she wanted them.
The corridor dipped down slightly. The cells on either side were for minor criminals and general troublemakers, but below ground were the cells for the more serious offenders. To get to these cells, she had to stop at the end of the short corridor and rest her hand on the print lock. It scanned her palm print and slid open, and she stepped into the elevator that slid down to the next level. Stepping out of the lift, she walked down the corridor. It had six cells, three each side of the corridor. In the first cell lay the prisoner, still unconscious. The settlement medic, Moresby, was just closing his bag, and he looked up as she came to a stop at the bars. Yucel watched from where he stood guard at the door.
"When will he wake up?" She jerked her head at the outlaw.
"He's got concussion, so I have no real idea." The medic stepped through the door and it slid shut behind him.
"Is he going to die?"
"You're concerned?" Moresby's brows rose in wry disbelief.
"If he dies before I can get some answers, yes."
"Don't worry, I can't detect any brain bleeds or clots or fractures."
"In other words, we're just waiting for him to awaken from his slumber?"
"Yes."
"Would a bucket of cold water help?"
Yucel laughed while the medic sighed heavily.
"No, Desdemona, a bucket of cold water would just drown him right now."
"Bugger."
"You're just going to have to be patient."
Yucel's snort of amusement earned him an angry glare from Des, and he immediately sobered.
She looked back at the medic. "In the next twenty-four hours? Twelve? Six? You must have some idea."
"I'd expect signs of consciousness within the next twelve hours, otherwise it might be more of a worry."
"Right. Thanks." She walked with him to the elevator, and he waited while she had her print scanned.
The ride up to the ground floor was done in silence, mainly because Des was thinking hard.
The outlaw activities were increasing, and she didn't like it. There were always attacks on the settlement---hell, any settlement on the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector copped a raid now and again, but these raids were becoming more regular, more savage.
The medic took his leave, and Des shrugged back into her coat and nodded to the peacekeepers on the night shift. "Call me if you need me," she instructed, as she did every night, and they nodded, as they did every night. Rolling her eyes mentally, she stepped outside and drew a deep breath of air.
The night was chilly, damp, and the scent of rain was in the air. Walking around the building, she went to the docking bay and stepped up into her single-seater pilot vehicle and switched it on. It hummed silently, the only thing betraying the engine the little vibrations that swept through it.
The shield closed over the top of her, it lifted five feet into the air, and she flew from behind the building and down the street, the dirt swirling beneath the vehicle.
The taverns and other night businesses were well-lit now, the glow from the windows shining into the street. Now that the danger was past, at least for the present, everyone had returned to the business of making money and enjoying themselves.
She flew past the tavern with the broken window, and caught a glimpse of the Daamen traders sitting at the tables against the far wall. Frowning, she hoped no drunk was dumb enough to start a brawl with them during the night. She was tired, more bad-tempered than normal, and really just wanted a shower, the quiet solitude of her home, and her bed.
Her home was set on the outskirts of the settlement. Well on the outskirts. The stone home was set on five acres, and within a five minute walk of the settlement. She could easily see what was happening, without actually being a part of it. It was her little oasis in the sometime hellhole.
The pilot vehicle passed through the gate of the stone fence that surrounded her property. The door of the holding bay attached to her home slid open, and she parked the pilot vehicle inside, waiting until the door slid shut before releasing the shield overhead. It slid back and she got out of the vehicle.
Climbing the four steps up to the door leading into the house, she went inside, welcoming the quietness of her home.
Shrugging off her coat, she allowed it to drag behind her from one hand as she went down the corridor, her boots thudding on the tiles. Entering the clothes room on the left, she grunted 'Light' and it lit up.
Hanging her coat on the hook on the side of the doorframe, she crossed to the stool in the corner, but decided not to sit down, balancing on each leg in turn instead as she tugged off her boots and laid them neatly in the racket that held her shoes. Her socks she placed in the basket that stood next to the shoe rack. Stripping off her shirt, pants and underwear, she placed them in the basket as well, and then wandered into the bathroom.
When the warm water filtered down, soaking her hair and body, she groaned in bliss. The fragrant shampoo soothed her senses, the scented soap she loved washing the dirt and blood from her skin.
Once out and dried, she donned a short cotton nightgown that reached mid-thigh only, and padded into the bedroom.
Fuzz and Chels, the big, hybrid lycats, looked sleepily at her from where they sprawled across the big bed, taking up more than half of it between them.
"Hey, don't get up on my account," she said dryly.
Chels yawned and closed his eyes again, while Fuzz stood, stretched, jumped down off the bed, head-butted her knee and jumped back onto the bed again.
"You know, I'll be wanting half of that bed later," she warned them.
The lycats didn't move, not even to open an eye.
Grinning, she walked back to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water and wandered into the lounge, where she plopped down into the big armchair and stretched her legs out, propping her heels up on the ottoman.
Music drifted through the house, providing a calm background, and she allowed herself a few minutes to close her eyes and drift along with the love ballad, humming a few bars now and again.
The tinkle of the little fountain in the corner of the room, the breeze blowing in through the vents to rustle the plants that hung from pots in the corners of the room, and the scent of abundant flowers that grew in the courtyard attached to her lounge made her home a sanctuary, not just for herself, but her lycats as well. The sliding glass walls enabled her to see the lush gardens beyond. The sky was visible up above, the stars glittering.
Thank goodness for safety shields which ensured her home was safe from intrusion. She was safer here than even at the Enforcer Building. Thank goodness for overprotective fathers. She laughed affectionately at the thought of her father, who'd constructed the invisible safety shield, an adaptation of those that were supplied for some of the spaceships that traveled around. Safety shields were something that not everyone could get. But Dad could.
Then her brain clicked back into alert mode and she opened her eyes. Outlaws and a growing number of attacks and savagery. Something was going on. Something that had a real bad stench about it.
This was the third attack in one week, and each attack had a bigger amount of outlaws. It was also the first time the peacekeepers had a clear view of an outlaw ship waiting in the distance, probably monitoring the outcome of the attack.
But why? It couldn't have anything to do with the large number of peacekeepers she'd managed to wring out of the Peacekeeper Council. That alone should have caused a decrease in the number of hardened outlaws in the area.
"Maybe Dad will know," she murmured, drained the glass of drink, and getting up, she strode into the office that adjoined the lounge.
In the middle of the room stood her desk, everything neatly set out. The viscomm was on a small side bench joined onto the desk and sitting down in the chair, Des switched on the screen. Touching the screen, she linked onto a prohibited connection and waited.
The blank screen remained, and after several minutes she sighed and flicked the switch, turning it off once more. "Wherever you are, Dad, stay safe. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."
Leaning back on the wooden bench, Simon looked at the ceiling above him while contemplating whether he would take the tavern wench up on her seductive offer, or just go back to the trading ship for the night.
Glancing down at the little blonde who was tracing patterns on his massive pectoral muscles, he wondered why she didn't stir any lust in him. Normally he'd have taken her up on her offer and have carted her upstairs for a couple of hours of lusty bed-play, but since he'd come here to this settlement all desire to bed the pretty tavern wenches had vanished. Which was really odd, because he'd been looking forward to relaxing with some pretty wenches, good ale, friends and having a break from traveling whilst visiting a couple of old friends, and awaiting the merchants who had arranged to meet the traders here with their goods.
The door slammed open and a group of men walked in. Well on their way to being drunk, they slurred their words and were ripe for trouble. The tavern owner scowled at them from where he and his bouncers were covering the broken window with heavy pieces of shielding.
"If you're thinking of fighting, get the hell out," he snarled. "I've got enough broken things here now."
"Any more and the owner will be a touch annoyed," one of the bouncers muttered.
"Furious enough at the moment," another bouncer added.
The men who entered simply sneered and crossed to the bar, banging on it for service. The barman duly served them and took their dinnos.
Not really interested, Simon decided not to bed the tavern wench after all, but figured he might as well head back to his ship. Aamun and Torkra decided to retire as well, and they left the tavern and started for the ship.
The evening carried the chill of coming rain, and Simon inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell. Rain was something he enjoyed, the freshness and new life it brought with it. It also helped when the settlements, such as this one, had cobblestone streets with only a few dirt places to get muddy.
Their boots thudded on the sidewalk then rang on the cobblestones as they made their way to the docking bay on the outskirts of the settlement.
In the distance, almost directly opposite the docking bay, stood the Head Peacekeeper's home. All was in darkness, and Simon found himself wondering about the hardheaded wench once more. It seemed that no matter what he did, while he was here, the wench was either in his sight or in his thoughts.
Shaking his head, he welcomed the sight of the huge trading ship.
Once inside, he showered in his bathing cabin and padded naked to his big bunk. Easing down into it, he groaned in bliss as the soft mattress shifted comfortably under his weight. Propping his head up on a pillow, he took the book from the chest of drawers fastened to the wall and floor beside his bunk and commenced reading.
The night hours slipped away, and Simon had drifted off into a doze when a sudden knocking on his cabin door jolted him awake. Blinking, trying to clear his sleep-fogged brain---Simon was a deep sleeper---he crossed to the door and jerked it open to see Etol and Shamon waiting for him.
"What's wrong?" He squinted into the lit corridor.
"Thought you might want to know," Shamon replied. "Mikal, Heddam, Brekya, Kel, Findel and Jarack are all in the cells at the Enforcer Building."
"What?" Simon rubbed his eyes. "All of them?"
"Aye."
"What for?"
"Brawling."
"Is that all? You woke me up because of that?" Swinging on his heel, Simon started back for his bunk. "I'll get them out in the morning."
"Aye, well..." Etol scratched his shaggy mane of hair, dislodging the tie that bound it back at his nape. "That's the problem. The Demon reckons she's keeping them there for the rest of the week."
That got Simon's attention. "What?"
"Aye."
"Why?"
Etol shrugged. "I don't know, but the lass wasn't happy at being dragged out of bed and into the middle of the brawl."
Instantly Simon stiffened. "She was at the brawl?"
"She's the Head Peacekeeper, what do you think?"
"She's got enough men to handle a brawl, surely?"
"We were in that brawl." Shamon rubbed his beard sheepishly. "A couple of the peacekeepers got knocked out, and so they raised the alarm and next thing, the Demon is in there firing her manblaster---"
"Firing her manblaster?" Incredulous, Simon stared at his friend, though he shouldn't be so surprised, he'd seen her do the same thing another time.
"Yep. Blew a damned great hole in the ceiling." Shamon guffawed.
Simon rolled his eyes.
"Anyway, she zapped Heddam and Mikal with something, knocked them unconscious---"
"Unconscious? What the hell did she use?"
"Beats me. 'Twas something to see, though. They dropped like rocks. She made the others carry them to the Enforcement Building."
"They were okay?"
"I guess so. She didn't look too perturbed, nor did her men."
Concerned for his friends, Simon got dressed quickly. "I'll go check they're okay, and work something out for the morning."
"Aye, well the wench looked mighty peeved," Etol drawled.
"The wench always looks mighty peeved." Simon tied his hair back haphazardly. "She needs someone to show her the lighter side of life."
"You?"
Simon frowned at Shamon, who was grinning from ear to ear. "Nay. Now, are you two staying or coming?"
Shamon's grin widened. "Oh, I wouldn't miss this for anything!"
"Nor I," Etol added.
They nudged each other and winked.
Shaking his head, Simon tromped down the corridor to the platform lift, and within minutes they were striding out of the cargo hold and towards the settlement.
Now Simon could see a light on in Des's home, and considering the lateness of the hour, he had no doubt her sour mood would be even worse. Still, he just wanted to assure himself that no real damage had come to his friends.
Entering the Enforcement Building, Simon's gaze fell instantly on the Head Peacekeeper. Hips leaning back against the desk, she had her arms folded and was watching a medic patching up one of her men. A scowl was on her face. What a surprise. The scowl grew when she looked up at the sound of him, Shamon and Etol entering.
"Evening, lass." He nodded.
"In case you haven't noticed, trader, it's bloody early morning."
His gaze flicked to the timer on the wall. "So 'tis."
Silence fell as she continued to watch him narrowly.
Never one to be cowered, Simon eyed her back just as steadily. It was obvious she'd been in bed when she'd been called out, for her hair, which he'd only ever seen in a tight braid, was pulled back into a ponytail almost as haphazard as his own, and deep red strands of hair caressed her high cheekbones. Her face was clean of all dirt and blood, the sleeves of her shirt were rolled up to her elbows, and the bottom of it was hanging out over her pants.
I wonder if she sleeps in the nude, or wearing one of those cute little nightgowns? The sudden thought took him by surprise, and Simon mentally shook his head.
The silence in the room continued, with Des not giving an inch, her three men watching warily, Shamon and Etol observing with interest, and Simon eyeing her steadily.
Simon switched his attention to the matter at hand. "I understand my crew was involved in a fight."
Des watched him stonily.
"I also understand that you have them here." Simon stated.
Her gaze didn't waver. The wench wasn't going to make this easy.
"I'm concerned about their wellbeing," he finished.
"They're sleeping." Her voice was as stony as her eyes.
One of the peacekeepers grinned.
Deciding that her even talking showed some promise, Simon folded his own arms. "I've been told you somehow knocked them unconscious."
"What of it?"
"I want to see that they're all right."
"They'll live."
That wasn't good enough for Simon. He transferred his gaze to the Medic who had just finished stitching the blonde peacekeeper's cheek. "Have you seen my men?"
"They'll live," the Medic grunted.
A flicker of anger went through Simon. "Are they badly hurt?"
"Maybe you need to be asking that of my peacekeepers, trader," Des bit out angrily. "One has bloody stitches, two are knocked unconscious, one has a broken wrist---"
"From my men?" Simon's own eyes narrowed. "I doubt 'tis from mine alone."
"Oh, perish the thought!" Straightening, she placed her hands on her hips. "Your bloody men were in the middle of a brawl that ended up in some of my men being hurt. Who exactly did it, I don't give a vagrat's arse! I've a few of everyone locked up right now, and let me tell you, being dragged out into a brawl in the early hours of the morning is not my idea of a bloody fun time! Now get your arse out of my office, Daamen!"
Her aggression was slowly transferring itself to Simon, and his nostrils' flared slightly as he stared her down. Or tried. "Listen to me, wench. Those men are my friends, crew, and responsibility. I have the right to ensure they are unharmed."
"Any rights you had went the moment you stepped foot into my settlement." Striding forward, she jabbed him sharply in the chest, tilted her head back a little and glared up at him. "Now move your arse, for I won't tell you again, damn it."
This wench is a bad-tempered shrew. Simon ground his teeth. Her pale brown eyes, so light they were almost yellow, spat fire and fury. He could feel the warmth of her body, she stood so close, and the flowery scent of her shampoo tantalized his senses. Normally he would have tried to turn the tables to a little seduction, but right now his concern was for his friends.
"I'm not leaving until I've seen them," he growled.
"Move it."
"Nay." Reaching out, he placed his hands on her shoulders and started to move her back. "I'll see my men first."
"Have it your own way then, you bloody great nuisance." She put her hand in her pocket.
Expecting her to turn and lead him to the cells, Simon was caught by surprise when her hand withdrew from her pocket with lightening speed and shot out towards him. He felt a sharp zap on his side, then everything went black.
Rubbing the scar on his elbow, Canute read the information printing across the screen of the computer. His mistress studied it over his shoulder, her lips pursed.
"The outlaw attack failed," Gally stated unnecessarily.
Not bothering to answer, Canute flicked the screen off, interrupting her perusal of the information and causing her to scowl. He ignored that, too.
"Well, what are you going to do?" she demanded.
"Whatever I wish." Getting up, he crossed to the table and poured himself a glass of wine.
"What's your interest in all this, anyway?" she demanded sulkily.
"Your duty, Gally, is to service me. Your opinion and curiosity isn't wanted." Raising the glass to his lips, he looked at her broodingly over the rim. "Now either undress or get out."
Lips clamed tight in annoyance, she glared at him.
Shrugging, he turned away.
The seconds that passed were minimal before she clutched his shoulder and pressed close against his back, her voice a low, husky murmur. "Don't be mad, Canute. I'm just interested in what interests you."
"Are you going to undress?"
"Yes..."
"I don't hear the sound of your dress coming off." Titling his head, he drained the glass of the contents.
Her warmth withdrew, there was the sound of satin slithering downwards, and then her naked breasts were pressed against his back.
"I'm here, ready and waiting," she breathed.
Turning around, he surveyed her naked form through jaded eyes. Gally was beautiful, her body slim and lithe, her breasts small and firm. And he couldn't bear to touch her right then, all desire fleeing. If it had ever been there to start with.
"Go home, Gally," he said shortly.
He heard the angry hiss of her breath as he strode to the door, but he didn't wait to see her leave. Moving out into the dim corridor, he nodded to Zared, who immediately entered the room that Canute had just vacated.
Sure enough, Gally's furious protest could be heard at the rude entry, but Canute closed his hearing to it as he strode down the stairs. His second-in-command would see that Gally left without taking anything with her. Sex with her might be good, but he wouldn't trust her light fingers not to pick up anything of value not nailed down or locked in a drawer.
Ten minutes later, Zared entered the study where Canute was gazing out of the window to the rolling hills beyond.
"She's gone," he announced.
"Good."
"I know why you keep that cheap slut close by, Canute, but I worry about it, too."
"Don't. I know what I'm doing." Canute felt Zared's intense gaze on him.
"I hope so," his friend finally said. "Watching your back is becoming a worry as well."
Canute allowed a small smile to grace his lips. "And who is watching Desdemona's back, Zared?"
Zared didn't answer, and Canute looked back out of the window.
"He's waking up."
"About time."
"Simon?"
A not-quite gentle tapping on the cheek brought Simon groggily awake. He squinted up at the single light in the ceiling high above him, blinked against the glare and slowly rolled up into a sitting position. His side stung.
"Here." Big hands steadied him when he nearly fell off the side of the narrow bunk that hadn't been made for giants.
Shaking his head to clear it of lingering shock-induced sleep, Simon looked around at the concerned---albeit grinning faces---of his friends. "What the hell happened?"
"You had a run in with The Demon," Heddam announced from the cell next door.
"You came running to our rescue and got yourself zapped," Mikal added from where he was leaning against the bars beside Heddam. Languidly he waved one hand in the air. "Took Shamon and Etol both to drag you in here."
"You're no bloody light-weight," Shamon grunted.
Now he remembered. Glancing around the cells, Simon saw that he and his friends were crammed into three cells, while a group of sullen and very hung-over men snored, slumped and swore in the cells opposite.
He'd been zapped, just like Mikal and Heddam. "You two are all right?"
"Aye, fine." Heddam grimaced. "Well, a little sore..." He touched his hand to his side, and Simon saw the red mark near his waist.
Standing up, he peeled back his vest and inspected his own sore spot. Sure enough, there was a round, red mark on his ribcage. Memory came flooding back ... "Where is that hellcat?" He glared towards the corridor leading out into the main office.
The traders started laughing.
"And how long have we been here?" He added.
"The night and 'tis now nearly lunchtime," Brekya informed him.
"The wench did mention keeping us locked up in here for the week," Findel said, not looking at all worried.
"Nay, she wouldn't," Mikal said.
Simon strode to the bars. "That hellcat would, Mikal. She has a nasty streak a mile wide." Grabbing the bars, he peered down the corridor. "Where is everyone?"
"Having lunch?" Findel suggested.
Sure enough, the smell of cooked food wafted down the corridor right at that moment. It was delicious enough to make his own mouth water, but Simon had other problems right now. He wanted to talk to someone. The Demon.
"Hello?" he called, then louder, "Hello!"
"No use," one of the other prisoners sitting in the opposite cell said dolefully. "None of those peacekeepers will come in here until they're good and ready."
"True." Another prisoner with a black eye and a tooth missing nodded his head in agreement. "The Demon has no time for brawlers, and she's well-known for taking her time in coming to see us."
"Especially when she's had a late night," the first prisoner added. "Knowing The Demon, she's taking her time getting here."
There was a collective round of nods from the prisoners, and they settled back to wait.
Exasperated, Simon turned and surveyed his friends, who were looking at him with mixed expressions of curiosity, amusement and acceptance.
"Now what?" Mikal asked.
"We wait." A thought suddenly struck Simon. "Aamun and Torkra are back on the ship. They should have been here by now. Where the hell are they?"
Shamon ran one hand through his shaggy mop of hair. "We heard them arguing with the peacekeepers. They came all right, but weren't allowed in. I heard the peacekeepers threatening to lock them up as well. They left soon after."
At least Aamun was cool-headed enough to stay out of trouble. If they were in real trouble, Aamun and Torkra would have come charging in, but being locked up in the Enforcement Building for brawling, that was a different story. Not urgent, not threatening, not unusual ... Nay, wait, it wasn't common to jail nearly a whole crew of traders. Most peacekeepers were happy to just see the backs of the giants.
The Demon, it seemed, wasn't as easygoing ... or even vaguely fearful of the traders.
Surprise me some more. A flicker of amusement went through Simon. The wench was not one to cower from duty. But she was still a bad-tempered shrew. Though mayhap she had a right to be.
"What started the fight?" Simon looked at Heddam.
His friend shrugged his massive shoulders. "A couple of those bastards over there got a bit rough with the tavern wenches."
Simon flicked a glance of disgust at the men. A couple glared back, but most of them looked uneasy as the giant traders speared them with angry looks. No doubt they were now sober and wondering at their lucky escape.
Looking closer, Simon saw that most of the men were a lot worse off than his friends. In fact, his friends had hardly a mark on them, while the other men sported a series of injuries---black eyes, split lips, cut cheeks...
"Serves the bastards right." Crossing back to the bunk, Simon sat down, preparing himself to await the pleasure of The Demon.
Midday passed into afternoon, and then into night. The traders were getting restless. Cramped in the small cells not built for men of their height and builds, they were feeling the enclosure keenly.
It made them even more restless that no one came to see them. An old man who didn't reply to any of his questions had brought in jugs of water and wooden cups, which he'd passed through an opening in the cell bars, but that was all.
Simon could only thank heaven that each cell had a toilet separated by a wall, a common thing for most minor offence cells.
As the day grew later, his amusement turned to annoyance, then slowly to anger. Being slung in a jail cell was one thing, but having no one come and tell him what was happening was quite another.
Finally he crossed to the bars, and yelled out, "Hello!"
He could hear voices in the office, the partially opened door at the end of the corridor allowing him to see a shadow pass the door as whoever it was moved around in the office.
There was no reply.
"Des!" he roared. His mouth fell open in astonishment when the door at the end of the corridor snapped shut. "Bloody hell!"
"She won't come until she she's good and ready," the prisoner who had spoken earlier announced again.
"And when will that be?" Simon growled.
"When she's ready."
"What the hell kind of peacekeeper is she?" Frustrated, Simon's fingers curled around the bars.
"The Demon does things her own way," was the reply. "No sense getting uptight. It'll do you no good."
Swinging around, Simon cursed and stomped back to the bunk, where he dropped down, ignoring the alarming creak. Looking up, he saw his friends eyeing him with amusement and curiosity. "What?"
"Never seen you this antsy," Heddam drawled.
"I've never been treated the way she's treating us!"
"And normally 'twouldn't bother you." Heddam rubbed his strong jaw consideringly. "Now why would that be, hmm?"
Shamon opened his eyes and studied Simon. "'Twould seem that a certain wee lass gets under your skin, friend."
Oh great. Now his crew were settling in to amuse themselves at his expense. "Unless you want to be on cleaning detail for a week, friend, I wouldn't go down that road."
"Seeing as we're going to be here for a week, I think I'll take that risk," Shamon returned cheerfully. "We could start by the fact that you called her by name, Des. What a lovely ring to it."
Simon rolled his eyes.
"So, Simon---"Shamon broke off as the door at the end of the corridor banged open, and the smell of food permeated the air again.
"Hurry up," a feminine voice growled. "Feed those useless morons and move it."
Instantly alert, Simon pushed upright and strode across the small space to the bars.
Des was striding down the corridor behind the old man, who was pushing a food trolley. The customary scowl was on her face, and she was covered in dust, a streak of blood marring her cheek.
Stopping near the cells, she glanced at the traders. "Enjoying the accommodation, boys?"
Simon's eyes narrowed. "Very nice."
"Glad you're enjoying it."
"When, exactly, are you going to let us out?"
"I figure a week should be good."
"You can't be serious!"
"Push my buttons anymore, Daamen, and I'll stretch it to two weeks."
Simon wanted to do more than push her buttons. In fact, his hand itched to do a lot more ... His jaw clenched. "What's the fine?"
Ignoring him, she watched the old man hand the trays of food through the bars.
"Peacekeeper?" Simon persisted. "I asked what the fine was. I'll have it paid."
Des looked at him. "I'll think about it."
"For how long?"
Her scowl deepening, she strode to the bars, stopped directly opposite him and glared. "Until I damned well choose."
"'Tis hardly fair---"
"No one ever said I had to be fair, trader. Right now, I don't need brawling jerks around my settlement."
"The brawl was due to my men standing up for some wenches---"
Her eyes flashed. "Look, trader, tavern wenches get roughed up. I don't like it, you don't like it, but it's a fact. They know it; they risk it. Getting into a brawl and having some of my peacekeepers hurt is something I won't tolerate."
Taking a deep breath, Simon inadvertently inhaled her scent. Beneath the dirt and taint of blood, was a soft, flowery scent. It seeped into his senses, and unconsciously he leaned toward her, inhaling again.
They stared at each other ... or rather, she glared, while he eyed her with renewed interest.
His interest turned to concern when he saw the weariness in her eyes, and the shadows beneath. Now he could see that the dried blood came from the scratch that marred the smooth skin of her cheek. His gaze flickered over her, searching for any other signs of injury, and now he saw that the sleeve of her shirt was torn, a bandage wrapped around her wrist where a tinge of red showed through. Des had been in a fight.
Concern coursed through him. "Are you all right, lass?"
"What the hell kind of question is that?" Moving back, Des jerked her head at the old man. "Are you finished?"
Totally unfazed by her harsh tone, the old man grinned, nodded, and passed the last tray of food to Mikal.
"Let's go." Swinging around on her heel, Des strode back up the corridor.
Simon's gaze dropped down to the unconscious sway of her rounded hips beneath the dirt-streaked pants she wore, and his interest was piqued anew. The wench was tall, strong, and had a well-rounded build to suit him ... nay, to suit her build. Height. Something.
"Well, well," Etol drawled from behind him.
"Like the look of her, do you?" Heddam queried.
Glancing over his shoulder, Simon saw his friends watching him in amusement. Hells bells. Now he was in for some more ribbing. Resigned, he gave a sigh and picked up the tray they'd left on the bunk.
"So," Kel said around a mouthful of steak. "You find the little peacekeeper attractive."
"Nay."
"That look on your face when you caught an eyeful of her shapely backside says otherwise." Shamon grinned.
"I was merely watching her walk away---"
Hoots and catcalls of amusement cut him off.
"Bastards," he said, and settled in to get some teasing. It was going to come whether he liked it or not, and his own sense of humor kicked in. After all, he'd done his fair share of teasing in his days, and would again.
After some ribbing of their captain and friend, the traders turned their attention to the food, which was surprisingly good.
Simon's thoughts turned back to Des. She'd been in a fight, that much was obvious, and she was tired. Mayhap that was why they'd not seen her the whole day.
The sound of the trolley clacking back down the corridor made him glance up. The old man stopped the trolley in the center of the corridor. Silently he collected the trays as they were passed through the bars.
"Your Head Peacekeeper has been in a fight?" Simon queried.
"You could say that," the old man surprised him by answering.
"She was injured."
The old man grinned, showing rotten teeth. "Not as badly as the one who tried to take her down."
"What happened to him?"
"He's dead."
"Des doesn't muck around much, does she?"
The old man gave Simon an odd look. "You either like her or hate her, young Daamen."
It had been a long time since anyone had referred to Simon as young. Though just turned thirty, most people not Daamens looked at his height and build---at all their heights and builds---and 'young' didn't seem to cross their minds.
But more importantly, it was what the old man said that caught Simon's attention. "Like or hate?"
"Demon has her friends and enemies."
"She has many enemies?"
"She's a Head Peacekeeper on the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector, what do you think?"
The old man was as cantankerous as his boss, and Simon wondered briefly if Des and he were related.
"How did a wench end up Head Peacekeeper?"
"She's no ordinary woman, Daamen." The old man turned around and started walking back up the corridor.
"You've known her long?"
The old man glanced over his shoulder at Simon, winked and continued out the door. It clicked shut behind him.
"See, 'tis more than obvious that our friend is quite taken with the shrewish little wench," Shamon drawled from behind Simon.
"Even after she zapped him," Heddam added. "'Tis so romantic!"
"Very romantic."
Here we go again ... Resignedly, Simon turned to face his laughing friends. "That's the problem with being locked up. I'm stuck with you mob."
"You're tonight's entertainment," Shamon informed him cheerfully. "So, tell us, Simon, what attracts you to the wench? Her eyes?"
"Her shapely backside?" Heddam added.
A crash sounded from the main office, followed by a curse and Des's voice yelling out an obscenity.
"Her good humor?" Kel's eyes twinkled.
Simon couldn't help but laugh and shake his head. But as he settled back down onto the bunk a part of him was wondering about Des's injuries, and he found himself hoping there was no serious damage done.
Tired and even grumpier than normal, Des groaned when the alarm sounded from the communicator on the headboard. Lifting her hand, she fumbled around until she found the switch on the communicator and activated it. "What now?"
Marcel answered. "Sorry, Boss. The west end building has collapsed."
"Collapsed?" Pushing the hair out of her eyes, she rolled over and sat up, dislodging Fuzz from where she had sprawled heavily across her hip.
Fuzz growled and moved to the foot of the big bed.
"It's a warehouse. We're trying to clear the rubble."
"And you called me, why? Can't you handle this?" Squinting at the timer on the wall, Des groaned again. She'd only been in bed for an hour. It was turning into another long night.
"We don't know if anyone is trapped inside."
"And like I said, you called me, why?"
"Because one of those unknown ships was spotted flying over the building just before it collapsed."
Des kicked the covers off. "I'll be right there. Get a pursuit craft after that ship."
"We tried. It's already gone."
"Shit. Scan for it!"
"It's off radar."
"Damn!" Flicking off the communicator, Des hurriedly dressed in yet another pair of clean clothes, but without bothering to tuck anything in.
After strapping the laser around her thigh, she pushed a dagger into the sheath at the top of her boot and ran into the garage. Jumping into the single-seater pilot vehicle, she engaged the door, and as soon as it opened far enough, she soared out of the garage and spun the vehicle around. Passing the warehouses and the collapsed one without stopping, she parked her vehicle behind the Enforcement Building less than thirty seconds after she'd left her home.
Entering the office, she went straight to the scanners which Huxley was manning. There was nothing showing on the scanner except for the usual traffic, and she swore.
"All right, has Marcel found out if anyone was in the warehouse?" Des slipped the communicator into her ear.
"Not yet." Huxley shook his head.
"Keep trying to pick up that bloody ship on the scanner. One hint of it, even, and I want a pursuit craft after it. Understand?"
He nodded.
Leaving the building, Des walked calmly but quickly towards the west end of the settlement. There were a few warehouses at that end, mainly because that was where trade ships and merchants landed in the docking bays nearby.
Rolling her shoulders, Des studied the warehouse as she neared. Several men were trying to shift some of the beams, while Emory, one of the pursuit officers, was trying to establish some kind of communication with anyone down below.
Refusing to rush, Des carefully studied the surroundings, but apart from some nosy bystanders, there was no one and nothing in sight that she'd consider a threat. Finding the area safe, she stepped out of the shadows and into the light.
"Des!" Marcel said with obvious relief.
"Found someone under there?" she queried.
"One, we think."
"You think?' Hands on her hips, she studied the pile of rubble.
Smoke smoldered, but apart from that, there seemed to be no evidence of a blast.
"We heard what appeared to be a faint voice calling out." Marcel gestured towards Emory beside his pursuit craft. "He's trying to establish a communication."
"Which is all very well if the poor bugger under this mess can communicate back."
"Thought of that already, Boss. Emory is going to let a two-way communicator down through any gaps to enable us to at least communicate with the person---or persons---under here."
Des looked at him thoughtfully for a minute, and Marcel raised his brows in return. Finally she nodded. "Good thinking."
"Thanks."
"Now, how stable is this?"
"This?"
"This." She nodded to the heap of heavy timbers.
Marcel shook his had. "Not very stable at all, if you're thinking of using a lifter to get the beams up. It needs to be handled with more care."
"So we're going to have to do it by hand?"
"Looks like it."
"Fine. Round up some blokes and let's do it."
That, however, was easier said than done, as Des soon found out. The main building beams were incredibly heavy, and the amount of men needed to lift it at each end made the rubble groan and shift. Even though she was able to lift one end with some help, it required far more men on the other end. Not to mention that some were downright clumsy.
"Damn it!" She gestured to the men. "Put it down slowly and back away. We're causing more damage!"
They did as bidden, and then all stood and stared at the rubble.
Emory had managed to thread a thin communication line from his pursuit vehicle down amongst the gaps, and it had disappeared into the depths. They were now able to hear the faint noise of something or someone.
Frowning, Des looked around. She was in need of far stronger men than the settlers her peacekeepers had managed to round up. Her gaze drifted over towards the Daamen trading ship. There were two giant traders in that ship. Big. Strong.
"Raf!" She yelled.
"Yeah?" His voice came from right behind her, making her jump.
"I thought you were over there. Never mind. Go and get those two traders and bring them here. We need their assistance."
He rolled his eyes. "You really think they're going to help?"
"Just do it. Tell them it's an order."
"That'll go down well, I'm sure." But he nevertheless ran off to the trade ship.
Watching him, Des wasn't surprised when she saw him stopped by the force shield that surrounded the ship. However, her frown grew as the minutes ticked past and no one appeared at the open ramp. The force shield would have registered a presence to the inhabitants of the ship. The Daamens not coming down the ramp could only mean one thing, they weren't there.
"Probably rooting the eyes out of some tavern wench," she muttered.
"Pardon?" Emory looked at her.
"Nothing." Des rubbed her chin, turned, and looked back towards the Enforcement Building.
The two remaining traders might not be aboard ship, but she knew where a whole pile of the big buggers were sleeping.
In her jail cells.
"Be right back." She strode back to the Enforcement Building.
"What about the trapped person?" one of the settlers called after her.
"He's not going anywhere," she replied.
There was a muttering behind her, but no one argued. She grinned to herself. When one spoke the truth, as ugly as it was, there wasn't much anyone could say.
Entering the Enforcement Building, she strode past Huxley and through the door leading to the corridor of cells. All was quiet in the dimly lit jail, the only sounds that of the snores and grunts as the full cells of occupants slept peacefully.
That'd be bloody right. Scowling, her brief flash of humor vanishing, she stopped near the cell containing the traders. The bloody criminals slept peacefully while the peacekeepers were running around trying to keep the law.
Folding her arms, she glared at the giants sprawled on the floor and bunks, looking so damn comfortable it was a wonder they weren't cooing in their damned sleep.
"Something wrong, lass?" The low, deep voice rumbled from the dimness.
The rumbling tones went right through her, and she instinctively found the source. Simon was lying on the bunk, his hands linked behind his head, his muscular chest rising and falling with each deep, even breath. In the dim light, his pale eyes glinted as he watched her.
For a second Des caught her breath. His height and build meant that lying on the bunk was not easy. He had his legs bent at the knee, one foot propped on the bunk, the other long leg down with his boot braced on the floor. The massive biceps in his arms bulged and flexed as he moved his hands and pushed upward.
Dropping his other booted foot to the floor, he swung up into a sitting position, his hands loosely clasped between his thighs as he watched her steadily. His long, fair hair rippled down over his shoulders.
The man really was too damned, dangerously good-looking for a woman's peace of mind.
Luckily, she wasn't the kind of woman to swoon over a man such as this dangerous-looking giant. And he wasn't such a giant to one of her stature, anyway.
Impatient at her wayward thoughts, Des's scowl grew.
Lass," Simon drawled in that deep rumble. "If you're spoiling for a fight, by all means open the door and I'll see what I can do to accommodate you."
"You wish," she retorted.
Pushing up easily, Simon strode lazily across the floor, stepping over his sleeping friends in the process. Coming to a stop directly before her, he rested his shoulder against the bars and gazed at her with an unreadable expression. His gaze slid slowly across her face, as though memorizing every plane and curve.
When his eyes lingered on her lips, Des tightened them.
"Shame," he murmured, his eyes gleaming when he looked her directly in the eyes.
Ignoring the comment, Des said bluntly, "I need your help."
Interest flickered across his face. "Really?"
"I need you and your friends to do some heavy lifting." Laying her hand on the print panel, she watched his face as the barred door slid open.
"Really?"
Stepping back, she frowned impatiently as he continued to stand there, his shoulder against the bars, watching her out of those fathomless pale eyes. "Come on."
"'Tis a little problem, lass."
"Don't call me lass, and what is it?"
"Des." The name rolled off his tongue like thick syrup. "We're your prisoners, remember?"
"So?"
"Prisoners belong behind bars."
Moving forward so that she stood in the doorway of the cell, Des gripped the edge of the door in one hand, placed her other hand on her hip, and narrowed her eyes. "You want to bargain, is that it?"
His smile was slow, and she could see now how devastating it could be.
"Don't waste my time by trying to be charming, Daamen."
"I wouldn't try to charm you, Des. I'd do ... other things."
A muffled snort of laughter came from the dim cell behind him, making Des scowl even fiercer. "Get your arses up and out," she snapped. "You've work to do!"
Some of the traders started, obviously from asleep, but three of them got up immediately, wide grins on their roguishly handsome faces.
"Wait a minute." Simon didn't take his gaze off her, even as he raised his hand towards his men. "What do we get in exchange, Des?"
"Des." Marcel's voice came through the communication receiver in her ear. "The sound is getting fainter under this trashed warehouse."
Damn. There was no time to waste. "Come and help me shift the heavy timbers from this warehouse collapse," she growled. "And then you're all free to leave."
Straightening up, Simon's expression changed from lazy to alert. "There's been a collapse?"
"Come with me and I'll tell you about it." Swinging around on her heel, she pressed her hand to the main panel as she passed it, and the other two cells containing the rest of the traders opened. Striding out of corridor of cells, she heard the heavy tramp of boots behind her but didn't look around.
Huxley's eyes widened as the giant traders entered the main office behind her, but she ignored him and strode outside.
Simon fell into step beside her. "Tell us about the cave-in."
"We don't know what caused it. It's collapsed, and we think there might be someone trapped under it."
"Why not get a lifter?"
"Too unstable. Hands are better, but there's no one strong enough to lift the heavier timber. Too many helpers each end makes it more unstable."
"Ah."
Yeah.
"I hope Jude is okay," one of the traders behind them said, worry in his voice. "Which warehouse was it?"
"Not Jude's," she retorted.
They continued in silence, and the conversation amongst the few settlers rounded up to help died down as the big traders came into sight.
Instructing the traders in what she wanted them to do, Des bent down and grabbed the end of one of the heavy beams.
"We can do it." Simon looked at her from where he was crouched down at the other end of the heavy beam.
Without replying, Des started to lift, and with a tightening of his own lips, Simon did the same.
With the assistance of the muscular giants, the heavier beams were lifted out of the way with minimal disturbance of the remaining rubble, and Marcel instructed the settlers to take the smaller beams. Within twenty minutes, most of it had been cleared away.
Des swore to herself as she picked her way through the remainder of the rubble. There was no one trapped in the warehouse, but the sound was clearer now. It seemed to be a voice that was speaking in a foreign language.
Wondering what they were facing, Des warned everyone back. "Emory, run a scan. Is there anything explosive here?"
"No," he replied after several minutes.
Following the lead from Emory's pursuit vehicle, she traced it to the very middle of where the warehouse once stood. The communicator was resting against a small box.
Crouching down beside it, Des studied it without touching the box. "You're sure there's no explosive?"
"There's nothing showing, Boss."
Reaching out, she took a deep breath and picked it up gingerly. When there was no click, she stood up slowly, inspecting the box. The voice still came from inside it, but there was no indication who or what was speaking. Or even what language, if it was a language.
"Do you think it's a communication device?" Marcel queried.
"Buggered if I know." Hefting the box thoughtfully in her hand, she moved back out of the debris.
The settlers moved nervously out of her way, but the traders watched her closely.
Simon took her elbow as she stepped over one of the big beams, supporting her as she steadied herself.
She felt his touch almost burn right through her sleeve. It was amazing what lack of sleep could do to a person. Which reminded her...
Deliberately moving her elbow from the cup of his hand, she looked up at him. "Thanks for your help. You're free to go."
"Why, thank you." His face had no expression, but amusement rippled throughout his words.
Taking a deep breath, she said. "Really. Thank you."
His eyes softened, a fact that almost alarmed her. No one's eyes softened when they looked at her. "My pleasure, lass."
Not liking the strange sensations that were starting to prick deep inside her, she jerked her head abruptly at the watching settlers. "Everyone go home. Thanks for your help." Dismissing all, she turned her attention back to her job. "Emory, I want you to do fly overs for the rest of the night. Get Chas to cross your track over. Marcel, I want Huxley on that scanner for the rest of the night. If any other unknown ships even get within sniffing distance of this settlement, I want to know."
"Got it." Emory nodded.
Carrying the box in both hands, Des walked back to the Enforcement Building, her thoughts already on the puzzle of the box.
Once inside the building, she crossed to the other door that led into an adjacent room. This one held a table and various communications devices.
Placing the box in a small holder, Des ran the language scanner and watched the screen as it flicked through every known language. When it came up with no match, she tried again, but with the same dismal result. Maybe it wasn't a language at all.
Then the voice---if it was a voice---stopped. I didn't start again, even when she turned the box around and shook it slightly. Giving up, she placed it back on the table.
Going back into the main office, she glanced at the scanner over Huxley's shoulder. "Anything?"
"No."
"Okay."
"Did you figure out the language from the box?' he queried.
"No." Glancing down at him, she noted the edge of the self-adhesive patch showing from under the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. "How's your arm?"
"Fine. Moresby gave me some good painkillers."
"Right. You're going home."
"Huh?"
"If he gave you painkillers, then you need to rest it."
"But---"
"I'll get Yucel to cover you."
"But---"
"Don't bloody argue with me, Huxley. Get yourself home and to bed."
Resigned, he sighed and stood up. "Yes, Boss."
"Huxley?"
"Yeah?" He turned and looked at her.
She winked. "Have a shot of the special medicine your mother gave you for your birthday."
He laughed. "Is that an order?"
"It certainly is."
"Then consider it done."
She waited until he'd left the building before waking up Yucel. "Sorry to get you up, sunshine, but I need you to cover for Huxley."
"Huxley?"
"Yeah. Seems he's on painkillers, and knowing our medic, I'd say they're damned strong. Huxley needs to rest that arm. You're on tonight, Yucel, but you'll have tomorrow off."
"It is tomorrow now."
She looked at the timer on the wall. "Well, consider yourself fortunate, then. Another five hours and you can go back home to bed."
"I'll be right there."
She heard his sigh right before he cut communication, and she felt like sighing right along with him. In five hours, she'd be back herself.
Or maybe not. Being the Head Peacekeeper meant extra responsibility, but it also meant some perks. Such as an extra hour or two of sleep and coming in a bit later.
Once Yucel entered, she plied him with hot una then left him in charge of the scanners. Getting into the single-seater pilot vehicle, she headed once more for home. Hopefully this time there'd be no more call outs.
Finally, he was back in his own ship. Heaving a sigh of relief, Simon stepped out of the shower, dried himself off, and crawled back into his unmade bunk. 'Twas hard to believe that just over twenty four hours ago he'd climbed out of this very bunk to rescue his friends, only to end up beside them in the cells.
Stretching luxuriously, he thought about the fortunate circumstances that had led to their release. He had no doubt that Des would have left them in the cell for the week. He grinned in amusement. The bad-tempered wench made no excuses for anything she did. He could grow fond of her.
Now where the hell did that thought come from? Startled, he stared up at the ceiling. Fond of that hellcat? She's a shrew! And full of sass, guts and self-confidence. I must be more tired than I thought!
Shrugging away the thoughts that clouded his mind, Simon rolled over and closed his eyes.
Sleep came quickly, but it was anything but restful. It was full of collapsing buildings, big beams, and a wench with dark red hair who was ordering him to strip so she could search him for weapons.
A faint flowery scent teased his senses while soft hands skimmed his body, clever fingers searching ... everywhere. He moaned in his sleep, partly awake, and rolled over. He awoke with a jolt, just as that soft hand in his dream slid slowly between his naked thighs.
A raging erection had him flopping back on the pillow with a groan. It was unbelievable that the shrewish wench in real life could be the same seductress who'd ordered him around in his dreams. And to think she'd given him a hard-on was almost laughable---except that his straining manhood didn't seem to think so, and at just the thought of her flashing eyes and surprisingly full lips tightening in annoyance, his manhood throbbed even harder.
Shaking his head, Simon got out of bed and went into the bathing cabin for a cold shower. Unfortunately, that didn't help either. It seemed his fevered mind still held traces of that hellcat Head Peacekeeper, and he had to resort to using his hand like some unseasoned, out of control, hormone driven youth. It was either that or have a tent in his trousers.
If his friends knew, they'd howl like hyenas.
Finally getting out of the shower, he dried himself down and dressed in clean pants. He was just stamping on his boots when Torkra appeared in the doorway. "Guess who's here to see you?"
"Who?" Simon reached for his vest.
"The Demon."
Simon's hand stilled. The Demon? Des? Here? "On the ship?"
Torkra's grin widened. "She asked to see you personally. Cap'n. Sir."
Simon cocked an eyebrow. "Are you insinuating something?"
"Me?" Torkra's eyes widened innocently. "Not at all! A wench is here to see you, 'tis all."
"Have you been talking to anyone?"
"Not at all. Shall I tell the shapely-bottomed wench---I mean the peacekeeper---that you'll be right out?" He winked. "Or should I just send her in here?"
His friends hadn't wasted anytime in telling Aamun and Torkra of his attraction to Des. If he had an attraction. Which he didn't. Mayhaps.
Shaking his head ruefully, he stood up. "Where is she?"
"Dining cabin."
"Why there?"
"Why not?"
"Never mind." No doubt everyone would be there, watching eagerly for something to needle him with later. He had a lot of affection for his friends, but sometimes they could be a pain in the arse, especially when they had too much time on their hands.
Actually, time on their hands or not, any opportunity to needle each other was taken and used with relish.
Leaving his cabin, he was surprised to find no one in the corridor, and when he entered the dining cabin, it was to find it empty of all save the Head Peacekeeper.
She had her back to him while she gazed out of the space shield. The metal shield itself was drawn back while they were on the planet surface, and the view from high up in the ship meant one could see quite a ways, especially on a sunny morning like this morn.
Pausing, Simon allowed his gaze to wander over her. Tall, with curves in all the right places. Trim waist, rounded hips, long legs and a bottom that curved mouth-wateringly. It sure made his mouth water. Her jacket was thrown over one of the dining stools, and the tucked in shirt made her figure more than apparent to his appreciative gaze.
This time her hair was in a bun. It had been tight when she'd put it in, but right now it was loosening and looking softer. He wondered what it would look like, all loose and caressing his chest as she leaned over him---
Now where the hell did that come from? Simon's brows rose and he moved further into the cabin.
Seeing his reflection in the shield, Des turned briskly around to face him. Now he had a good view of her front, and it was just as enticing as her back view. Rounded breasts pushed her shirt out most interestingly.
"Trader," she greeted him coolly.
"Des." Dragging his attention from the tempting mounds on her chest, he inclined his head and met her gaze.
"I have a request."
Not a favor. A request. How typically Des. Simon grinned.
"Something amusing you?" she asked tartly.
"Not at all. Do continue."
She frowned. "You travel all over the universe, so it's likely you may be able to identify the craft that eludes us."
"Oh?" Crossing to the table, Simon perched one hip on the corner and lazily swung his leg while he studied her.
"If I enter the data into your computers, would you go through it and see if you recognize the ship?"
Well, well. She wanted something from him. His devilish sense of humor reared its head. "Let me see if I have this correct. You incarcerate my men, zap a couple of them, zap me when I come to check their welfare, leave us sitting in the cells---planned to leave us there all week, in fact---then used us to clean up a collapsed warehouse, and now you think I'll help you identify an unknown spaceship?"
That scowl was back, wrinkling her smooth forehead.
"'Tis all?" Holding up his hand, he ticked off on his fingers silently, then nodded. "Aye, 'tis about it." He quirked his brow laughingly at her.
"Are you finished being an arse?" Des snapped.
"I'm not sure. Tell me something else and I'll see." He suppressed the urge to laugh at the flash of anger in her startling eyes.
"How about I tell you this?" Crossing the floor of the cabin, Des came to a stop directly before him, her hands on her hips. "You help me out or I'll make your stay here a living hell."
"And 'twould be different, how?"
"I have not yet made your life a living hell, trader, but trust me, I can do so."
"I'm scared." The red creeping up her smooth cheeks made Simon chuckle.
"I'm warning you---"
"I thought you were requesting?"
She glared at him for a few seconds, then swung away. "Forget it. It was a bloody stupid idea coming here---"
"Wait." Instantly contrite, and surprised she'd given up so easily, Simon stood and grabbed her arm. "I'm sorry."
Jerking her arm out of his hold, she scowled. "For what?"
"Teasing you." Ignoring her scowl, he placed his hand on her back and started to usher her from the cabin. "We'll go down to the control cabin and you can enter the information into the viscomm. I'll see---"
"What are you doing?" Coming to a halt, she moved back from him.
Surprised, Simon blinked.
"Your hand on my back?" she added.
"Er---being courteous?"
She looked totally dumbfounded for several seconds, and Simon suddenly realized that a wench like Des had probably never had a man touch her in anything but anger. Maybe her father would have touched her with affection, but he strongly doubted anyone else would have. The wench was too prickly to encourage it, and the majority of men were much smaller than she herself. And from the bit of gossip imparted to him by the tavern wenches, Des lived alone and didn't have a man of her own ... that anyone knew of, anyway. Whether she saw someone else in another settlement, no one knew.
How interesting. How very interesting.
"Well, don't." She gestured to the open doorway with her hand. "After you."
Simon stepped out first, but he waited until she'd followed before walking beside her, fighting the urge to place his hand on her back again, just to watch her reaction. The flashing of those almost-yellow eyes was fascinating, as was the red flush that colored her cheeks when she was disturbed.
"The platform lift will take us down to the second floor, which houses our control cabin," he informed her as he led her onto the lift.
About to warn her of the lurching movement of the platform lift, something made Simon hold his tongue as he pressed the descend button. Just as he knew it would, the lift lurched. Des, caught unawares, was thrown off balance and Simon, timing it perfectly, caught her in his arms and drew her up against his chest.
"Oops, forgot to warn you," he said cheerfully, as he steadied her. "The platform lift is a bit rough..." His voice trailed away as she tilted her face back to look at him.
They seemed almost frozen in time, Simon becoming increasingly aware of her lush body pressed against his, the soft breasts against his chest, her rounded hips almost seeming to cradle his lean hips.
Her flowery scent drifted up to him, and as he had before, he inhaled it. She smells so good.
Startled, Des's eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly. He knew those lips were full, but now he could see how plump they really were. Plump and ripe and begging to be kissed. So thoroughly kissed.
By him.
Simon's hold turned from supportive to a gentler touch, one hand sliding up her back. He started to bend forward---
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Des roared, and bracing her hands on his chest, she shoved hard.
Caught by surprise, Simon actually released her and staggered back a step.
"You touch me like that again, trader, and I'll break your arm!" she snapped.
She really was a shrew. And damned if she didn't tickle his fancy. Recovering from his surprise, Simon hid his grin and tried to look innocent. "I'm sorry, lass. You nearly fell, and I was just trying to help."
"Is that what you call it?"
"I couldn't very well let you fall, Des." Not on your delectable behind. Unless I can kiss it better. Hoo boy, he'd better watch his thoughts, because if he got a hard-on while she was here, she'd probably break it as well as his arm.
The platform lift lurched to a halt, saving him from having to say anything further.
This time she was prepared, and she stepped off the lift with a scowl at him.
"All right?" he asked with false concern.
Those intriguing eyes narrowed but she didn't reply.
"The control cabin is right ahead." He smiled. "Shall we?"
Still without answering, Des strode along beside him, matching his steps easily. That in itself was intriguing. If she matched his steps so easily, and was so strong, what might she be like in bed? She'd be able to take it rougher than the tavern wenches. The small wenches he had to be so careful with, unable to be as wild as he liked for fear of hurting them. The tall Reeka warrior women had never interested him as anything more than friends. But this bad-tempered peacekeeper was starting to turn his steam right up.
Reaching the doorway, Simon gestured for her to enter, following close behind.
In one of the two chairs at the console sat Aamun and Heddam. They looked at Simon and Des with amusement. Simon knew why as soon as he spotted the communication switch by Aamun's hand. It was the same switch used to communicate with the whole ship at once. Anything said anywhere would be heard on every floor.
Including anything said on the platform lift. And it was switched on now. The bastards, no wonder they looked amused. They'd heard every word Simon and Des had said both in the dining cabin and on the platform lift.
Behind Des's back, Simon rolled his eyes in exasperation at Aamun, who smirked.
"Why, whatever are you doing here, lass?" Heddam queried, as if he didn't know already.
Stepping forward, Simon waved them both out of the chairs. "She's here to enter data of the unknown craft into the viscomm. Hopefully we might be able to identify it for her."
"Really?" Eyes gleaming, Aamun relinquished his chair to her, winking over her head at Simon.
"Aye, really." Simon practically dragged Heddam up from his chair. "So while I check out the information, you two go about your work. I'll see you later."
"Oh, mayhaps we can help?" Heddam's eyes danced with suppressed mirth.
"Shamon was looking for you two." Simon was going to strangle his friend in a minute.
"Are you sure?' Heddam rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I thought he was going into the settlement---"
"He is, and he wants you two to accompany him." Leaning forward, Simon reached in front of Des and flicked off the communication switch. Now they'd have some privacy.
"Well, if you're sure you'll be able to cope without us." Heddam simpered.
Simon glared at him over Des's bent head. Too busy studying the control panel of the viscomm, she was totally unaware of the exchange going on about her.
"Come on." Taking pity on his young friend, Aamun laughingly grabbed Heddam's arm. "We have interesting news for the others, remember?"
"I'm sure they already know," Simon said, perfectly aware Aamun was referring to the not-so-private conversation between himself and Des.
Aamun and Heddam both winked and left the control cabin.
Shaking his head, Simon turned his attention back to Des.
"I'm not familiar with this set-up." She looked at him.
"Here. I'll get you into the right section, and then all you have to do is fill in the details." Bracing one hand on the back of her chair, he reached past her and touched the viscomm screen in several places, bringing up the computer mode.
Within seconds he had a flight craft identi-kit established and ready to run, and he sat down in the other chair beside her.
"Where did you get this?" Des queried curiously.
"All our trade ships have them. It's important we know who we're trading with, who approaches us, who might be friend or foe."
"I doubt you'd have many foes," she retorted. "Do I just enter the details of the craft now?"
"Aye."
In quick, efficient moves, Des typed the relevant information into the computer and then sat back to watch as the computer scrolled through layers of data.
Swiveling his chair around to partially face her, Simon stretched out his long legs and crossed his booted ankles. Resting his linked hands comfortably on his stomach, he flicked his gaze from her set expression to the screen and back to her face.
She was so serious all the time, so impatient, he was a little surprised that lines of discontentment didn't crease her smooth skin, and her full lips weren't automatically pulled down at the corners. Instead, her skin was smooth, smoother than many who dwelt in the harsh areas of the Outlaw Sector, and there was a quirk at each end of her mouth that fore told laughter, and he found himself wondering who made her laugh and made her see the lighter side of life. Someone had to, for of what he'd seen of her, laughter wasn't something that came easily to her.
Sensing his scrutiny, Des swiveled her own chair around to face him squarely. One fine brow was arced up challengingly. "Something wrong, trader?"
"Nay. And please, call me Simon."
"You're staring at me."
"Nay. I'm just doing some wondering."
"Oh?"
"Aye. Do you ever laugh, lass?"
"I don't see that that's any of your business. And don't call me lass."
"Des."
"How do you know my name?"
"I'm very observant." Simon grinned at her openly skeptical look. "Actually, I heard someone call you that."
"Most just call me Demon."
"Because you are one?"
"So some say."
"So many say."
Des shrugged unconcernedly.
Angling his head slightly, Simon asked, "What is Des short for?"
"Desdemona." She looked a little startled at the admission, and then she frowned. "But don't bother calling me that."
"Why? 'Tis a very melodious name."
Her brow arced even higher.
"Seriously," he assured her.
"Only a select few call me by my full name."
"Parents?"
Without a flicker of an eyelash, she turned back to the viscomm. "Did you happen to see the spaceships I'm looking for?"
Hmmm, obviously the wench wasn't into family discussions. "Nay. Are you avoiding answering the question, Des?"
"It's not your business."
"I'm interested."
"I'm not."
Simon shrugged. "I find you interesting."
"You find tavern wenches interesting. Drinking and brawling and wenches." Des sounded bored as she watched the screen flicker while the computer scrolled through the last of the crafts known to the general public.
"'Tis the general perception of us, aye," Simon agreed. "But we're not really just drunken brawlers looking for a willing wench."
She cast a sideways glance at him.
"Mayhap you should let me prove it to you," he said.
"I don't need proof of anything, trader."
"'Tis more to us than what you know and have heard." He found in some way that he really wanted her to understand that, though why it should bother him so much, he wasn't sure.
"If you say so---" Her voice halted as the words 'no match' words came onto the screen, and she swore softly. Folding her arms, she scowled at the words. "Do you have any other way of trying to find out the identity of the craft?"
Curse ill-timing. "I can try for you. 'Twill take me awhile."
"Why?" She was still frowning at the screen.
"Because my contacts are not on-line at the moment."
"You haven't tried."
She was a tenacious wench. "Because I know my friends."
In a quick movement she stood up. "Very well. Let me know if you discover anything."
Getting up just as quickly ensured that their bodies almost touched, and when she frowned up at him, he smiled. "Of course. As soon as I know anything, I'll come straight to you."
"Hmm." Stepping away from him, Des moved to the door. "Thank you for the use of your identi-kit."
Simon followed her from the cabin. "You could thank me more by having dinner with me tonight."
Des stopped so quickly that Simon walked right into her, nearly knocking her over. They both staggered, and he grabbed her around the waist to steady her.
"Let go!" Eyes blazing furiously, she swung around in his arm.
"Easy, lass." Hurriedly he withdrew his arm, but allowed his hand to linger near her waist.
Stepping back brought her up against the wall of the corridor, and realizing that she'd just done the retreating, Des immediately stepped forward. Which was an interesting move for Simon, because that one step brought them almost breast to chest. There were only a couple of inches between them.
Hands on her hips, Des narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about, trader?"
He was beginning to find her frown cute. It made her fine little nose wrinkle slightly. "Dinner?"
"You are inviting me to dinner?"
"'Twould seem so."
"I don't do dinners."
"Neither do I." Simon grinned. "I usually do wenches."
"Well, you won't be doing me, let me give you the tip."
"Says who?"
Almost immediately the pupils in her eyes dilated. Oops. But he couldn't deny that he awaited her reaction with fascination. Suns, I must have a death wish!
Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared and a faint red tinged her high cheekbones.
Simon quirked one brow, staring her down boldly ... and challengingly. Aye, I have a death wish.
"Would you care to repeat what you just said?" Des's voice was dangerously low.
"Says who?" For the life of him, Simon couldn't believe he was baiting her so unmercifully. What the hell had gotten into him?
'Twas more like who had gotten under his skin.
Des's fists clenched and she drew in a deep breath, which caused the full mounds of her breasts to rise mouth-wateringly and brush against his chest.
Heat immediately flared through Simon, so hot and quick it took him by surprise.
Then her soft lips, instead of thinning in anger, pursed up, and that was his undoing. Seeing those soft lips rounding, their plumpness only accentuated by her facial expression, the desire to taste them, to feel their texture, swept through him, and without another thought Simon took one long step forward, forcing her back against the wall. Bracing one forearm against the wall just near her head, he caught her chin in the other hand and angled her head expertly.
There was a flash of surprise followed by fury in her beautiful eyes right before he lowered his mouth to hers.
Her plump lips were amazingly soft, warm, silky-smooth. Damp. It was like a touch of paradise, and when Simon moaned in appreciation, those amazing lips opened slightly.
Taking immediate advantage to deepen the kiss, Simon slid his tongue past the plumpness to the warm cavern beyond. She tasted like warm honey, rich and sweet and so, so delicious. He felt like he could drink from her forever, and wallow in the hot richness decadently.
Simon's thumb stayed under her chin, but his fingers spread out slowly across her cheek to cradle it gently.
He was feeling anything but gentle. Desire was filling him, heady and carnal, and his kiss became more firm, more demanding, more rapacious. Their surroundings didn't cross his mind, the fact that any of his friends could have seen them. All he was aware of was the wench he was pressed against, Des's softness, her strength, and her so hotly sweet lips.
Sparks sizzled to life inside him, and his hand slid down from her cheek, over her collarbone in a gentle glide, and down further to where the swell of her breast pressed against his chest. Moving back a little to allow his hand room to explore further, Simon lifted his head to gaze down at her.
Her eyes were closed, her lips red and slightly swollen from his kiss, and when her thick lashes lifted he could see the languorous expression in them, and the way the pale brown of her irises seemed to have darkened to a deep yellow/brown that made him want to gaze into their startling depths forever.
"Des..." he breathed huskily.
And that was a mistake he registered almost instantly when she blinked, and the languorousness of her eyes sharpened into awareness then outraged anger. Those soft, swollen lips pulled tight, and Des swore.
"Lass---" he began, every wary instinct springing to the fore.
"Get back from me!"
"Now, lass, calm down---" He stopped when he felt a hard jab in his side. The wench had pulled a laser on him. Somehow he wasn't surprised, and with a little sigh of resignation, he stepped back. "Des, 'tis no need to be hasty---"
"I ought to blow your Goddamn head off!" She raged. "What kind of stunt do you think you're pulling, trader?"
"'Twas just a kiss---"
"No one kisses me!"
I just did and 'twas damned sweet. "I'm sorry." Not. "I just---"
Des's nostrils flared, her cheeks tinged with red. To say she was furious was putting it mildly. "You stay out of my way, Daamen. You come anywhere near me, and I'm going to blow a bloody great hole in you so wide your trade ship can pass through it. You understand?"
"I understand you're angry."
"You want to know how angry I am?"
Going by her expression, Simon wondered whether he should even answer. "Er---"
Then he didn't have to, because she moved fast. Kicking one heel behind his knee, she reached across with her free hand and grabbed his vest. Using her weight and the momentum of the movement, she yanked him around while he overbalanced. In seconds he found himself back against the wall with her forearm pressed across his throat, and the laser barrel pressed into his crotch.
The wench was practically breathing fire.
Standing on the ridge, Tyson watched the fight happening in the middle of the settlement far below him. Peacekeepers were managing to hold the group of outlaws back, but it was taking its toll on them. Four peacekeepers were dead or injured, he couldn't rightly tell from where he stood, but he knew they were down on the ground.
So were six outlaws. That left five outlaws still standing, and four peacekeepers. Unfortunately, the four remaining peacekeepers were wily and seasoned, and stayed under cover.
Lowering the visual viewers, Tyson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It wasn't time to go in firing all lasers from both hand and spaceship. He hadn't got the word yet, which meant it still hadn't been found.
Touching the communication receiver in his ear, he said, "Ruan, the peacekeeper numbers are down. Any word yet?"
"It's a no-go," Ruan's voice answered. "Pull your surviving men out."
"He hasn't found it yet?"
"False reading."
Tyson cursed. "Every time we attack then cut and run, it makes the peacekeepers all the more suspicious!"
"Then we need to work on that suspicion." A new voice cut in.
"And what do you suggest, Levi?" Tyson raised the visual viewers back to his eyes.
"Back off for a while until we get a definite go-ahead."
"I think that's wise," Ruan agreed. "This constant hit and run is causing unnecessary problems."
Tyson nodded. "About time. You'll tell him we're not moving any further until he's sure?"
Ruan laughed dryly. "Like anyone can tell him anything?"
"I'm not risking my men or getting caught because he can't get a fix on it." Tyson scowled and tossed the visual viewers to one of his waiting men. "He can stick the whole thing up his arse if he doesn't like it."
There was silence for a few seconds, and then Levi spoke gravely. "I think we're in too deep to tell anyone anything like that."
Silently agreeing, but not about to admit it, Tyson growled, "Just tell him to hurry up. We're holding off until he has more positive news." Touching the communication receiver in his other ear, he gave the order. "Pull back. We're lying low."
"They're pulling back," Zared stated.
Canute raised one brow. "Is that right?"
"They don't want to risk increasing the suspicions of the law any more than they've already done."
Canute laughed, the red wine in his glass catching the light as he whirled it around.
Pouring himself a glass of the wine, Zared sipped at it silently, his expression stoic as usual.
Lowering himself into the big armchair, Canute crossed his legs and contemplated the depths of his glass. The time might not be yet, but it was coming, of that there was no doubt.
Furious, Des glared up into the roguishly handsome face, the mildly quizzical expression making her want to punch the trader. Just for the hell of it, she put some more pressure against his throat.
"Now do you know how mad I am?" she grated through clenched teeth.
"Aye," Simon just managed to croak out.
"You're lucky I don't blow your precious manhood right off." There was a flicker in his eyes. It wasn't fear, unfortunately, but what else it could be Des didn't know, and didn't care. "You ever try to take advantage of me again, and I'll ensure your line doesn't continue, trader. Understood?"
"Aye," he said again.
She stared at him for several seconds, and he eyed her back with a mixture of wariness and that other unknown emotion he was hiding so well.
Stepping back, she moved her arm from his throat and watched as he lifted up one big hand to rub the red mark she'd left there. The muscles in his massive chest and arms bunched powerfully, but she ignored it. Strength had never scared her, or made her feel awe. It just meant she had to be wilier in her dealings with the owners of the brute strength.
It was something she'd rarely had to do. Able to hold her own in a fist fight with most men, there was only one other man she'd been forced to use cunning against, and that one was a bounty hunter. She had cursed him at the time, much to his amusement, but she was grateful for it now.
Slapping the laser back into the holster at her side, she gave Simon one last glare before she swung on her heel and stalked down the corridor. "Don't bother seeing me to the cargo hold. I'll do it myself."
"Des---"
"Shut up."
Silence greeted this, and she stepped up onto the platform lift and hit the descend button. Turning, she stood with legs braced against the lurch and looked back down the corridor.
Rather than being uncertain of her, Simon was watching her with a thoughtful expression. His weight on one hip, he had one arm folded across his chest, the other arm resting upon it as he stroked his jaw consideringly.
She felt the heat of his gaze, and scowled.
Just before the sight of him was cut off, he flashed her a roguish grin. A darkly roguish grin, and his pale eyes seemed to brighten with ... Des's breath caught in her throat as the floor passed from sight. Had she imagined it? Was there a promise in that grin? A threat?
Even as the thought entered her head, she shook it away. Ridiculous! The bloody great lout was just trying to appear unaffected by his brush with her.
Which was more than she could say for herself. The very taste of Simon was in her mouth---clean and masculine. She could still feel his lips on hers, his tongue plundering the depths of her mouth, the hard heat of his body as he pressed against her.
A tingle went through her at the memory. No man had ever been able to press her back against a wall and kiss her that way. The last one to try had been when she was a teenager, and he'd lost three teeth for his efforts.
No man had ever tried to seduce The Demon since that day. The fact that she towered over many put them off, as did her sharp tongue, coarse words and bad temper. No man apart from her father had ever seen her softer side. Even her one and only lover, a bounty hunter now long dead, had never really seen her softer side.
Simon had done what no other man had dared to do, and the memory of it seemed to burn into her. For just a few seconds, she had felt smaller, softer, wanted ... desired.
Bloody hell! Shaking her head, she clenched her jaw as the cargo hold came into view. A group of Daamen traders were lolling about in various positions in the cargo hold, and three of them were sitting around a crate playing a hand of poker.
Looking up, they greeted her with wide smiles. Hells bells, the cargo hold is a place full of male testosterone and women's fantasies! The thought made her scowl even more, and she strode past them with nary a word.
"Nice to see you again, lass!" The one named Aamun called out cheerfully.
With a grunt she strode down the ramp and back towards the settlement. She'd just managed to put the delicious memory of the kiss from her mind, when she felt a sensation of someone watching her. Instinctively knowing it was Simon watching her departure, she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and continued into the outskirts of the settlement.
Resolutely turning her mind to the work that lay ahead, Des strode to where the warehouse had once stood. The owner was staring morosely at the rubble.
"So, what are you going to do about it?" he demanded as soon as she was within hearing distance.
"Investigating," she replied.
"Investigating? I don't see anyone here doing that."
"I know you're upset at what happened, and I don't blame you, but---"
"How could you know?" he burst out. "Damn it, Demon, this was my livelihood!"
"Not your only source of livelihood, Sol. You have two other warehouses. Anyway, some of this stuff wasn't wrecked. You can salvage it."
"Salvage it?" His face was red. "Salvage it? Your man told me I couldn't touch anything until you lot had finished investigating it!"
"That's true. We may find something that will help reveal who did this and---"
"Outlaws did it, Demon! Outlaws! Any idiot can see that!"
"I agree." She was starting to get irritated. "After all, you figured it out."
He glared at her.
She glared back.
Sol was the first to look away. "When will you be finished here?"
"When I'm finished. Got a problem with that?" Her temper was starting to rise.
"Fine." He walked away.
Dismissing him from her thoughts almost immediately, Des started to walk around the ruins, studying it from every available angle, as she'd already done once that morning. It still looked exactly like what it was, a pile of rubble.
Shoving her hands into her pockets, she toed a piece of crating aside to reveal the shattered glass beneath it. Slowly she pushed aside more pieces of crating, timber and assorted pieces, all the time using her booted foot.
Each section revealed she studied intently.
A pursuit craft slid through the streets and came to a stop on the side. Aiken got out and sauntered over to where she stood contemplating the mess. "Find anything?"
"Would I still be standing here staring at this mess if I had?"
He shrugged.
"So, any sign of the mystery spaceship?" Des glanced at him.
"No. Did the Daamen, Simon, know anything?"
He knew how to kiss. Bugger. Don't think about it. "No."
"I'd have thought he'd know something." Aiken rolled his shoulders, easing out some kinks.
"Haven't you got something to do?" she asked sourly.
"I've patrolled the skies until my eyes have crossed. I'm about to go and have a break. You coming?"
"No. I'm going to continue on here. Send a couple of the others back here to help me sift through this stuff." She scowled. "Am I the only one working, or what?"
Aiken grinned. "Huxley is going through the data systems trying to ID that craft, and Raf is talking to one of the peacekeepers about some happenings in the other settlement."
"Bugger the other settlement. I'm interested in finding out what is happening in this one. Tell Raf to get his hide down here and do some real work."
"Righto, Boss." He went back to his pursuit craft and left for the Enforcement Building.
Des resumed carefully shifting aside the rubble with her foot, her hands still in her pockets. Ten minutes passed before Raf and Orde arrived.
"Hell," Des said upon seeing Orde. "You're on foot. What happened? Someone take your pursuit craft?"
Orde shrugged.
A man of few words, Des had a fondness for him. "C'mon, you can tell me."
He started toeing amongst the ruins, one dark brow raised as he glanced at her from under his fringe of hair.
"Did big, bad Aiken take away your pursuit craft?"
"He said you wanted help."
"And you came on foot. Orde, such dedication! See, Raf, now that's a dedicated peacekeeper for you."
Raf rolled his eyes.
"Dedication that would be good to see in my foot patrols."
Raf rolled his eyes again.
Grinning, Des moved further around the rubble. "I am so touched that you came to help, Orde. You're such a good example to the rest of my flyboys."
"Always at your service," he said dryly.
"Did you hear that, Raf? Dedication!"
"I think I'm going to be ill," Raf replied.
Laughing, Des started to move further into the pile of rubble.
"By the way." Raf grunted as he pushed a heavy piece of drum aside. "Adin, the Head Peacekeeper, said his settlement was attacked by outlaws early this morning."
"Sharver?" Stopping, Des frowned. "That's only a hundred miles from here."
"Yeah."
"How many hurt?"
"Three of his peacekeepers are dead."
"Aw, shit." She rubbed her brow, and took a deep breath. "Okay, you and Orde keep searching this mess for anything unusual. Get a reading for any traces of unusual elements that might help ID whatever did this. I'm going back to the Enforcement Building to contact Adin and see how he is."
"He's not happy."
"You don't say?" She left her men to their sorting assignment and went back to the Building.
"The natives in the cells are growing restless," Huxley greeted her as she walked through the door.
"Who gives a vagrat's arse?" Des dropped down in the chair behind her desk and touched the communication sign on the viscomm screen.
A listing of the different Enforcement Buildings in various settlements came up, and she touched Sharver. Almost immediately Adin's face appeared. He looked tired, angry and sad all at once.
"Heard you were attacked," Des said bluntly.
"Yeah." He shook his head. "A pack of outlaws attacked."
"Did you get any?"
"Six. All dead."
"Know any of them?"
"Nope. Strangers all."
"Nothing came up on the body scanners?"
He gave her a look that spoke volumes.
"Right." She sighed. "I hear you lost some of your men."
"Three dead, and one in critical condition."
"I'm sorry, Adin. Do you need me to send you one of my men until you get replacements?"
"Thanks, but no. Replacements are arriving from the academy tonight."
"You're all right?"
"Fine." His smile was bitter. "If one can be fine after losing friends."
"Yeah. I'm sorry." She felt a bit useless repeating the phrase, but she knew nothing she said would make him feel better.
"I know you are." He shoved his hand through his hair and straightened. "I hear you had some trouble yourself last night."
Des drummed her fingers on the desk top. "One of our warehouses was blown up."
"Raf said. You don't know who?"
"The spaceship was fast. The fastest I've ever seen, in fact. We couldn't catch it."
"Damn."
"We had some unknown outlaws in the settlement as well." Des suddenly narrowed her eyes. "We were attacked..."
Adin's gaze sharpened. "You were attacked as well?"
Leaning her folded arms on the desk top, Des pursed her lips. "Yes, we were. And the body scanner didn't recognize any of the dead."
There was silence for several seconds between them before Adin spoke again. "That's odd, Des. Two packs of unknown outlaws attacking two separate settlements so close together."
"Damned odd. I don't like it. I've got the pursuit crafts patrolling the sky."
"Who do you think it could be? We have trouble now and again, it's normal on the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector, but packs of attacking outlaws aren't hugely common, not when there's still a bit of law and order around."
"It's not unusual to have pockets of trouble like this," Des reminded him. "It's happened before, but as you say, normally it happens when some of us are out hunting, then the outlaws will attack while our numbers are few. But as you say, to attack while we're at full force is uncommon. And to hit several settlements at once is almost unheard of."
"There's something going on, you think? Or is it an isolated incident?"
"I'm not sure. I'll contact some of the other settlements, see what's going on out there."
Adin nodded. "Let me know if you hear anything unusual."
Des smiled a little. "Unusual in the Outlaw Sector isn't unusual, Adin."
He laughed. "Spot on."
They spoke for a few more minutes on general things before Des closed off communication. The next Enforcement Building she contacted was Bryce's, in Calton. His news was just as sobering. They, too, had been attacked, but he was fortunate in that only one of his peacekeepers had been injured. He definitely wasn't happy to hear that Des's settlement, Tyron, and Sharver had been attacked.
"There's something going down," he soberly told Des. "Merder was also attacked."
"Shit. That's bad." Des rubbed her brow. "Magus is okay?"
"He's got a broken collar bone, but he was ranting and raving early this morn on the viscomm." Bryce grinned. "Nothing will hold him down for long."
"That's because the man is nuts. The whole damned settlement is scared of him."
"Just like your settlement is scared of you."
"Best way to keep the vermin in this place down."
His humor vanished. "The vermin appear to be multiplying, Des."
The smile faded from Des's lips. "Have you heard of anyone else being attacked?"
"I looked at that, but it seems it was only our four settlements. I don't know why."
"Interesting. Have you noticed anything unusual?"
"There was a really fast spaceship nearby, but my pursuit peacekeepers couldn't catch it."
"Hell's bells. We had the same thing. Did Magus mention it?"
"No. I asked him that, but he didn't see anything."
"Hmmm." Drumming her fingers on the desk top again, Des thoughtfully stared into space. "I think I'll go for a little wander and see what I can pick up from the local dregs of society."
"I heard you managed to catch an outlaw alive, one who attacked your settlement. He was wounded."
"He died early the next morning." Des frowned. "Yucel found him in the cell. You'd think the man could have picked after he'd talked to die. Damned inconvenient."
"Bastard. Anyway, I'm going to follow your example and wander around my settlement, see if I can overhear anything useful."
Des signed off and got up. Yucel was off for the day, and Huxley still didn't look too healthy, though he'd insisted on coming in to work. She'd grounded him to office duties. Raf and Orde were searching the scene of the collapsed warehouse, trying to find any source that might explain the mystery box. Sol didn't know anything about the box. Aiken had left five minutes ago to resume sky patrol. The other peacekeepers were sleeping, having worked the night duty.
She decided to check on the progress of the Raf and Orde, and then it was time to do some shaking down.
A cool wind had kicked up, clouds were building up on the horizon, and the promise of rain was in the air. It was the weather she liked. Rain. It freshened everything up, washed away the dust to reveal the cobblestones, and if it was heavy enough, meant that outlaw activity would be low. Heavy rain in this section of the Outlaw Sector could be light one minute, and teeming the next, making visibility almost nil.
Raf and Orde were halfway through the rubble, and sweating profusely.
"Hard work is something you two aren't used to, obviously," she greeted them.
Raf grimaced. "It's hot work. Have you come to help?"
"See, that's the beauty of being the boss, Raf." She smirked. "I get to give the orders and make the decisions. A perk of the job."
"I take it the answer is no, then."
"You're a bright boy."
A ghost of a smile played around Orde's lips.
"So, what're you doing?" Taking the opportunity to have a breather, Raf looked up at Des.
She grew serious. "The Sharver, Calton and Merder settlements were all attacked. Our mystery spaceship was spotted near Sharver and Calton."
Orde stopped moving and looked up at her. "The peacekeepers?"
"Some dead, some injured. The dead outlaws didn't show up on the body scanner, so their identity is unknown, which means they're either from another planet further into the Outlaw Sector, or have never been caught."
Raf muttered an obscenity.
"Yeah, my sentiments exactly." Des tucked an errant curl behind her ear. "I'm going to start going through the settlement, see who I can get info from. I want you two to finish up here, report anything unusual into the computer for me to look at later, then start shaking down the lowlifes living outside the settlement. Raf, you go with Orde to do it."
"What radius do you want us to cover?" Orde asked quietly.
"Ten miles to start with."
"It'll take awhile."
"Do I look like I care how long it takes? Just do it once you've finished here, okay?"
Unfazed, the men nodded.
Starting to stride away, she stopped and added, "Before you go, make sure you have a decent lunch, and then take food and drink with you in case you take longer than you think, all right?"
"I knew you cared," Orde murmured.
"Yeah, right. I just can't afford to lose any peacekeepers at the moment."
"She cares," Raf informed Orde gravely. "Loves us to death."
Des rolled her eyes and walked away.
"The price has gone up," Jude announced.
Aamun's brows went up. "Pardon?"
"The price of the glassware has gone up."
Simon gazed down at the little warehouse owner. "Would it have anything to do with the collapse of the only other warehouse that has glassware in the settlement?"
"I don't know what you mean," Jude replied, though his gaze faltered beneath Aamun's stern look.
"Sol's warehouse collapsed, remember?" Simon leaned his shoulder against the wall. "He had the only other glassware in Tyron."
"Has nothing to do with it," Jude stated.
"Good. Now is the price still higher than what we agreed upon before we arrived?"
"Times are tough---"
"'Twas a fair price, and well you know it."
Jude shrugged.
"Fine. Let's go, Aamun."
"You'll be sorry!" Jude scurried after them. "There're some fine pieces of glassware in those crates! One of a kind, I tell you!"
"Then I hope you find the right market for them, Jude." Simon didn't slow down. "Because once I inform the Daamen Trading Base of your double-cross, you won't find another Daamen trader willing to do business with you."
"What?" Jude's tone changed.
"You heard." Aamun strode past him and fell into step with Simon.
"Wait! Wait, I'm sure we can talk about this!" Alarmed, Jude ran after them.
Simon rounded angrily on him.
Jude went pale and stopped running.
"We had an agreement, and you broke it. You're not to be trusted, and we don't deal with swindlers," Simon growled. "Consider any future dealings null and void with the Daamen traders."
"No! It was a mistake! I'm sorry, I---"
"It's done, Jude. Goodbye."
Jude was almost blubbering, but Simon ignored him, crossing to the stores across the street. No one made a fool of a Daamen trader and got away with it. From now on, Jude would be blackballed by the Daamen Trading Base.
"What a bastard," Aamun said mildly, as they stepped up onto the verandah.
"Aye." Opening the door to the store, Simon's attention was caught by a fair amount of yelling from inside. "Now what 'tis going on in here?"
Aamun followed him inside, and they both stopped and stared at the sight before them.
Des had the storekeeper pinned up against the wall, her hands fisted in his shirt. He was up on tiptoe, his face red, and still he was beneath her height.
Glaring down at him, she snarled, "You must know something."
"I don't! I swear!" Frantically, he writhed in her grip. "I swear!"
"You swore on your mother's grave once, but that didn't hold true, especially as she's still alive. Now I want to know who the outlaws are." She gave him a shake, making his head bang back against the wall. "Now!"
"I don't---"
"Don't make me reach down your throat and pull you inside out, Nax. I know you supply some of the outlaws."
"Half the damn settlement are outlaws!" he yelled.
"So who bought that big load of food from you, Nax? I know about that." Lifting him up, she slammed him back against the wall.
Simon and Aamun exchanged curious glances. Now what was the wench up to?
Damn, she looked so good, her face in that familiar scowl, her generous curves and height giving credence to her strength. Simon had felt that strength used against himself, and he just knew a wrestling match with her would be really interesting.
Especially the kind of wrestling match he was thinking about.
"I don't know anything about the food!" Nax screeched. "My store boy sold it to someone, and now he's disappeared, too!"
"You never reported that to me."
"You don't care what I sell!"
"Not that, you boofhead. Your missing store boy."
"Boys come and go! They---urk!" His words were choked off when she slammed him down painfully onto his feet.
Bringing her face close to his, she snarled, "You hear anything---and I mean anything---and you're to come directly to me and spill your guts, you got that? Because if you keep anything back, I'm going to hunt you down and spread you from one end of the settlement to the other."
Gasping for breath, he could barely manage even a small nod.
Releasing him abruptly, Des swung around, ignoring the fact that Nax dropped to his knees, dragging in deep breaths of air. Seeing Aamun and Simon, her scowl grew darker.
"Hello, lass," Simon drawled. "Hope we didn't disturb your little chat."
"What the hell do you want?"
You. Simon smiled. "We had come in to buy a few things, but I see the storekeeper is a little distracted right now."
"Trying to breath," Aamun added, the laughter clear in his deep tones.
Des walked across the store, her boots thumping on the boards, her gaze direct as she moved closer.
Simon couldn't help but notice the sway of her hips, but he managed to keep his gaze on her face.
Passing them without another word, she left the store.
"Damn!" The storekeeper pushed shakily to his feet. "That bitch is savage about something!"
A flare of anger went through Simon, and he glared at the storekeeper. "The wench is doing her job, 'tis all."
"She's still a bitch." At the fisting of the trader's big hands, the storekeeper gulped. "I mean, she jailed you mob, didn't she?"
In several long strides, Simon was standing over the now quaking storekeeper. "You'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak about the Head Peacekeeper, Nax. You hear me?"
"Yes," Nax squeaked.
"I ever hear you call her foul names again, and I'll be the one doing the spreading of you from one end of the settlement to the other."
"All right, sure, whatever you say," Nax babbled. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you two had anything going---"
"We don't." Simon's jaw clenched. "But I don't like hearing anyone bad-mouthing a wench who's trying to do her job and keep your worthless hides safe. So watch your mouth when you talk about her."
Nax nodded frantically, his frightened eyes going from Simon to Aamun and back again.
Resisting the urge to knock some sense into the smaller man, Simon swung away and walked back out of the store. Once outside, he stopped on the verandah and drew a deep breath.
Aamun came up beside him. "Well."
"What?" Simon watched as a man ran furtively from a nearby tavern. Instinctively knowing that Des had to be inside, and his curiosity piqued, he stepped down off the verandah.
"You've got the bad-tempered Head Peacekeeper on your mind."
"I just don't like hearing---"
"Anyone bad-mouthing her, aye, I heard. But, Simon, I'm thinking 'tis a little different this time."
"Nonsense." He started towards the tavern.
"Mmm." Aamun murmured, but he didn't say anymore.
Opening the doors of the tavern, Simon entered and looked around. Sure enough, Des was leaning over a nearby table, her hands braced upon it. The three occupiers were answering her nervously.
Another man slipped up the stairs.
Taking a seat at the bar, Simon ordered ale, Aamun doing the same. Keeping his back to the room, Simon watched Des through the big mirror behind the bar.
Her questions were short, her gaze intent as she scrutinized each man in turn. At one stage, she stabbed her finger in the direction of one of the men, and he nodded quickly. Finished with that table, she straightened, looked around, found another patron and strode purposely over to him.
The man was sitting like a vagrat caught in lights, his eyes almost desperate as he watched Des coming towards him. Getting up, he tried to slip past her, but she grabbed his shirt front and continued walking, propelling him backwards as she did so and slamming him down into his chair. Grabbing a nearby chair, she plunked it down in front of him and straddled it back to front. Then she started talking low, but her scowl was still firmly in place, lending her a forbidding air.
"The Demon is working hard." Chuckling, the barkeeper handed the two mugs of ale to the traders.
"So 'twould seem." Simon watched the byplay in the reflection of the mirror. "What's she after?"
"Information." The barkeeper leaned his elbows on the counter, his little eyes twinkling. "She'll hunt down every known felon in this settlement, you watch. She'll have her men crawling over every dwelling that every felon lives in, asking questions and poking around until they find whatever they're looking for."
"She's after information about the warehouse explosion?"
"She's after any information she can shake out of anyone." The barkeeper winked at Simon. "No one's safe. She'll probably try to shake you down next." He moved away when another patron called to him.
Simon half wished Des would try to shake him down. He could strike a deal with her I'll tell what I know---which is nothing---and you give me all you have to give---which is everything that has to do with your body. Having her up close and invading his personal space was a titillating thought that kept him occupied for several minutes.
"Uh-huh," Aamun stated.
"Hmm?"
"Deny it all you like, Simon, but you desire Des."
"Suns, what makes you think that?" Simon looked at his friend. Am I that obvious?
"You have that hungry glint in your eye, and you're watching her like she's your main course."
All right, 'tis that obvious. "Don't say anything to the others."
Aamun gave a snort of laughter. "The bets have been going since that little encounter on the platform lift this morn."
"What a surprise." His gaze strayed back to Des as she left the table and advanced on one of the tavern whores, who looked like she was going to faint, she'd gone so pale.
"A blind man can see how attracted to her you are. 'Twas more than apparent in the cells." Aamun also looked at Des's reflection in the mirror. "Aye, I can't say I blame you. Beneath that scowl and coarse tongue, 'tis a very pretty and intriguing wench."
"If you weren't so besotted with your wife, I'd have to have a serious talk to you," Simon murmured.
"So you're not going to deny it now?"
"Deny what?"
Aamun sighed. "Boy, you have got it bad." Then the laughter crept back into his tone. "'Tis going to be an interesting visit."
The barkeeper came back, settling against the bar to chat to Aamun.
This little peacekeeper could be a delightful diversion while I'm here, Simon mused to himself. I wonder if I could tame her a little? Could anyone tame her? Watching her reduce the tavern whore to a trembling, teary mess, Simon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Nay, I'd not be taming her. A wild spirit shouldn't be tamed. But by the suns, I want to taste that wildness. Warmth swept through him at the memory of how she felt, her breasts against his chest, those sweet, plump lips opening beneath his mouth.
Those sweet, plump lips were now spouting out threats and swear words. As soon as she finished frightening the life out of the tavern whore, the whore fled up the staircase in tears.
Looking around, Des swore again, then came up to the bar to look at the barkeeper, who simply looked back at her with a mixture of respect and amusement. Ignoring the traders, she drummed her fingers on the bar top.
"Leesa won't be the same again," the barkeeper stated.
"Leesa will get over it." She glared at the remaining patrons in the mirror. "Some of these cowards have fled the tavern. I should've put a block on the doors."
"Now, Demon, that wouldn't have been polite."
"Bugger polite, Friytz." Moodily she contemplated him. "What have you heard, anyway?"
He raised his hands. "Not a thing."
"Don't make me come back there."
"I swear---"
"There's a hell of a lot of swearing going on right now. Tell me anything you may have heard while---"
"Desdemona!" The shriek cut through the air.
"Good God." Des closed her eyes briefly.
Startled, Simon looked around to see a buxom woman coming down the staircase. Her blonde hair was piled high on her head, and her brown eyes sparkled with anger. The make-up plastered on her face didn't hide the lines of discontent and harshness that marred her skin. Her plump figure was squeezed into a red satin gown cut high up her plump thighs, and low over big breasts.
"Now you've done it," Friytz said cheerfully.
"Who is that?" Simon queried.
"The owner of this wonderful establishment. Gracie, the Madam herself."
Oh, well that explained things. She was probably angry that Des had scared half her customers away, not to mention reducing one of the whores to tears. Simon settled back on his stool to watch the outcome with interest. He'd seen Des handle men, but not the female population ... unless you counted the unfortunate wench who'd been reduced to tears.
The woman stomped down the last of the stairs and started towards the bar. "Desdemona!" Her voice was a piercing shriek of outrage.
"Goddamn. I thought she was away." Des glared at Friytz.
"Got back last night," he informed her happily.
"Wipe that smile off your face before I do it for you." With a last glare at the barkeeper, Des turned around to face the woman.
As she did so, Simon observed an interesting little transformation. All anger fled her face to be replaced with an expressionless façade. Placing her elbows on the bar, she leaned lazily back against it and waited with seemingly exaggerated patience for Gracie to get closer.
Fascinated, Simon took a sip of his ale, unashamedly watching what was going to happen. After all, the entire tavern had fallen silent in anticipation, so why not do the same?
"Desdemona!" Gracie screeched again. "Damn it, what have you done to my customers?"
"And hello to you too, Mother," Des drawled.
Simon choked on his ale.
Aamun pounded him helpfully on his back, but a brief glance showed his friend also slack-jawed with shock. Finally getting his breath back, Simon scrutinized the madam, trying to find some resemblance. This was Des's mother? The Head Peacekeeper's mother was a Madam?
Aye, she had brown eyes like Des, but whereas Des's were so pale they were almost yellow, this wench's was medium brown, and unless her hair was dyed, it had no resemblance to Des's own thick red locks.
"Desdemona, I won't have you harassing my customers!" Gracie screeched.
All right, maybe there was something familiar in the temper, except her voice could make nails fall out of the wall. Des yelled, but her tone was huskier.
Des wasn't yelling now. Instead, she arched one brow lazily. "I've been questioning."
"Harassing!"
"Questioning."
"You made Leesa cry!"
"She did that the first moment you got her into this game."
"Don't start with me, Desdemona!"
"Okay." Pushing away from the bar, she strode towards the door.
"Don't you walk away from me, Desdemona! You've scared away my customers---"
"Actually, now you mention that..." Turning around, Des walked back to Gracie. Stopping directly in front of her, she allowed her gaze to wander over her mother's tight-lipped face before drawling, "What do you know of the outlaws from last night?"
"You dare to ask me? Your mother?"
Des stared down at her.
"You scare my customers away, reduce my girl to tears, then have the nerve to accuse me of something?" Gracie's voice rose even higher, and Simon winced.
He had to give credit where credit was due. Des didn't flinch.
"How dare you? I gave birth to you---"
"Please, I'm having lunch soon, and I don't want to be put off my meal."
"You think you're so funny!"
"Odd, I'm not laughing. Now, about last night, what do you know of the outlaws?"
The Madam glared.
"Did any of them come in here screwing your girls? Did they say anything?"
"Damn your impudence! I wouldn't tell you if they did---"
"Right. This place is shut down until my men have finished questioning everyone." Des swept her gaze around the room. "Everyone who doesn't work here, out now."
Gracie's mouth dropped open.
Friytz was shaking with silent laughter.
There was no doubting the glint in Des's eyes when she faced her mother briefly to say, "My men will be here in ten minutes. Have everyone sitting at the tables ready."
"Some are working---"
"Then turf their paying lovers out. Ten minutes. Anyone not seated at the tables by the time my men come will be arrested and held under suspicion of evading lawful questioning."
"You can't do this!"
Keeping her gaze serenely on her mother, Des touched the communication receiver in her ear. "Raf, get Orde and Marcel and come to the Tyron Tavern. Everyone who works here will be questioned."
"Damn you, Desdemona!" The madam was shrieking and waving her hands in the air.
"Oh, and Raf, anyone who refuses to answer questions quietly can spend the night cooling their heels in the cell. And I do mean anyone." With one final bored look at her mother, Des turned and strode from the room.
Now the swearing peppering the air sounded like Des. Gracie was swearing a blue streak, her overly painted mouth twisted into a garish snarl.
"Well, show's over," Friytz said. "Unless you gents wish to cool your heels in the cells again, I'd advise you to move on."
"Stars above." Simon stared at him. "The Madam is Des's mother?"
"Oh yeah. And no love lost between them, either."
"But---"
Friytz's face grew serious. "Des doesn't like us talking about her family origins, trader. No offense, but anything you want to know can be told to you by local gossips, or you'll get the truth from Des herself."
A new respect for the barkeeper came to the fore. "My thanks."
"You're welcome." Friytz waved a hand at one of the two bouncers standing near the door. "Clear the room, boys. The peacekeepers will be coming soon. And someone kick out the paying customers upstairs."
Still swearing, Gracie flounced through a door in the side wall.
Downing the last of their ale, Simon and Aamun left the tavern amidst the stream of grumbling patrons. Outside, Des was leaning against the wall, and she looked around when Simon moved onto the sidewalk, the heavy thump of his boots catching her attention. A smile of genuine amusement was on her face, and it nearly took his breath away.
Those soft lips curved so enticingly, and her eyes sparkled. In that second, she looked utterly delightful. Pretty. Nay, beautiful. Enchanting. Mischievous. He couldn't even think how to describe her. Without her scowl, with laughter dancing in her bright eyes, she was breathtaking.
Simon was seriously becoming attracted to her. Aye, he had been since their run-in the previous night, and their kiss on board his ship had lit the flame of desire, but now, with her prickly defenses down, she was showing him a whole different side that tugged at his libido. Strongly. And something else ... a general interest in her as more than just a wench who needed a little sweetening and provided an entertaining and pleasant diversion.
Her smile faded and her eyes narrowed. "Something on your mind, trader?"
"Nay, lass."
"You're looking..."
"Hungry?"
Any trace of the amused lass he'd seen shining from her eyes was gone, and the suspicious and bad-tempered wench was back. "Are you laughing at me, trader?" Standing up abruptly, she faced him with both hands on her hips.
Simon wouldn't have minded placing his own hands on her hips, too, but instead he pasted a puzzled expression on his face. "I'd not laugh at you, lass."
Her eyes were searching, intent, and just as suddenly she shrugged and turned away. "Whatever."
There was a hidden wealth of meaning in that one word that tugged at Simon, but before he could say anything, three peacekeepers converged on her, one from the Enforcement Building direction, the other two from the exploded warehouse.
They greeted Des in the middle of the street, and the laughter was plain on their faces, though they were struggling to contain their amusement.
Des spoke to them quietly, her words too low to for anyone else to hear, and they nodded and moved up onto the sidewalk. Simon and Aamun stepped aside to allow them free entry. Meanwhile, Des went back to the Enforcement Building, her strides long and confident, a purpose in every step.
"Suns and stars and anything else above and below," Aamun announced. "I can hardly credit what I just saw."
"Aye." Simon scratched the back of his head, almost dislodging the scrap of rag that held his shaggy hair back.
"You know you're playing with fire," Aamun observed.
"What makes you think I'm playing?" The words surprised him as much as it did Aamun, who looked at him, startled. "I mean, I enjoy teasing the lass. She needs to lighten up."
"'Tis a bit hard to do, considering her job and family ties."
"If I can get her to laugh at least once while I'm here, my job is done." Stepping down off the sidewalk, Simon started to head towards the nearest warehouse where he had a few last minute things to confirm.
"And why would it be your job to make her laugh?" Aamun asked quietly.
Simon glanced sideways at Aamun, trying to read the bland expression on his friend's face. "Call it a personal perversion. Making the Demon laugh."
"And what else will you decide 'tis your job to do to her?"
Lay her down and explore her body. "Whatever takes my fancy while we're here."
Aamun looked soberly at him. "'Tis not like you to dally with unattached wenches that are not tavern wenches, Simon. 'Tis not like any of us to do so, unless 'tis a specific reason ... such as serious attraction."
Coming to a halt, Simon drew a deep breath, the rain-scented air filling him with its freshness. Aamun was the oldest of the crew, a married man with young teenagers, all daughters. His concern was almost fatherly, and Simon suddenly looked at him. "I think I am attracted to the wench."
"You think?"
"Aye. But 'tis just because of her attitude, I'm sure."
"Oh, aye," Aamun said dryly.
"The lass can take care of herself," Simon added. "I'll not hurt her or do anything she doesn't want."
"Simon, the wench wants to blow your balls off, remember? I'm more worried about you getting hurt."
Simon grinned. "She's a feisty little piece."
Aamun rolled his eyes.
"I'll just work on sweetening her up a little. Break down her defenses with my charm---"
Aamun snorted.
"Get a smile on her pretty face."
"She'll smile while she breaks yours."
Simon laughed, but his attention was diverted by the business of discussing the goods for trade with the warehouse owner, who was more than delighted to accept their terms. By the time they'd finished inspecting the trade goods and agreed on terms and conditions, it was afternoon, and little sprinkles of rain were showering down.
When they came out of the warehouse, there was no sign of the peacekeepers, and Tyron Tavern was back in business, though not as busy as normal. Still preoccupied by the information he had to impart back to the Daamen Trade Base, Simon returned to the trade ship with Aamun.
The Trade Base was more than happy to accept a new customer, but before the communicator could sign off, a voice said something behind him, and he relinquished his seat with a grin.
A brown haired trader with twinkling eyes sat down in the now vacant chair. "I've heard something interesting."
"You don't say?" Simon grinned back at him. "I've heard interesting news, also. I hear Dana is ready to give birth very soon."
"Aye." Garret was visibly proud.
"You aiming to populate the entire galaxy, Garret? 'Tis what, babe number four?"
"The first pair are twins. What can I say? I'm a prolific breeder with a luscious wife."
"Horny toad, more like."
"Speaking of horny toads, I hear that you've gotten all hot and bothered over the Head Peacekeeper. The Demon is her nickname, I believe." Garret leaned forward. "'Tis a hot-tempered lass, I hear."
"You hear a lot."
"'Tis not only him." A dark-haired trader peered over Garret's shoulder. "We all want to know what is going on."
"Suns, Darvk, if you're there, then Maverk must be nearby." Simon laughed.
"'Tis true!" Maverk's merry voice rang out. "Now tell us about this luscious peacekeeper you're lusting after!"
"You're worse than old men. Do your wives know you're hanging around the Trade Base sniffing after gossip?"
"Dana informed me that if I didn't come back with some juicy tidbit to amuse her, I needn't bother coming back at all. So here I am." Garret shook his head in mock mournfulness. "I but do my wife's bidding."
A snort of laughter came from Maverk.
"Well, 'tis not much to say---" Simon began.
"'Tis not what Heddam told us," Darvk interrupted. "He said the peacekeeper is the same Amazon that had a run-in with you some months ago over Oriel."
"Aye." Garret nodded vigorously. "The wench with the colorful vocabulary."
"Seeing as how Heddam seems to know so much, mayhap you should be asking him." Simon suggested, amused.
"We pumped him for as much information as we could, don't you worry about that." Maverk's voice held laughter. "'Tis from you we hope to gain more information."
"Aye." Darvk's black hair fell over his shoulders. "Have you managed to win the lass over yet?"
"Not quite, but I'm working on it."
"Share your plan," Maverk said. "We'll tell you if you're on the right track or not."
It was Simon's turn to give a snort.
"Don't be like that," Garret said. "I caught Dana, did I not? And she's hot-tempered and a force to be reckoned with. I'd say I'm just the man to guide you in this quest of winning the wench's heart."
"Dana had you tied up in knots, Garret."
"But I worked through them. Now, what 'tis the first part of your plan?"
"I'll let you know once I've worked on it a little."
Darvk grinned. "You don't have a plan."
"Mayhap some of us don't need to work on a plan."
"Mayhap you need us to come and help."
"I don't bloody think so."
"I think our track record beats yours. We're all wed. You're single."
"Who says I want to wed?"
Garret and Darvk exchanged looks, then looked towards where Maverk was obviously standing off-screen. Someone said something low, and to his irritation, Simon couldn't hear it.
When the two men in view looked back at him with raised brows, he frowned. "What?"
"Uh-huh," Darvk said.
"You're attracted to this wench, but don't want to wed her?" Garret queried.
He wasn't about to study that too closely. "Your point is?" Simon growled.
"Don't play with the fire if you're not prepared to put it out."
"Aamun said I'd get burned."
"Aamun knows what he's talking about. He's got more lasses at home than you and I ever bedded."
"Aamun has five daughters," Darvk reminded Simon. "Listen to the man."
"I'm not sure if Aamun is worried about me or Des," Simon stated.
"Really?" Darvk rubbed his chin thoughtfully and exchanged glances with his friends again.
More low voices, and Simon rolled his eyes.
"Okay." Garret turned back to the screen. "'Tis the plan now, so listen up."
"What? I don't need a---"
"You need to woo this wench. Play nice. Be gentle---"
"Des had a laser pressed into my crotch earlier today." Simon leaned back in the chair. "Aamun's worried she'll blow my manhood away."
His concerned friends stared before giving barks of laughter.
"Aye, I thought you'd like that," Simon said dryly.
"Friend, you have to bring this lass back home for us to meet." Garret wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.
"I don't think 'tis going to happen."
"Mmm." Darvk had that speculative look in his brilliant blue eyes again.
He was pushed aside, and the blonde head of Maverk appeared. "Never mind these two morons. Now listen to me. You go charging in there and sweep that wench off her feet, show her who's in charge."
"Didn't Heddam tell you she stunned me and threw us all into gaol?"
Maverk stared at him a moment, then with a snigger, he backed out of view. "Back to you, Darvk."
"Gee, thanks." Darvk peered over Garret's shoulder again. "Don't rush things, but don't let too much time go in-between, either. Lingering too long puts out any chance of a fire."
"Garret just told me not to play with fire if I wasn't prepared to put it out."
"We've changed our minds."
"Look, I appreciate your---er---help, friends, but 'tis totally unnecessary. I have things well in hand."
"You don't have a plan," Garret said bluntly.
"I don't need one. I'll go with my instincts."
"Oh, 'twill be interesting."
"I'm a master of seduction."
This was met with hoots of merriment.
"Now I've things to do other than stand gossiping with you three while you try to plan my love life---"
"You don't have one yet," Maverk pointed out. "But give us some time and we'll have you in over your head."
"Aye, 'tis what I'm afraid of."
"You have no sense of adventure."
"Oh, I think he does," Garret objected. "He's the one running around after The Demon."
"I'm not running around after her," Simon said exasperatedly.
"Oh. So you're not attracted to her after all?"
"I didn't say that---"
"Because Heddam said you had your tongue dragging on the ground every time she was near."
"Heddam says a lot of things."
"He also repeated what happened on the platform lift." Garret's brows waggled up and down.
"Heddam wasn't there---"
"Didn't have to be. He said the speakers nearly went up in smoke."
"Heddam doesn't have much longer to live."
Simon's friends roared with laughter.
By the time they'd regained control of themselves, Simon's humor had returned. "Don't fear, my fellow wench-chasers. I will conquer this lass."
"I hope so," Darvk said. "I've a bet riding on this."
"Was there ever a doubt?"
Darvk just smiled, his eyes holding a gleam of something Simon couldn't decipher. But it made him uneasy.
"'Tis time we go." Garret gave a little wave. "The communicator wants his chair back to contact some of the other trade spaceships."
"And he wants to inform the others of the latest developments," Maverk added happily. "Seddam and Carlow's crew are nearby, and said they're going to stop in for a little look at this peacekeeper themselves."
"What? Nay!" Simon scowled. "Maverk, she's not some freak to be stared at! If Carlow comes to stare, I'll break his neck!"
"Ooohh." Garret smirked. "Touchy."
"Mmm." Darvk winked. "Never fear, loverboy, your wee wench is safe from Carlow."
"Damn it, Darvk---"
"We're kidding you, but interesting reaction." He nodded musingly. "Very interesting."
"You bastards."
His friends grinned widely, and then the screen went blank as communication was cut off. Before the curious face of the Daamen Trade Base communicator could come back on, Simon flicked off the screen and shook his head, half in laughter and half in exasperation. His friends were having a wonderful time at his expense.
Leaving the control cabin, he went up to the dining cabin to get some food. Once inside, he grabbed a plate of sandwiches from the cooler and a cup of hot una, turned to sit down and found himself looking at a jacket that was thrown across one stool.
Des's jacket. Placing the plate and cup on the table, he picked up the jacket and flicked it open. A peacekeepers jacket, with a small hand sewn badge. Nothing silver, for it would catch the light and reflect to outlaws, giving away any position.
Just the thought of Des in danger from outlaws made Simon's lips tightened. Almost instantly he shook his head. Hell, I've got it bad. This lass 'tis not one to trifle with, and I need to stop before it goes too far. Her life is her own business. Teasing her is one thing, but worrying about her in her job is another entirely. I don't have the right to worry, or the wanting to. Nay, I'll do better to simply get someone to return this jacket and forget about her.
But 'twas easier said than done. Her flowery scent rose to his nose, soft and subtle and sweet, and he inhaled deeply. Nay, he'd return it himself this evening.
Six shadows slipped into the settlement under the cover of darkness. Using the shadows for cover, they broke up into two groups and each went into a different tavern.
They merged with the other settlers and the lowlifes who dared to show their faces now and again. The outlaws sat and listened, talked, subtly probed for information while buying ale to loosen tongues.
Two of the outlaws went upstairs with a couple of tavern whores, and they came back down at closing time without the women. They left the taverns at the same time, but drifted off into the night in different areas before meeting up at the spaceship. It took off silently into the night, and aboard the ship the outlaws imparted their news and laughed at what they'd left behind them.
The rain was pelting down outside, and Des was just finishing running the trace elements discovered at the warehouse rubble. She was tired and disgruntled, for the elements showed nothing unusual.
Another dead end.
Glancing at the timer on the wall, she saw that it was two in the morning, and with a flick of her wrist she turned off the element degrader. About to reach for her jacket, she swore as she again realized that she didn't have it. Misplacing her things was not something she did habitually, so it was more than annoying, especially as the night was chilly.
Stretching, she left the little information room and moved out into the main office. Yucel was alone, manning the scanner and communication systems.
"Find anything?" He looked around at her.
"No." Opening the drawer on her desk, she started going through the contents. "I thought I had a bag of lollies in here."
"I think I saw Aiken sneaking some out," Yucel said.
"Thieving bastard. I ought to arrest him."
He laughed while she opened the next drawer. Craving a sugar fix at two in the morning was not a common occurrence, but when it happened, she was always confident in having a bag in her desk. Except when one of her men pinched them.
Opening the second drawer, she dimly registered Emory entering the office, shaking the rain from his weather coat.
"Quiet evening?" Yucel queried. "Apart from the two tavern whores that were raped and killed at the Outlaw Tavern?"
"Bloody stupid name." Des squinted into the depths of the drawer. "What, they think it's going to attract more cliental?"
"Who knows?" Emory moved up to the desk. "Thought you'd be interested, Boss."
"No offense, Emory. I feel sorry for the girls, but it's a risk of their profession, and one they knowingly take. Rapes and murders happen more regularly than not to them." She glanced up at him. "I want the bastards who did it found. Now I'm going home."
"But---"
"You're handling it, remember, Emory? You can all handle it, you've done it in the past and you've been doing it for the last hour." She sighed. "I'm tried, I'm cranky---"She caught the raised brow of Yucel. "Crankier, then. I've been up for hours and I want to go home. Deal with it."
"I've asked questions." Emory followed her across the office.
"I don't need a bloody rundown of your steps, Emory."
"You need to know something important. Something really---"
Exasperated, Des stopped and swung around to look down at him. "Hell's bells! All right! What is it? And I'm warning you, this had better be good or you'll be on foot patrol for the rest of the night!"
"Six unknown men were in the settlement."
"So? What's unusual about that? People come and go."
"Two of them were with the tavern whores."
"And your point is?"
"An unknown spaceship with tremendous speed was spotted leaving the area two miles away."
Des went still, her mind sorting out the information rapidly. "So those men may have come from that unknown ship."
"Yes." Emory watched her.
"Yucel!"
"Don't start on me, Boss. There was nothing on the scanners, I swear!"
Crossing the room in long strides, Des leaned over Yucel's shoulder. "How long ago was the spaceship spotted leaving, Emory?"
"Half an hour."
"Yucel, replay the scanner for the last half hour."
He did so, but nothing unusual came up on the small screen to the left of the scanner. "I'd have noticed, Boss."
"Yeah, I know, I just wanted to be sure." Des looked at Emory. "Who saw the spaceship?"
"One of Webber's sons. He was out there lovin' up Nax's daughter, didn't want to be caught, hence going so far out of the settlement."
"In the bloody rain?"
"Had themselves a nice little fire going in a cave."
"Go and check out the---"
"Been there, done that. The entrance is quite well concealed, but there's an opening from which you can see the sky. That's where the spaceship was spotted leaving."
"Damn. I suppose the spaceship left no elements?"
"Rain has washed away anything."
"Did you try, though?"
Emory smiled. "I wouldn't be game not to."
"Wise man." She started for the door. "Right, take me to the tavern. I want to see these girls myself."
"I thought you would. I've had the whole corridor blocked off."
Getting into the pursuit craft, Des relaxed, though her mind was skipping over all areas to be investigated. "I know you've done everything, but just humor me. Did you pick up anything unusual?"
"No." He started the engine and they slipped out of the docking bay and into the rain. "I scanned for anything unusual with the element tracer, but there was no metal that might have been caught in the boot treads of the men."
"Print scanners?"
"Nothing. Whoever these men are, there are no records of them."
"Crap!" Des rubbed one finger over her chin. "That means they're virtually untraceable. This is bad, because they can continue to move around the settlements until someone can identify them. And that includes this mystery spaceship."
"Unfortunately, yes."
The pursuit craft slid to a stop outside the Outlaw Tavern, neatly parking beside another pursuit craft, and the side of the door slid down into the panels. Des jumped out and strode into the tavern.
The tavern owner immediately started asking a dozen questions, but Des held up one hand. "Don't bother me right now unless you have any further information to add to what you have told my men."
He subsided.
Going up the stairs, Des nodded to Chas, who was guarding the entry to the hallway.
"Bit of a mess," he greeted her.
"Yeah, well, some are and some aren't." She noted the equipment at his feet. Element scanner, communications recorder, print scanner and body scanner. Her men did their jobs well. "Which room?"
"Two rooms. The first victim is in room four, the second in room seven."
Knowing there was nothing further to be contaminated at the murder scenes, Des walked to the doorway of the first room and peered in. Chas hadn't been kidding, it was a mess. The corpse of the tavern whore was lying in the middle of the bed, completely disemboweled. Blood coated the bed cover and floor, and was spattered up the walls. Moving further in, avoiding the blood on the floor, Des saw that her throat had been cut, but going by the horrified expression on the victim's face, she'd known, or at least suspected, what was going to happen. And even more interesting, she'd been completely scalped.
The second room wasn't much better. This victim was lying face-down on the bed, a deep slice running the length of her back, the skin peeled back to reveal the spine. She was also scalped.
Des had seen death in many forms, and had grown hardened to it to a certain extent. Nothing fazed her much anymore. But the scalping was something new. She couldn't remember any victim ever having been scalped in her whole time as a peacekeeper in this section of the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector.
She smiled and left the room.
Chas's brows went up inquiringly at her smile when she came back down the corridor.
"I'll tell you later, but not here," she said to him. "Get the undertaker to collect these bodies, then the tavern owner is free to do what he wishes." Arranging her face into an expressionless mask, she went down the stairs and said to the tavern owner, "Can you tell me anything you haven't already told my men?"
"No."
"Have all your people spoken to my men?"
"Yes. Now what about my whores?"
Des scowled, irritated, though why she should be so, she had no idea. It wasn't an unusual reaction for tavern owners to worry about heir money-making pieces of flesh, which was how they regarded the women who worked for them. "Yeah, sorry about that. Seems those two won't be making anymore dinnos for you."
He grimaced. "The mess---"
"That's your problem. We investigate, remove the bodies, and then it's all up to you." Satisfaction went through her, and she smiled grimly at him. "It's going to be a big job to get all that blood out, Phas. Not to mention that some of your girls will be a bit antsy at going it alone for a while. Tsk-tsk-tsk. Grisly deaths just aren't good for business."
His face went red, his handlebar mustache bristling.
Des tapped Emory on the shoulder. "Let's go."
Once in the pursuit craft, Emory looked at her. "You found something?"
"The murderers may have left a little calling card, a little brand uniquely theirs." She rubbed her hands. "They scalped the women, and that's not something I've heard of in this section. Have you?"
"No."
"So let's do a search."
Once back in the Enforcement Building, Des went to her desk and activated the data murder files. Entering the scalping, she waited while it searched the data banks, and several minutes later it came up with several unsolved murders which involved scalping.
Bringing up the files, she placed them on the large screen on the wall so that all the peacekeepers present could study it along with her.
"Right. Ten women have been found murdered and scalped. Some were whores, some weren't, so that puts paid to any theory regarding whore-based murders. Ages vary, coloring varies, and build varies." Arms folded, leaning back against the edge of her desk, Des pondered. "No apparent link."
Leaning against the desk beside her, Yucel squinted in thought. "Places are scattered, so no concentration in any one area. Some were even on different planets."
"But there is one link." Chas observed.
"What?" Des continued to stare at the screen.
"The murders are all within one year."
"Bugger me, you're right!" She smiled. "Well done, Chas." Moving back to the murder file data bank, she searched for any outlaw who had served in prison for murder, and with a known habit of scalping, but nothing showed. "Never mind, we've found a link. Yucel, contact the Enforcement Buildings in the settlements where the murders were committed, and see what they can give you."
"It'll take some time," he answered.
"That's fine. Contact them and correlate any information they can send. I'll be back in during the morning sometime. If you find anything that can't wait, contact me. Otherwise, I'm going home to get a bit of shut eye." Just before she walked out the door, she looked over her shoulder at her men. "And good work. Thanks."
They waved cheerfully at her.
Once at home, she greeted her lycats, fed them and had a shower. But she didn't retire straight away. Taking a seat in the sofa facing the wide glass wall, she pressed the button so the wall slid aside. Now she could smell the rain as it pattered down onto the garden. Breathing in deeply, she relaxed as the chill breeze drifted in and around her, easing her tension. Stretching out her bare legs, she sipped the cold, fizzy drink and watched the rain come down.
"Those idiots did what?" Tyson glared at the messenger.
"They went into the settlement and killed some whores."
"Those stupid bastards! Did they leave their customary calling card?"
The man shifted uneasily. "They scalped the whores, yes. The scalps are hanging outside their rooms."
Slamming his hands on the desk, Tyson let out a hiss of rage. "Those stupid, motherless pricks! Call a meeting in the clearing right now!"
While the messenger scurried out the door, Tyson thrust his hands through his hair and sucked in a deep breath, trying to reign in his rage. Grabbing the glass of wine, he downed it in one swallow.
"Trouble with your men, Tyson?"
Turning around, Tyson watched Canute as he glided almost silently through the door behind him. "Nothing I can't take care of."
"The Demon is no fool. She'll be tracking those murders, and she'll come scouting around." Canute looked calmly at the outlaw. "You need to throw her off the scent."
"And how do you suggest I do that?"
Stopping at the map that lit up a large section of the far wall, Canute trailed his fingertips around the four settlements in the circle he'd drawn upon it earlier. "You need to stage similar murders in these other settlements, make it appear as though the murderer has moved on."
"The Demon won't find us, anyway, so what's the point?"
Canute fixed him with a hard stare. "Because I say so."
Rebellion flared in Tyson's eyes, but he nodded. "Very well. I'll inform the men."
"Also inform them that if they want to go into the settlements for a bit of fun, to tone it down and keep their noses clean." Slipping his hands into his pockets, Canute regarded the other man calmly. "Nothing too violent, nothing that will make the peacekeepers sniff around more than normal. Understand?"
"I'll tell them." Tyson strode from the room.
No sooner had he left than Zared entered through the same door that Canute had earlier. "They're ticking time bombs, Canute."
Nodding, Canute continued to calmly gaze at the door through which Tyson had left.
"Don't you think it was a mistake to recruit them?"
"Not at all." Canute smiled gently. "Because when push comes to shove, those boys'll shove into next week."
Zared was silent.
"And trust me, my friend, when we have to shove Desdemona, we'll need men who can shove hard."
"She's just one woman."
"Well." Canute smiled gently. "She has friends."
"But that's not all, is it?"
"No, Desdemona is only a part of it. When we get what we're after, we're going to need the nasty bastards to hang onto it." Crossing to the door unhurriedly, Canute watched as the hard-eyed outlaws moved towards the clearing in front of his home. "And these are some of the nastiest bastards around."
Moving up behind him, Zared watched silently.
It was early morning, and the rain was still coming down. Standing in front of Des's home, Simon studied it from beneath the dripping hood of his cloak.
It was made of stone with a verandah running all around the outside of it, and an attached craft garage. Unassuming, except for its size. It was bigger than it first appeared.
Walking up to the verandah, he made to climb the steps, only to find his way blocked by an invisible shield. How the hell had she managed to get a space shield around a house? Admiration filled him. This peacekeeper was no fool.
Noticing the intercom on the verandah post, protected by an overhang, he pressed it.
"Yeah?" Her disgruntled voice sounded.
"It's Simon."
"I see you. What do you want?"
Simon glanced around, but he couldn't see a camera, so he presumed that she somehow had viewers built into the intercom. "I have your jacket. You left it on my ship."
"Throw it onto the verandah. I'll get it after."
Aye, after I leave. I don't think so, wench. Simon smothered his grin. "I also have information."
"Information?"
"Look, Des, I don't want to stand out here in the rain and discuss this. In case you hadn't noticed, 'tis starting to get heavier."
"Tell my peacekeepers the info, and I'll come out later."
"Nay."
There was a second of telling silence before she snapped, "No?"
"Nay. I tell you or no one."
"Listen---"
"Nay, you listen. I told you I would search for information, and I did. Now I either tell you inside out of the rain, or I'll go back to the ship."
"You listen, trader. If you don't do as I say, I have other ways of getting the info from you."
'Twas just as he'd thought and planned for. The wench was about to learn that he wasn't the fool she obviously thought him to be. "Do tell."
"With one flick of the switch I can have your ship impounded, and the computer systems stripped of all communications between you and anyone else in the last twenty four hours. I'll get the information that way, if you choose." She sounded bored.
The little witch. "You could, but you'll learn nothing. You see, 'tis a safeguard on my ship. One unauthorized finger on the computer and it wipes out all conversations from as far back as I want it to. Anyone unauthorized even approaching the ship, and my men will have it wiped in seconds."
There was a short silence, and then her voice came again, a flicker of anger in it. "Whatever. I happen to have this message recorded, so I have proof that you have information pertinent to current investigations and will have you arrested for withholding it."
'Tis not nice, lass."
"I'm not nice."
Simon grinned, not bothering to hide it this time. "Nice try, but I'm ahead of you again. You see, if you play this message back, you'll find that my replies are not on here. 'Tis no proof except that you spoke to yourself."
"Don't yank my chain, Daamen."
"Try it and see," he invited.
Leaning comfortably against the verandah post, he whistled quietly to himself while the silence lengthened. The little gadget given to him by a friendly female pirate came in handy for blocking his voice from intercom recordings. He heard a swear word come over the intercom, then a snarl.
Finally Des's voice snapped, "Come in, and be sure to leave your filthy boots and wet cloak on the verandah!"
Passing through the invisible shield, Simon knew she'd entered his body pattern into the security system. No one else would be able to get through after him. What a titillating thought. He grinned.
Toeing off his boots, he left them on the verandah, and hung his wet cloak up on a hook that stood out not far from the door. Carrying Des's jacket, which he'd kept sheltered under the cloak, he crossed to the door and it slid open to allow him to enter.
Once inside, Simon couldn't help but appreciate it. The outside didn't do the interior any justice. The floor tiles were clean and cool beneath his bare feet, and the walls were softly colored with a tinge of lilac. Moving through the corridor, he noted that there were no image photos on the walls, just a few paintings here and there.
Music drifted through the house, and a cool breeze wafted around him accompanied by the faint smell of flowers. Turning a sharp corner in the corridor, he suddenly found himself standing in a large, open room. Sliding glass walls were open onto an enclosed, lush garden, the rain making it seem an even darker green. A little fountain tinkled in the corner of the room, and potted plants trailed exotic and colorful flowering plants in the corners. A large, comfortable sofa was placed to face the gardens, a small table beside it holding a book and a coaster. Two armchairs faced each other on the other side of the sofa.
"I'm over here," Des growled.
Turning around slowly, Simon was taken with the kitchen as well. In an angle of the room, the only thing separating it from the living area was a small bench. It was spacious yet compact, with nothing out of place. The table was an eight-seater. Everything had a soft-tinted color of lilac, so faint it was almost white, but not quite. The tiles were white, the bench tops holding the same color tint as the walls. In the wall above the bench was a viscomm.
Even more fetching was Des, who was leaning with her hips perched back on the table. Simon couldn't stop his gaze from sliding over her, his mouth from watering, and his libido from jumping into almost full throttle. Used to seeing her in a peacekeeper's uniform with her tightly braided hair, or bun, he had to take a second look at the wench before him now.
Des wore a short, sleeveless tunic, the hem coming down to mid-thigh, showing off extremely shapely, long legs. Her bare feet were narrow, her toes neat. His eyes inched up higher. The tunic was held at the waist with a loose, thin tie. Full breasts pressed against the front of the tunic, and her arms were smooth, shapely. The wealth of thick, red hair tumbling around her face and shoulders to partway down her back framed a face that was pert yet beautiful ... and wearing that customary scowl.
"Seen enough?" She growled. "Or would you like me to strip for you, so you can have a better look?"
Regaining control of himself, Simon smiled. "I wouldn't turn an offer like that down, lass."
"Humph. I just bet you wouldn't. Now what do you have for me?"
That was a loaded question, and Simon debated how to answer it. His teasing sense of humor made him want to reply with quick wit, but knowing he'd probably pushed her to what might be her limit---he had no idea with her---he decided to be more prudent. Which wasn't nearly as much fun.
"Your jacket." He crossed towards the table as he spoke, and held it out.
"What else?" Straightening, she grabbed it from him and laid it over the back of one of the chairs.
"Your gracious thanks is accepted."
"Don't jerk me around, trader. I let you in here so you'd tell me what you know." Moving across to the urn, she poured a mug of hot una, hesitated, and asked, "Want a drink?"
It was so unexpected that Simon couldn't hide his surprise. Des looked a little disconcerted as well, her scowl disappearing, so before she could take back the offer, Simon quickly accepted.
While she poured it, unconsciously biting her bottom lip, Simon decided to give her time to recover and turned back around to view the living area. "Nice place you have here, lass."
"My name is Des. Don't call me lass."
"Des. I can't say I've seen another place like this. Did you design it?"
"With help from my father." Coming up to stand beside him, she handed him the mug.
Accepting it, he blew on the hot, aromatic beverage while looking out into the garden. "Beautiful."
"It's a peaceful place. Gets me away from everything."
Simon glanced down at her, catching a softening of her features just as he heard a low hiss. Looking towards the sound, he saw a big, hybrid lycat padding through a door on the other side of the room. He'd never seen one so big, it was the size of a large hound. Yellow eyes stared at him, and tabby ears flicked back and forth.
"That's Fuzz," Des said.
"Does it bite?"
"Only if I let her."
Unsure whether Des was joking or not, Simon watched warily as the big lycat padded up to him just as warily and started sniffing. Suddenly Fuzz flicked her tail, blinked and strolled off.
"You passed the test," Des said dryly.
"I did?"
"If she hadn't liked you, you'd be wearing a few scratches by now."
"Then thank the suns I passed." Simon relaxed, smiling in amusement. "I actually like lycats. Will she let me pat her?"
"She'll come when she's ready. Now Chels," she nodded towards a huge ginger and white lycat padding out the same door, "Will want a pat if he approves of you."
"Aye, but will he approve?" Simon held out the back of his hand, watching with interest as the big lycat sniffed his hand. He laughed when Chels butted his hand with his head, then rubbed the side of his face against his hand. "I guess I pass test number two."
"Yeah, I guess so."
Des's tone of voice made him look down at her inquiringly, to find her staring thoughtfully at Chels as he jumped up onto one of the armchairs and snuggled into Fuzz, who immediately started licking his ears. Chel's purring was loud.
"All right, lass---I mean, Des?" Simon lowered his mug.
"What? Oh, yes." The customary frown wrinkled her forehead, and her manner returned to its customary brusqueness. "Sit down at the table and tell me what you've found out. I take it this is about the mystery spaceship?"
"Aye." Simon sat in the chair she'd pulled out before seating herself on the opposite side of the table.
Placing her mug on the table, she leaned back in her chair and rested one hand on the table. "What is it?"
Settling himself comfortably in the sturdy chair, which was bigger than most chairs around except for those on Daamen and Saalm, Simon took a leisurely sip of his una before setting the cup down. Stretching his long legs out under the table, he crossed his ankles and linked his hands loosely on the table.
Gazing at her intently, he said, "My sources tell me that this mystery spaceship is not from around here."
"No shit? Tell me something I don't know."
"But 'tis not been seen in the inner sanctum of the Outlaw Sector, either."
"So it's from the Lawful Sector?" The frown eased from her brow, leaving it smooth, but her fingers started drumming quietly on the table top.
"Nay, not that anyone can figure out. 'Tis not been seen anywhere, and 'twould seem to be something completely new to all." Simon watched the slender fingers drum a little faster before shifting his attention back to her face.
Those soft lips were pursed again as she thoughtfully pondered the mystery, her eyes holding a faraway expression. Deep inside him Simon felt a little tug, even as his yearning rose to taste those provocative lips. He could remember the taste of the luscious flesh as clearly as if he'd just kissed her moments ago.
"Who did you get the information from?"
Managing to keep his thoughts from his face, Simon politely replied, "Can't reveal my sources, lass."
She didn't blink an eye. "What else can they find out?"
"I'll ask."
"You do that." Catching sight of his raised brow, she added, "Please."
"Why, lass, you do know how to ask nicely." He grinned widely.
"And I don't do it often, so don't get used to it." Picking up her cup, she took a deep swallow.
Lifting his own cup to his lips, Simon studied her over the rim.
"What?"
"Just a little curious about you, lass."
"Des."
"Des." He probed a little deeper. "Not Desdemona."
Her eyes narrowed. "I take it you're referring to my whore of a mother?"
"Well---"
"If you have something on your mind, trader, then ask me straight out. I have no time for hints and tiptoeing around. Nor gossiping."
"Since you put it like that, very well." He took a sip of una. "How come your mother is a tavern wench, and you're a peacekeeper?"
"None of your damned business."
He shouldn't have been surprised and couldn't stop the small chuckle that slipped out.
"You know, trader---"
"Call me Simon."
"I'll call you anything I damned well please."
"I'll trade you Simon and Des for trader and lass." He looked at her challengingly.
She didn't acknowledge it, but said instead, "You had your question, now it's my turn."
"Go ahead." He was intrigued.
"Why do you come sniffing around here being all nice when I treat you like crap? People help me only out of fear, because I push them, but you don't fear me."
The wench was so blunt it was akin to being hit over the head with a sledgehammer. Keeping his gaze on her, Simon emptied the mug of una in several long swallows and set the mug firmly back on the table.
The only sounds in the house were the soft music playing in the background, the purrs of the two hybrid lycats, and the patter of rain out in the garden.
Making up his mind then and there, Simon took a deep breath. "Fine, Des. You're being brutally blunt, as usual, so I'm going to stick my neck out and be just as blunt."
"Oh, this should be good." Swiveling so that she was partly sideways on the chair, Des rested her forearm on the table, leaned back, and crossed one shapely, long leg over the other.
"Sure you can take it?" An unknown emotion was taking slow but steady control of Simon, a recklessness, a needing, a wanting. Everything combined. Even a truthfulness to himself and to this wench who was sitting across from him, her gaze openly challenging, and a little scornful.
"I can take whatever you want to throw at me ... Simon."
"I wonder." Pushing aside the cup, Simon leaned forward, his forearms on the table, his gaze steady on her face.
"This is your chance. Take it or lose it, it's of no consequence to me."
"But it could be." Pushing the chair back, Simon stood up and slowly made his way around the table.
Des didn't move, her gaze trained on him, but he saw the tenseness in her, the readiness to leap up and fight. Continuing to move slowly, he perched one buttock on the corner of the table and gazed down at her.
Maintaining her poise, she looked up coolly, and somehow she managed to make it seem as though she had the upper hand regardless. It caused another tug of tenderness deep inside him.
For a second Simon wondered whether he should go through with it. He could hardly believe he was actually contemplating it---until she opened those soft lips a little.
"Last chance," she said quietly.
And it would be his last chance. Something told Simon that if he didn't face her now, he'd lose all chance. There was nowhere else he could see her privately, and no time would be a good time that he could see. He was leaving in a week, and if he didn't pursue her now, it would be over before it could properly start.
Somehow, any control he'd thought he had over the situation was slipping through his fingers. Fast. How it had happened, he didn't know. Last chance.
His gaze slid over her face, seeing the strength of her features, the steadiness of her eyes, the outer beauty as well as hidden depths. Something clutched at him, deep inside, and he was half afraid he knew what it was, even as he found himself striving to identify the unknown ... and unsuspected.
Des didn't move, her gaze becoming a little uncertain. Her breathing picked up a little, her breasts rising and falling a little quicker.
"Des," he began, his voice low. Gentle.
Fear flickered in her eyes, and she abruptly bolted up from the table. "I don't think I want to know!"
Before she could move past him, Simon acted quickly. Slipping off the table, he caught her upper arms, halting her progress. "You said you could take it."
"I've changed my mind."
"Coward's way out?" He looked at her steadily.
"Prudent."
"And why would you have to be prudent, Des?"
"I just ... I didn't ... Will you let me go?" She glared up at him. "Don't make me force you to release me, trader."
"Are you going to run?"
"I'm going to kick your arse out of my door."
He couldn't stop the little grin that came to the fore. "'Tis my lass." The words were out before he realized it. Hell, he didn't even know where it had come from!
Des and Simon stared at each other. His hands had loosened on her upper arms, but she didn't seem to notice, she was too busy opening and closing her mouth like a stunned fish out of water.
"Don't keep doing that," he said huskily. "Or I'm just going to have to taste you."
Where the hell were these words coming from? Simon was having trouble keeping his thoughts in order. Her nearness was playing havoc with his senses---her scent, her warmth, her very being.
His heart was being tugged at, his libido almost blasted. Tenderness, self-awareness of what the tart-tongued wench was meaning to him, and a rising tide of desire were pulling him in every direction at once. It took every effort to focus himself and force his jumbled thoughts into a semblance of calmness.
"What did you just say?" she whispered.
"My lass."
"And just what do you mean by that?"
"I'm not entirely certain," he replied just as truthfully, careful to keep his voice quiet, not wanting to incite her into anger.
Her lips tightened. "Are you playing with me, trader? Trying to make a fool of me?"
"Nay." He took a deep breath, his fingertips unconsciously kneading the tense muscles in her upper arms. "'Tis caught me by surprise as well."
She stared at him a few seconds longer, and then her jaw started to clench. Recognizing that he was going to lose this last, vital chance, Simon said soberly, "I find, lass, that I have feelings for you."
"Feelings?"
"Aye."
A frown creased her forehead. "Simon---"
He held up one hand. "Before you say anything else, hear me out."
He could almost see her withdrawing behind the prickly façade, but at least she remained standing before him.
Dropping his hands from her arms, he kept his gaze locked with hers and spoke quietly. "I don't pretend to understand quite what is happening. Aye, I was attracted to you. Am attracted to you. I won't lie, I teased you deliberately. But I find that the attraction and desire to tease is turning into something more."
Impatience flickered in her eyes. "You're either lying or a moron."
"Nay."
"You either find me an enigma, a woman who doesn't fall at your feet, or a freak, a woman bigger than other women---who fights like a man and swears, who is the law but has a whore for a mother. I'm different. That's the attraction, and trust me, in a day or so, or once you've slaked whatever desire---or try, I should say---you'll suddenly realize that it's not a true attraction." She started to turn away. "Go back to your ship, Simon."
She thought he might consider her a freak? That he was attracted to her because she was different? Annoyance flickered through Simon, and he moved up behind her. "Hold it right there, Des. 'Tis not sorted yet."
"Is that right?" Turning to face him, hands on her hips, Des raised her brows mockingly. "Do tell."
"I'm telling you a lot, 'tis just you're not listening." He mimicked her posture, except for the mocking lift of brows. Instead, he frowned.
"Okay, I'm all ears. Convince me." Feigned patience joined the mocking.
Life with this wench would never be dull.
"I want your word that you'll listen and hear, Des. That you won't turn away. That you'll give me that chance you promised."
"Fine. Fine." She waved one hand before returning it to her hip. "Go ahead."
His gaze slid down her figure deliberately, but he took care not to linger on her curves. By the time his gaze met hers again, her annoyance was shining in her eyes. Good.
"You are no different body-wise to other wenches. You think my attraction is because you don't fall at my feet. 'Tis wrong. I respect that. Having wenches attracted to me might be fun at first, but it doesn't fill an emptiness in here." He touched his chest. "Nay. It might slake sexual desire, but 'tisn't special. I respect all wenches, be they from taverns or not, but only one will hold a special place in my heart. And once I find that wench, there will be no other for me. Ever."
The annoyance faded from her eyes.
"Do I think you're a freak? Nay. I have close friends who are wenches, and are as tall and strong as you, even some as bad-tempered. But none of them has made me desire to know more about them, or spend intimate time with them."
A touch of color appeared in her high cheekbones, and she opened her mouth.
Reaching out, he lightly tapped her nose in admonishment. "Close that pretty mouth and listen, or I'll take advantage of that open temptation for a little deep kissing."
Her mouth shut like a trap, while her eyes flashed.
"Something about you is different, but only in that for some reason I am attracted to you. Deep inside, where it counts. You're more than just a pretty wench with a bad attitude. You have the uncanny knack of making me angry, something not easily done, and you make me laugh. At just the thought of seeing you, I feel anticipation. I want to spend time getting to know you more." Stepping forward, he rested one hand on her waist. "Des, are you hearing me?"
She sighed and shook her head. "Lovely words, but how do I know you're speaking the truth? How---"
There was another way Simon knew of to show her. If she wasn't hearing, then mayhap she'd feel his sincerity. He slid his hand lightly around to rest in the small of her back.
Lowering his head swiftly, he cut off her words with his mouth. He felt her involuntary withdrawal, but his hand at her back stopped her. He made no effort to draw her up against him, allowing her to know there was space there, that he wasn't forcing her into close proximity.
He didn't force the kiss, instead keeping his lips light, caressing, and brushing across the fullness of her lips gently. Tenderly. Trying to make her feel what she couldn't seem to hear. When she didn't fight, he resisted the temptation to deepen the kiss, keeping it light. Always light, always gentle.
Simon had never done that with any wench in his life.
It might not have been a deep, hot kiss, but somehow in that moment, it meant a lot more to him. A sharing, a declaration of how he felt.
When her lips opened slightly, he didn't enter and kiss deeply. Still he maintained the lightest of kisses, and it was Des who initiated the kiss, becoming the one to demand more.
Even as she moved closer so that her breasts were pressing against his chest and her hands were sliding up his arms, he kept only one hand lightly on her back, refusing to give in to the temptation to pull her to him. Whatever happened now, 'twas her decision.
It was her tongue that flicked across his lips, seeking entrance. Her tongue that slid into the warm, moist recesses of his mouth. Her tongue that tasted him, teased him, mastered him. And when she withdrew, her flavor stayed with him, sweet like honey and just as heady.
It was iron control that kept Simon from kissing her back hard, long and deep. He sipped at her lips, carefully, gently, just as he kept his hand light on her back.
He could feel her heart beating rapidly against his chest, she was pressed so tightly against him. No doubt she would be able to feel his own thundering heartbeat, because it sure as hell was going wild.
And no doubt she could feel his erection, too. He couldn't remember ever getting this hard so quick, his staff swelling in his pants, lifting up to nudge the apex of her thighs. When she shifted slightly, one arm curling around his neck, his staff fitted snugly in the little gap caused by her movements.
It didn't seem as though she noticed. Her soft moan was passion-filled, and Simon's heart leaped when her other hand slid beneath his vest to glide up the heated skin of his back. He half expected her to shove him away suddenly, but instead both of her hands drifted to his vest and pulled it down over his shoulders until it fell free. He shifted his hand from her back only enough to allow it to fall to the floor, then replaced his hand again on her.
Her fingers entangled in his hair and she tugged gently so that he bent over enough to allow her to glide her lips in a hot trail from his mouth to this throat, where she pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses, the tip of her tongue touching the pulse where it beat heavily in the side of his throat.
When she nuzzled just below his ear, delicious goose bumps shivered across Simon's skin, and he couldn't stop the moan that slipped free. She laughed softly, her breath a hot puff against his skin, making him bite his lip as his eyes drifted shut.
Sparks were skittering under his skin, his groin heavy. The muscles in his stomach clenched when her fingertips trailed lightly over them. His breath caught when at the same time she fastened her lips over his pulse and sucked long and slow, she also moved her hand down to cup his erection through the material of his pants.
God above! He was going to go insane in a minute! But he had to hold on, a little voice in his head insisted, hold on. Hold on or lose her.
Des's hand slid back up and without hesitation she slid her fingers down the front of his pants, encountering the throbbing head of his staff almost immediately. Her hand slid down the hard, thickened length, and Simon just about saw stars when she wrapped him in her palm and gave his manhood a long, slow pull, firm but not hard, small but definite. He almost lost control right then and there, but then she did the unthinkable.
In one swift movement she dropped to her knees before him, her hands peeling his pants down as she did so.
Simon couldn't believe it. It had gone further than he'd ever expected. She'd gone further than he'd ever expected. The wench was kneeling before him, her eyes hotly looking up at him.
"Brace your hands on the table behind you," she huskily ordered. "And lean back."
Oh God, aye! Whatever you order!
There was no subtleness about her, no false sense of hesitation or modesty. She watched him as she moved forward, her hands gripping his lean hips. The desire in her eyes was almost scorching, an unleashed passion that made her look hot, sultry, and seductive all at once.
Slipping one finger around the base of his manhood, she firmly pulled his staff back from where it rose against his stomach, her finger sliding up the length a little as it was drawn back until the tip of his penis was pointed directly at her mouth.
Simon could hear his own panting, his heart thundering in his ears. Every muscle in his body was tense with anticipation, hungry, his nerves stretched like fine wire about to snap with the lightest touch.
The slow lick of her lips was a hedonistic touch, and one she was fully aware of, going by the carnal smile that curved those full lips.
Simon gasped then gritted his teeth against the urge to wrap his hand in her hair and pull her teasing, pouting lips to his engorged staff. His fingers gripped the edge of the table so tightly that every knuckle was white. He wouldn't have been surprised if he left the indents of his fingers in the wood.
Keeping her hot gaze locked with his, Des moved forward and kissed the end of his staff.
Simon's knees nearly buckled when she blew on the tip, lightly, but in such a small motion that the whirl of air was unexpectedly sharp. Deliciously sharp. And then her tongue came out and played with the tip of his penis, flicking at the slit, and he threw his head back, unable to watch and remain sane. The muscles in his neck strained as he gritted his teeth, holding on as a wave of pure prurience crashed through him, threatening to overwhelm him.
"Keep control," Des's voice sounded dimly, husky but authoritative.
Sucking in deep breaths of air, he tried to reign in the almost painful pleasure that ricocheted through him.
Then he felt an incredible sensation as the tip of her tongue entered the slit in the head of his staff and thrust in the minutest movement, withdrawing the tip before pushing it back in the tiny bit it would allow.
"Oh God. Oh God. Des!" His elbows bent as he arched further back.
"Hang on, Simon." Her words were a puff of air that brushed the highly sensitized staff head. "There's more to come."
"Oh God, I don't think I can take much more. I don't---oh God!" It was the only thing he could gasp out as he felt a strong sucking right over the slit of his penis.
Sensation upon sensation crashed through him, a fever of eroticism that seemed to burn from his testes to the tip of his penis. He felt like she was drawing the very seed from him using her lips only.
Her fingers wrapped firmly around the base of his penis stopped the eruption, but he couldn't stop the eruption of his frustrated, carnal cry that shattered the quiet of the house.
He didn't hear the lycats' startled hissing or their running from the room. The thunder that boomed from outside was almost deafening, the open sliding glass wall not muffling the fury of nature, but he wouldn't have noticed anyway, for he was battling his own fury of nature.
His arms were locked, his knees locked, his muscular legs braced apart, trousers around his knees, his body arched back in submission for Des's pleasure.
A bead of sweat slid down his spine, followed by another, as the unfulfilled waves of an orgasm were stopped, leaving him groaning and panting, staring up at the ceiling, stomach muscles quivering with tension. His swollen staff throbbed angrily.
But he couldn't recover, didn't have time, because just when he started making sense of what had happened, hot lips slid up from the tip of his penis, opening slowly as the thickened length of his manhood was slowly, agonizingly, engulfed.
Then she sucked, but kept her fingers around the base of his manhood, stopping any eruption of seed.
"Oh God! Des! Please! Please! Oh God! Please!" Dimly he heard himself begging her, his voice hoarse with passion, guttural with need, and full of a pleading he would never have suspected possible.
And his penis was engulfed further, her lips recommencing their slow, torturous slide. There was a tightness, a heat all around him, and some shocked part of himself realized he was sliding down the tightness of her throat.
No wench had ever taken him so deep. Ever.
Helplessly his hips bucked but an arm was suddenly across his hips, pressing him back. Keeping him under control, something his position allowed.
He couldn't think. Could hardly breathe. His heart thundered, his blood sizzled, his scrotum was so tight, so hard, coiling up inside. His staff was rock hard and deep down a tight, wet throat.
He felt the withdrawal of her mouth just as he was about to erupt, and again her fingers encircled the base of his shaft, again stopping him from ejaculating.
Now he was almost sobbing for relief. Pleasure bordered on pain, lust raged, and he flung back his head and shouted out hoarsely. Was he raging? He didn't know. Everything was centered on the erotic acts being performed on him in a way never done before in his entire life. The thunder crashing outside was fitting, the lightening that lit up the garden almost echoing the lightening of desire that tore relentlessly through him.
Then she deep throated him again, this time with no stopping, and her lips came up hard against the base of him. He didn't know what she did, but he felt a sudden wet tightening, a vibration that shuddered through him, and when she pulled back she didn't stop the orgasm that rolled through him.
His hips bucked helplessly, strongly, against her hands, and she let him. And she sucked hard.
Simon shattered, his seed shooting forth, pouring out in a hot stream that felt as though every bit of seed he had was coming all at once. His staff swelled unbelievably, and still she sucked, swallowing easily. Taking everything.
His roar of burning heat was lost in the thunder.
When he finally came to, he was lying back on the table, his trembling legs still braced apart. His muscles were quivering, and his hands actually shook when he pushed upright, bent and drew his pants back up his legs.
He could barely comprehend what had happened, but the delicious lethargy that gripped him, and even the slight soreness of his much-used manhood, made him know it hadn't been an exceedingly erotic dream.
Des had given him the most voracious oral sex he'd ever imagined possible. A Daamen might dream of it, but to be deep throated was not something that they stumbled across every day. Their manhood matched their build, and while wenches could give them great oral sex, he'd never personally experienced what he'd just been gifted with.
A grin spread across his face. Mayhap he should return the gift.
"Des?" He called, relieved that his voice was a little steadier than the rest of him felt.
Silence met him, and slowly he padded through the house, a sense of foreboding filling him as he found each room empty except for furniture. The only living things the bedroom had were Fuzz and Chels, who blinked sleepily at him and went back to sleep.
"Des!" He looked out into the garden.
Rain still fell, but not as hard. Going back down the corridor, he opened the door in the side and found himself looking into a empty holding bay. The door was shut, but the single-seater pilot vehicle he'd seen her fly was gone.
The wench had literally sucked him dry and fled.
"Oh no. Oh no. Oh God." Elbows on the desk, the heels of her hands pressed against her eyes, Des moaned. "Oh no. Oh suns."
The Daamen trader who annoyed the hell out of her was now laying on his back on her table, his staff, though still impressive, lying limp and damp in the nest of black curls between the heavily-muscled thighs. Actually, that thick, limp member hung lower than the nest of curls.
She swallowed, and could almost imagine she could taste him. Male. Strong. Potent. Quickly she took a big mouthful of hot una, nearly burning her tongue in the process, and then put the mug down.
She rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes and groaned.
Meaning to push him to his limits, to test how much control he'd let her take, she hadn't planned on getting carried away and seducing him! She'd thought he'd get rough, try to force her to his bidding so she could kick his handsome arse out the door, but no. The big lout had let her take charge. Without a word.
Well, technically not without a word. He'd groaned and moaned and roared out. While she'd sucked him dry.
The kisses had led to heat, and that heat had led to a desire to taste so much more of him.
"Oh bloody hell!" I am such a slut! Oversexed!
"Boss?" Marcel peered around the door of the little lab. "Des?"
"Huh? What?" Startled, she jerked, her elbow hitting the mug of una and tipping it over. "Oh, crap!" Des leaped up out of the chair, narrowly avoiding the hot liquid.
"Are you all right?" Marcel looked worriedly at her. "I heard you groaning."
"I'm fine. Fine." Grabbing a cloth, she proceeded to mop up the spill.
"You sure? You look kind of drained."
Not as much as Simon. "Of course I'm all right!" Des almost bellowed.
"Maybe it was something you ate."
It was something she'd eaten, all right. "Do you have anything to tell me, or are you just wasting my time?"
Marcel held up his hands, palms out. "Sorry. Uh..." His face brightened. "Actually, yes!"
"What is it?" She tossed the cloth into the sink.
"Yucel said to tell you that Adin is going to contact you in a few minutes."
"Fine." At least it would help take her mind of the dreadful mistake she'd just made.
Following him out into the main office, she sat on the edge of her desk and looked broodingly at the large screen on the wall. Hopefully he'd have something newsworthy for her to deal with in relation to the murders. Anything to take her mind off that hunk of testosterone she'd left wrung out on her table.
Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.
It was a relief when Sharver's Head Peacekeeper appeared on the screen, but he looked graver than she'd ever seen him.
"Des," he greeted her briefly, and without waiting for a reply, continued, "There's strong outlaw activity around our settlement at the moment. Two murders overnight, and one savage beating. All by unknown men."
"I'd have said unknown men weren't unusual, Adin, but you know about our murders last night?" Resting one hand on the desk, she started drumming her fingers.
"Yucel informed me. It's also apparent that the same killer or killers might be doing the murders."
"What makes you think that?"
"My two murder victims last night were scalped as well."
"Really." She frowned. "Now why would the murderers go from one settlement to the other?"
"Not wanting to linger long in one place, I'm guessing."
"You think? What are the details of your murders?"
Adin consulted something off screen. "Two tavern women raped and murdered. Scalped."
"Were they otherwise damaged?"
"No."
Des pursed her lips. "Then I don't think it's the same killers."
"What?" Adin's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because our killers disemboweled and carved our girls open." Her fingers drummed faster. "I'm thinking that whoever is at the bottom of this just may want us to think it's the same scum, and they've moved on." A sudden thought struck her. "Were there any murders in Calton or Merder?"
"One ... and he was scalped, too."
"He?"
"A man, yes."
"Really." Rubbing her chin thoughtfully, Des looked at Marcel. "That's a bit of a slip-up, isn't it?"
Marcel nodded. "One man breaks a pattern they're trying to establish."
"I'm following you." Adin looked grim. "By scalping women only, they're trying to make it look like a pattern, but this stray killing doesn't fit."
"Maybe someone got over-eager." Des stared into space, her mind working fast. "There's more than one killer, we know that. More than one killer, and spread over three settlements so far. And the mystery spaceship has been seen near three of those four settlements."
"And that isn't good." Adin leaned back in his chair. "Someone is targeting the settlements, but only ours at this time. Why?"
"They want something," Des guessed.
"Planning something," Marcel added.
"Yeah. And it involves our settlements, or the people in it. But why blow up our warehouse?" Des mused. "What could they possibly hope to gain by doing that?"
"If there was anything valuable in it, blowing it up would defeat the purpose."
"Maybe they were testing how fast our response was?" Marcel queried.
Des stared at him.
"Just a theory." He shrugged.
"And a bloody good one!" Des exclaimed. "If whoever it is is planning something, then they want to see how fast we're responding. That might be why the murders are so widespread, to see if we're working together, and how fast we're working. Marcel, I think you're onto something."
He grinned. "In favor with the Boss for once!"
"Brown-nose," Yucel said mildly.
Ignoring them, Des studied Adin. "So what do you think we should do now?"
"Well, I think we need to send each other all the information we have gathered, and see if by sharing we can't come up with something more concrete to work on."
"I agree. What about Bryce and Magus?"
"Share with them, too. The more brains working on this, the better."
"Agreed. I'll send you what I have now."
They spoke for a few more minutes, and then Adin went off the air.
Sitting down behind her desk, Des brought up the information she had, added what Simon had told her and filed it before sending it to all three head peacekeepers via viscomm. Within minutes their reports filtered through onto her computer, and she transferred it up on to the big screen.
"Where'd you get the info that the mystery spaceship wasn't from the Lawful or Outlaw Sector that you know of?" Yucel queried curiously.
"From a little informant." Always one to play her cards close to her chest until she was more certain of her facts, Des skimmed over the subject.
They studied the information, but there wasn't much different to what they already knew. Clicking off the information, Des sighed and stretched.
"Well, I'm going to go back out and---" Marcel's voice was cut off by a sudden sharp crackle over the communication system, making Yucel wince and swear.
"This is Aiken! If anyone can hear me, I'm under attack and hit!"
"What?" Marcel stepped forward. "Aiken!"
"Tell us where you are, Aiken," Yucel ordered. "I'm not picking you up on the scanner!"
"You're not?" Des looked at the scanner, but it showed nothing, which was alarming because the pursuit crafts were all locked into the scanner so their whereabouts could be tracked at all times.
"I've been shot at and hit!" Aiken's voice crackled, cutting out slightly.
"Give us your coordinates!" Des demanded.
"My instruments are out! It's around the Gorge area! I---" Static cut in several times, then he said something that alarmed Des even more. "I'm going down, and fast! They're still shoot---" There was a loud whining sound followed by an explosion, then just faint static.
"Damn!" Des was running for the door. "Marcel! Come with me!" Skidding to a halt, she snapped out, "Yucel! Get Emory and Chas out of bed and tell them to patrol the skies around the settlement in case something is going to happen here! Tell them to be primed and ready to fire! Get Raf and Huxley on standby!"
Within seconds they were strapped into their pursuit crafts, Des radioing Orde to meet them immediately with lasers primed and ready to fire.
They lifted high above the settlement, wheeling away in the sky to fly full-throttle towards the Gorge area.
Glancing down as she passed over her house, Des saw a dark-haired figure come out, and her heart skipped a beat. Simon. He looked up as they sped overhead, and Des was relieved that she wouldn't be seeing him face-to-face for a while.
"Orde here," Orde's voice came over the intercom. "I'm switching to communication receivers to enable listening to the Enforcer Building as well."
Silently cursing the momentary distraction, Des focused on the mission, slipping the tiny communication receiver into her ear and ensuring it was secure. Marcel did the same, and now it was as though they were sitting in the same room as Yucel.
"We have to go in carefully." Des checked her seat restraints. "Aiken didn't have time to tell us who or how many were blasting at him."
"It can't be good if they managed to take him out of the sky," Marcel said grimly. "He's one of our best flyers."
"Too right."
Keeping talk down to a minimum, Des swore when Yucel suddenly spoke sharply. "I've lost you on the scanner!"
"What?" Marcel barked out.
"The scanner. You've disappeared from it!"
"Then get us the bloody hell back on!" Des snapped. "If there's an emergency, we need visual with you!"
"I'm trying, I'm trying!" He sounded panicked. "Hell!"
"Just settle down, Yucel." Orde's voice calmly came through communication receivers. "Go through the procedures one by one. You know what to do. You're one of our best communications and scanner operators."
"I just don't know what's going on!" Yucel took a deep breath, audible in the communication receivers.
"Keep working on it," Des said tightly.
Orde's pursuit craft came up on Des's left, and she nodded to him through the space shield.
The pursuit crafts soared through the sky towards the Gorge area, twenty miles north of Tyron.
Rain pattered from the sky, a light drizzle that gradually gave way to clouds and then sun. Below them the ground changed from green grasslands to dust and mounds with the odd cave.
Ten minutes passed and then Orde's voice came through. "I can see Aiken's craft. To the left."
Looking out the shield, Des spotted it in the distance. Smoke came from the back of it, and a couple of men were making their way warily towards it, lasers held out. "Have you got us on scanner yet, Yucel?"
"No, I---" Static sounded loudly in Des's communication receiver and Yucel's voice disappeared.
"Boss, I've lost Yucel," Marcel growled.
"Same," Orde added.
"Damn." Could anything else go wrong? Des shook her head in disgust. "Let's hope he picks us up again soon. I'm not picking any fighter craft up on our scanners. How about you two?"
"Nothing," Marcel said, and Orde agreed.
"Then let's go in."
Orde soared ahead, skimming low over the men, wheeling away as they raised their lasers and fired. In the dirt not far from the downed craft, Aiken was trying to crawl towards a hill. One of his legs was dragging uselessly in the dirt.
"We've got a man down," Des said. "Marcel, you go up and see what you can spot of the lay of the land. Orde you continue as you are and I'll go straight down the middle. If you continue to draw the fire of those outlaws, I might be able to land and get Aiken aboard my craft."
Marcel circled around in the sky, and Orde continued to draw the outlaws' fire, keeping them back from where Aiken was still trying to crawl towards the cave.
Then it came out from under what everyone had presumed to be a pile of rock and dust. The ship flew out with amazing speed, dirt flying up and rock shattering. The spaceship was long, sleek and fast, faster than anything the peacekeepers had ever seen in their lives.
Behind it came two small fighters.
"What the hell?" Des swore. "They weren't on the scanners!"
"Must be using blockers," Orde said.
"Bloody illegal paraphernalia!"
"We can take the fighters," Marcel said grimly.
Des had no doubt they could, until the mystery ship started dodging between the pursuit crafts, making them all veer and wheel away, the speed with which it did so enabling the smaller fighters to expertly come underneath or over it and behind the pursuit crafts.
Orde tried to get on the tail of one of the fighters, but it flew under the mystery ship, which in turn veered away quickly, and Orde had to pull up sharply, swearing hard, to avoid a collision with Des's craft. His laser fire almost scraped the cabin of her pursuit craft.
"Bastard!" Des yelled.
"Sorry Boss," Orde said. "I didn't---"
"Not you, that bloody ship! If I get my hands on the pilots, I'll rip their lungs out!"
A third little fighter appeared, and now the chase was on in the sky. The outlaw fighters had obvious knowledge of the mystery ship, and were able to follow its course with no problems.
"What's going on?" Yucel demanded.
"I wondered where you'd gone!" Des hung on grimly as she flipped the pursuit craft upside down to dodge laser fire. "We're in the middle of a bloody tea party, what do you think?"
"You keep flickering off the scanner---" His words cut off.
"What the hell is happening to communications?" Des demanded.
Concentrating on flying, Marcel didn't answer her, but his cursing was clear when his craft got hit, and it careered out of the sky to land in a pile of dirt, smoke coming from the back.
"Marcel's down!" she informed Orde tersely, peering out of the side of her space shield. Fire started to flicker at the back of the craft. "Bloody hell!" About to fly down and land, she saw the shield go up, then Marcel was running for the small cave nearby. His craft went up in flames.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Des turned her gaze back to the front of the shield, only to gasp as laser fire tore a hole in the shield and seared right past her head.
"Close," Orde said tersely.
"No joke?" Des saw two of the fighters closing in on him. "Orde! One from above and one below!"
Even as she spoke, Orde veered left abruptly, cursing, as the mystery ship flashed within inches of him, the turbulence shaking the pursuit craft.
Swooping around to try and cover Orde's back, Des felt laser fire from beneath hit her craft, and sparks started to fly from the console. An alarm peeled.
"Oh, you're kidding!" Des keyed in the damage report program, only to scowl as she read it on the screen. "I'm going down, Orde!"
"I'll try to draw the fighters off you!"
"Just watch your own arse, Orde! I---crap! To your left! Your left! From under that damned ship---" She didn't have time to finish before her craft shuddered and veered sharply downward.
Clenching her teeth, Des tried to regain control. She managed to sluice it around and aim in the direction of the cave. Bracing herself for the impact, she held onto the steering levers as the pursuit vehicle crashed onto the earth, sand spraying up.
Air bags burst around her from the sides, top and front, giving her a measure of protection, but a huge section of shattered shield wrenched from its twisted framework sliced though the airbag on Des's right, the sharp edge cutting her just above her temple.
She didn't even know she'd been cut until the blood started to trickle down her face.
Catching her breath, she battled her way through the airbags, and suddenly they deflated. Blinking, she tried to orientate her shaken senses. Dimly she registered Orde's smoking pursuit craft not far from her, the back already in flames. His door was open and he was scrambling from the ruins, a manblaster and the survival pack slung over his shoulder.
"Get out of there, Des!" Marcel yelled through her communication receiver. "There are outlaws coming over the ridge! And the fighters are coming back! Bail out!"
"Bugger me!" Unable to open the door, Des hauled herself out through the broken shield.
Reaching back in, she dragged the survival kit from where it was fastened to the side of the door, and grabbed the manblaster from the strap holding it behind the pilot seat. Slinging both of them over one shoulder, she sprinted across the burning sand.
Running for the partially open cave in the small hill, she could see a group of easily ten outlaws coming over the top of another small hill not too far away. They were firing at her but their laser flare didn't hit.
The fighter crafts swooped low but didn't fire at the running peacekeepers, which Des knew was just plain wrong. They had the chance to kill her and Orde, so why weren't they taking it?
Her gaze fell on Aiken lying in the dirt. He'd stopped moving, and she changed direction and ran to him, dropping to one knee beside him. His pulse fluttered weakly.
"Help me get him on my back." She didn't look at Orde, but slipped the manblaster and survival kit from her shoulder.
Dimly she heard the yipping and taunting cries of the outlaws coming over the ridge.
"Move your arse, Boss!" Marcel barked over the communication receiver. "Those outlaws are on the hunt!"
Without a word, Orde helped Des get Aiken over her shoulder, and he steadied her as she pushed upright. Shouldering her manblaster and the survival kit as well as his own, he nodded briefly at her before they both veered back towards the cave and ran.
It wasn't easy, the dirt sucking at Des's boots with every step. The weight of Aiken slowed her down, but she simply focused on the partial opening of the cave and concentrated.
Orde was weighted down with the manblasters, which were heavy and cumbersome, but he didn't drop them. Loping along beside her, he kept pace, ready to lend assistance if needed.
Laser fire peppered the ground, scorching the earth. One flare went right past Des's shoulder, and Orde was narrowly missed when a flare just missed his boot.
"Not far now!" Marcel yelled encouragingly. "Move it!"
He gave covering fire, making the outlaws duck.
Scrambling up the small hill, Des and Orde stumbled inside the dubious sanctuary of the cool, dim cave. The boulders that partially blocked the entrance meant they could stand comfortably, and Orde placed the manblasters and survival kits down onto the ground before turning to help Des ease Aiken onto the dusty floor.
He groaned and blinked up at them before slipping into unconsciousness again.
"How is he?" Marcel glanced briefly over his shoulder.
"I don't know. Give me a minute." Quickly Des unbuttoned his shirt and spread it open. "Superficial wounds to the chest. A lump on his temple explains his fluctuating conscious state."
Orde moved further into the cave. "I'll see how far back it goes."
"Good idea," Des agreed. "Don't want any outlaws jumping us from behind."
Moving her hands down Aiken's legs, she felt the bump even as he let out a small groan of pain. Pulling the dagger from her boot, she slit his pants legs and studied the dark bump in his leg. "Broken."
"Damn." Marcel nodded towards the survival kits, his own included. "There are painkillers in there."
Moving swiftly, Des located the analgesia patches and quickly slapped one onto Aiken's shoulder. Within minutes he slipped into deeper sleep, and she attended his superficial injuries before joining Marcel at the entrance to the cave.
"Apart from that leg, he'll be fine." She squinted out into the burning sun. "Unless he has other internal injuries we don't know about."
"How comforting."
"Well, I'm not a bloody doctor, Marcel." She studied the outlaws who had settled in on the hill opposite.
"And yet, I feel better having you with me." He grinned.
"Don't think sweet-talking me now will gain you back those goody points." She gave him a brief smile, a shared moment of camaraderie.
Orde's voice sounded in her ears. "Boss, there's a tunnel that curves upward. It leads to a small hole near the top."
"Can anyone get in or out of it?"
"Only if they work at it, but we'd hear them."
"Right." She rolled her shoulders. "Is there anything there you can use to hide it from outside?"
"I could place some these boulders against it and hope they hold."
"Do it, and then return down here."
Over the communication receiver, she could hear Orde grunt as he did his best to block the hole. Turning her gaze towards the outlaws opposite, she squinted.
They were talking amongst themselves, crouched down behind the shelter of the rocks.
Peering up, she watched the fighter crafts do a couple of victory laps across the sky, as well as swooping down over the cave.
"Cocky," Marcel observed.
"What makes me uneasy, Marcel, is the fact that they could blow us up in here, but haven't made any move to do so." Des watched the fighters thoughtfully.
Orde moved back into the cave. "I reckon they'll play with us for a while before trying to flush us out."
"Probably."
He squatted down next to her and peered out. "I'd say---"
"Hey! Peacekeepers!" A voice boomed out.
Startled, Des and her two men exchanged glances, and then she relaxed. "They've got a voice projector going."
"I'll cry if they start singing," Marcel said.
"It might be better compared to what they have planned," Orde murmured.
The loud voice sounded again. "Why don't you three come on out and play with us?"
Whistles and jeers greeted this from the outlaws.
"Come on! I promise we'll be real nice to you!"
"God Almighty," Des said. "They're going to talk us to death."
Orde chuckled.
"Now, my name's Stone, and I'm your host for the short time you have left before we come and get you, Peacekeepers!" the outlaw called.
"He's about as thick as one, too," Marcel muttered.
"Now how about I tell you what the entertainment is going to be?" Stone continued, and stood up to wave his arm. "In case you're wondering, this is me!"
"Gee, my heart pounds," Des said.
"Whatever turns you on, Boss." Marcel squinted down the barrel of his laser. "Too far away. Damn."
Stone started to strut up and down the skyline. "Soon, there will be more of us arriving, and you know why?"
"Do I get two guesses?" Scrambling back into the interior of the cave, Des retrieved the manblaster and brought it back to the rocks.
"Ah, you mean business." Orde pushed his dark hair back from his brow. "Don't fancy him for a beau?"
"Not my type." Resting the barrel on the rock, she laid her cheek against the side of the barrel.
Stone continued to strut up and down, the voice projector gripped in one fist. Behind him she could make out the raised hands of the outlaws, their whoops and whistles coming through loudly.
"Firstly, I know you're there, Demon!" Stone yelled. "Big and tall and strong enough to take us all on!"
"He's so poetic." Des sighted him down the barrel of the manblaster.
"You're pretty in a freaky kind of way, Demon!" Stone continued. "You know what I'm going to do to you? I'm gonna tie you down on your back and strip your clothes off, and then I'm gonna screw you every way I can! You got that? On your back, on your belly, in your mouth!"
"He's not very original, is he?" Des looked up from sighting him down the barrel. "Doesn't he have any imagination?"
"Doesn't sound like it." Picking up his own manblaster, Orde returned to her side.
"And then you know what?" Stone laughed. "Then the others are gonna take you and screw you blind!"
The outlaws howled, making baying noises.
Des glanced over her shoulder when Aiken groaned, but returned her attention to the outlaws on the ridge when he subsided.
"And then, we're gonna take you two and three at a time! You've got three orifices, Demon, and we're gonna fill them all!"
"He's giving me a headache." Used to the coarseness and threats of outlaws, Des refused to worry.
She'd taken the job knowing the risks, and she wasn't about to get upset over any threats, however real and likely, until the time came. And even then, she'd go down fighting.
"Don't worry, Boss," Orde said quietly. "We won't let them take you."
Des gave him a small smile.
"And guess what we have in store for your male peacekeepers, Demon? We're gonna strip your men and do the same!" Stone bellowed.
More baying sounds met this, and several laser bursts flared.
"Oh, now I don't think that's very nice." Marcel grimaced. "I'll be face down in the dirt!"
"At least you won't have to look into his face," Des reminded him. "I'm the one that apparently has to look at his ugly mug."
"You do have a point."
"So what do you say, Demon?" Stone yelled. "Gonna do some begging? Some begging for this?" Crudely grabbing his crotch, he made jerking motions in the direction of the cave.
Several other outlaws got up and did the same, hooting and yelling obscenities.
"All right." Des looked at Marcel and Orde. "I'm about to make a little example of this arsehole. It may mean trouble."
"Gee, you mean we're safe now?" Marcel raised his eyebrows.
"I'm just saying it may spark off a little trouble. Are we ready?"
Orde rubbed his chin. "How about a little bet to make it interesting?"
"You're on!" Marcel held out his hand. "One hundred dinnos says she takes out the bastard's legs."
"I say it's his head." Orde shook his hand briskly.
Sighting down the barrel of the manblaster, Des smiled a little as she found just the right spot. Taking a slow, deep breath, she squeezed the trigger.
Almost immediately Stone froze. Looking up from the barrel, Des watched as he suddenly started clutching himself and screaming, before dropping onto the ground, one of his legs going the other way. The other outlaws dropped behind the shelter of the ridge.
"Damn," said Marcel admiringly. "You shot off his dick!"
"Nice." Orde patted her on the shoulder.
"A bit sloppy," Des replied, feeling an immense satisfaction go through her. "I shot off one of his legs, too."
"That should get a result," Marcel said. "And I think it will be very soon."
They threw themselves back into the depths of the cave as a fighter craft suddenly appeared and flew for the cave. Sure enough, its laser guns peppered the ground in front of the cave, causing chips of rock to fly in all directions.
Orde got cut on the leg by a flying chunk, but apart from that, no one was hurt. The fighter craft soared off.
"I think they're making a statement." Marcel crawled back to the shelter of laser-burned rocks at the entrance.
"I think I might have upset someone." Des moved up beside him.
The sounds coming from the ridge now weren't merry, but angry.
"We may have to make a decision soon," Orde stated.
"To run or fight? That decision was never in doubt, nor is my answer." Des cut her gaze to him. "We fight."
Calmly he returned her gaze. "I expect nothing more."
Her gaze slid to Marcel and he nodded.
Des relaxed. "All right, we need to start making plans---"
"Des!" A deep voice resounded in her ear.
Unable to believe what she was hearing, she stared at her two peacekeepers.
"Des! Can you hear me?" The anxiety in the rumbling voice made it harsher.
"What the hell are you doing on the communications system?" Des demanded, recovering from her shock.
"Just do what I tell you---"
"Where's Yucel, damn it? Get off the system, trader!"
Orde and Marcel were slack-jawed as they continued to look at her.
"Yucel is trying to find the outside interference in the communications," Simon growled. "Emory is on his way to you."
"Then who the hell is running the office?" Des's grip on the manblaster tightened until her knuckles went white. "Huxley!"
"Here, Boss---"
"Get that bloody trader off the air and get your arse in that chair! You're in charge, Goddamnit it!" She couldn't believe the nerve of the trader.
"Actually, Boss, the communications system and scanner is open only by being channeled through the trade ship," Huxley explained. "And the Daamens are the only ones who can operate the system." His voice started to break up. "They're leading ... scanners ... on the way to your ... picked up ... position..." Static sounded.
Bugger. Des looked at Orde and Marcel, who were still staring at her.
"The Daamen traders are tracking us?" Marcel queried.
"And on their way?" Orde looked thoughtful.
"Aye, we're coming." Simon's voice was as clear as a bell in Des's ear. "And the peacekeepers from Sharver are also on their way with four fighters. If you can stay under cover for another twenty minutes, we'll be right on top of you."
"You better keep your distance, trader," Des said tightly, relieved to hear that Adin was on his way, but concerned for the big trade ship. "You aren't equipped to deal with these fighters."
"You'd be surprised, lass, what this ship is equipped to deal with." There was silence for a second. "And what I'm equipped to deal with."
Des actually blinked. Surely he couldn't be thinking ... oh. The scene in her kitchen came back immediately, and it was all she could do not to blush.
Marcel and Orde were looking relieved as well.
"We might get out of this with our arseholes the same size as when we got here," Marcel said.
Des couldn't stop the bubble of laughter from slipping free. "Yeah, well I might get away with every orifice the same size..." Uh-oh. Simon could hear everything that was being said, and if he could hear ... She shrugged suddenly. Well, bugger it. It was nothing worth worrying about, not when their very lives were in danger.
At least help was on the way.
"Hello." Orde hefted the manblaster up. "Looks like the outlaws won't be waiting much longer."
"What's happening?" Simon immediately demanded sharply.
Getting up on her knees, Des looked over towards the ridge. More outlaws could be seen in the distance, moving closer, and the fighter craft were situating themselves to face the cave.
"Des?" Simon demanded again. "Speak to me."
"We've got a little situation here," she said.
"Report." Adin's clipped voice was a welcome sound.
"Three fighter craft sighting down the cave," she replied. "Outlaws massing on the ridge directly opposite the cave. Have you got us locked on scanner, Adin?"
"Yes, but we're still fifteen minutes away."
"I don't think they're going to wait that long."
"What's your plan?"
"Fight."
"Your plan?" He insisted.
"Give us a minute."
Silence fell on the communication receivers, and Des looked at Marcel and Orde.
"Right." Marcel rested the butt of the manblaster on the ground by his foot.
"Any ideas?" she asked them quietly.
"What're you thinking?" Orde queried.
"I'm thinking those outlaws are going to rush down that hill at us, while those fighters keep us pinned down by spraying the front of the cave with laser fire."
"Yeah, that's pretty much what I'm thinking, too."
"So I reckon we need to give them a little surprise."
"That'd be nice, too."
Marcel grinned. "The hole in the cave? Near the top?"
"Yep." Des nodded. "We get up near that hole, and while those fighters are firing at the cave front, we go through and come out the top, and take them down with the manblasters. We only need to get a good shot through their space shields---"
"Des, 'tis too dangerous," Simon interrupted.
She ignored him. "Those outlaws will be right behind the fighters. While two of us concentrate on the fighters, one of us can start cutting down the outlaws."
"Des!" Simon's voice barked out over the head microphones. "The fighters will kill you!"
"Those outlaws want us alive, trader. They'll use the fighters to keep us down until the outlaws storm the cave and capture us. There's more outlaws massing behind the ridge, too many to fight in the confines of the cave. Out in the open, with the element of surprise, is our only chance."
"Chance? You'll be killed for sure!"
"Ether way, Simon, we're meat. Laser meat or outlaw meat, and I know what kind of meat I choose to be."
"Me, too." Marcel shuddered.
Orde hefted the manblaster in his hands. "A true peacekeeper goes out fighting, not waiting to be captured by outlaws."
"It's true," Adin said quietly. "I'd choose the same way."
There was a murmur of agreement through the communication receivers from the other peacekeepers flying with him.
"Then don't do anything foolhardy until there's no choice," Simon said tightly.
"You don't tell us what to do," she replied coolly.
There was silence for a second before he said softly, "I'm not telling the others, lass, I'm telling you. Nay, I'm asking---begging---you to take care."
Someone whistled in amazement over the communication receivers, another voice chuckled. Orde and Marcel were slack-jawed for the second time in as many minutes.
Color crept up Des's cheeks. She couldn't believe that Simon had dared to say what he'd just did over a communications line that every peacekeeper in the vicinity would hear if they listened.
Marcel opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she snarled, "Shut up!" So he subsided, but his eyes gleamed.
"We'll go and get the hole ready, just in case," Des said, gratefully seizing the opportunity to continue with what she knew---planning and fighting for survival. "Marcel, you stay on watch out here."
"Gotcha, Boss."
Turning, Des's gaze fell on Aiken. He was watching them tiredly. Moving swiftly she dropped down beside him. "How're you feeling?"
"Like crap." He managed a weak grin. "I'm part of the fight, right?"
"Aiken---"
"No. I can't fight and run with you, but I sure as hell won't be letting those bastards get hold of me, either." Reaching down, he unclasped the laser from the holster at his thigh and lifted it out. "I'm going to fight with you, just not with you, if you know what I mean."
In the same situation, Des would have done the same. They all would have. There was no way she was going to leave Aiken stripped of pride and protection and the respect he deserved. "Fine. We'll drag you as far back into the cave as we can and prop you up so you can shoot anything that comes either way, from above through the hole if we don't make it, or through the front of the cave. Agreed?"
"I'll watch the back and front." He nodded.
"We're going to see about that hole." She touched him briefly on the face, a gentle stroke. "Okay?"
"I'll stay here and ensure Marcel doesn't decide to hightail it out there and take them all on by himself," Aiken joked.
"Good plan." Standing up, Des nodded to Orde. "Lead on."
The cave didn't go back very far, but the angle of the tunnel was surprisingly steep. Almost immediately she saw glimpses of sunshine through the tiny gaps left by the rocks Orde had used to block the hole.
"Let's start unblocking it, but take care," she added. "There may be outlaws up there trying to get in."
Carefully they started to remove the rocks, working as quietly as they could manage. There was no sound from above. Finally, just as Orde was about to remove the biggest rock, Des palmed her laser and stood back. Nodding her head at him to continue, she trained the laser on the hole in the cave roof and kept a gentle pressure on the trigger, ready to fire at the first sight of an outlaw.
The rock came away but there was no sound.
"Des?" Adin asked quietly.
"So far, so good. I'm about to stick my head through the hole and see what's up there."
"Be careful," Simon said at almost the same time as Adin.
As if she intended to be anything else. Brave she might be, even a bit foolhardy, but she wasn't a complete fool.
Bending over, Orde cupped his hands ready to give Des a leg up. Placing her foot in his cupped hands, she reached up for the hole, and as Orde gave a small grunt and straightened, she grabbed the edge of the hole but remained crouched. Straightening slightly, the laser in her other hand, she tipped back her face as she looked up out of the hole, trying to see if shadows were being cast.
When silence greeted her, she took a deep breath and straightened abruptly, her head coming out of the hole quickly. Holding the laser in front of her, she brought it up at the same time, ready to fire. A quick, nerve-ridden glance around showed that the top of the hill was deserted. In fact, there was a small ridge separating her vision from the hill opposite, which was the best thing to happen all day. They had protection of sorts while they got out of the top.
"All clear," she said softly. "Let me down, Orde." Once she was standing back in the cave, she glanced around. "Two can be boosted up, but the third will have to somehow get partway up. How?"
"Easy." Orde moved to a pile of the rocks. "If we pile the rocks in the middle here, whoever is last can climb up them."
"We can all climb up them, then."
"Depends how quickly we need to get up there."
"Fair enough. Let's pile."
They started to pile the rocks.
"How far away are you now?" Des asked Adin.
"Ten minutes. Can you hold on?"
"So far, so good. I---"
Marcel's voice came sharply through the communication receiver. "There's movement."
"Right. Keep an eye out. We're going to widen this hole a bit."
She'd noticed that the rock at the edges of the hole were thin. "Orde, we don't have to widen that hole by much. If we can knock down some of that thinner stiff around the edges, we'll be fine."
"I'll do it." He hefted his laser in his hand. "We're far enough away that no one will hear this."
"Or if they do, they'll be up here in seconds."
"There is that."
"Or you'll cause the whole lot to come down on us."
"There is that, too."
"Why don't we just grab some heavier rock and throw it at the edges, making it crumble?" she suggested.
"Whatever you're doing, you better move it," Marcel said tersely. "The outlaws are lined up and look like they're ready any second to move."
Des looked at Orde. "Okay, fire."
Two carefully aimed and shot laser fire made two large chunks of the rock break away from the hole, narrowly missing Des each time.
"There'll be nothing left of me for the outlaws if you have your way!" She glared at Orde.
With a small shrug, he grinned. "I said we wouldn't let them get hold of you."
"At least wait until they're on top of us!"
"Sorry, Boss."
"Yeah, well..." She gave him a sudden thump in the shoulder, sending him staggering back a step. "You're a good man, Orde. In case I forget to tell you."
"What about me?" Marcel sounded mock indignant.
"Marcel, you're all good men, you and Orde and Aiken." Des took a deep breath and met Orde's eyes steadily. "If something happens, I want you to know that I do respect your work, and as men, you're not bad."
"I'm getting all teary," Aiken said.
"And you're the best woman to work with," Orde said.
"Even though we're scared of you," Marcel added.
Des laughed outright.
"If we move these big chunks onto this pile, it'll be enough for us to climb up," Orde suggested.
Between them, they managed to get the big rocks onto the pile, and sure enough, it was tall enough for a grown man to get up on and touch the edges of the hole.
"Movement!" Marcel barked suddenly. "They're coming!"
Orde stayed near the hole while Des ran the short distance back to the main are of the cave. Sure enough, the outlaws were starting to come down the hill, and the fighter craft were being entered by the pilots.
"All right, help me move Aiken back out of the way of the main fire," Des ordered.
The analgesia patch deadened any feeling of pain, so Aiken didn't even flinch when they hurriedly pulled him back further into the shelter of the cave. They propped him up against the wall in a dark area, so he could watch both the back and the front of the cave.
"Take care." He looked up at Des. "I won't let them get hold of me. Don't let them get hold of you."
"I'll do my best." She smiled, shouldered her manblaster and left him.
Leaving one of her men grated, but there was no choice. If they didn't fight the best way they could, they'd be lost. This was the only way.
Once below the hole, Orde silently cupped his hand and boosted her up through the hole. The ridge hid her from view as she came out the top, and she rolled to lie flat. Marcel came up next. Quickly, they both moved to the edge of the hole and stretched down to grab Orde's wrists as he reached the top of the rock pile and reached up. Within seconds he was lying on his stomach on the hill top.
"Report," Adin said tersely.
"We're up and out." Des crawled over to the small ridge and pulled the manblaster from her shoulder. "And looking down at a rather large gathering of outlaws out for a good time."
The view wasn't as light-hearted as her words. From her high vantage point, she was able to see that the three fighters were lifting off the ground, and the outlaws were starting to move faster, some of them already hitting the ground at the foot of the hill.
"Des?" Adin queried.
"About twenty outlaws and three fighters." Des replied.
"Des." This time it was Simon's deep voice, rumbling through her pleasantly, almost comfortingly. "We're nearly there. Five minutes, lass. Just five minutes."
"I'm afraid we don't have five minutes." Des knew she could very well die in the next few minutes. But there was something ... her hybrid lycats.
If she died, who would have them? The lycats weren't keen on other people, except for her father, but he could be anywhere and might take weeks to get back to her home. They didn't really accept anyone else ... except for one other man.
Without hesitating, she said softly, "Simon?"
"Aye, lass?" His voice was strained.
"If something happens to me---"
"Des---"
"If something happens," she overrode his voice. "You'll take Fuzz and Chels, won't you?"
"Des..." His voice trailed away, and she thought she heard an audible gulp.
"The outlaws are coming," Orde warned her, the whine of his manblaster loud in the air. "In another twenty seconds or so, they'll hit the bottom of our hill."
"Simon, there's no time. I love those lycats. Please, they've accepted you. Take them. Sell my house and take whatever you want in payment, but take my lycats. Please." Not for anything would she beg, but for her beloved pets, Des would go down on her knees.
"Aye, lass." Simon's voice was husky. "I'll keep your lycats myself."
"Thank you."
"There had better be something good in exchange for me agreeing, when you get home." He tried to laugh, but the sound wavered strangely.
"Adin, tell Dad I love him."
"Roger. You boys?"
Marcel, Orde and Aiken quickly muttered a few names, and then there was no more time. A fighter craft lifted above the ridge, and the astonished pilot stared right at them.
"Fighter up!" Des roared, hoisting the manblaster up onto her shoulder and aiming with incredible speed. "Fire!"
The laser blast from her manblaster shattered the space shield and took the pilot's head clean off his shoulders in a sizzling mess. The fighter craft continued to soar up, but she didn't have time to watch, for the second fighter craft was coming up.
The fighter craft started to wheel away, the pilot realizing what was happening, but Orde's cool shot hit the engine, and it shuddered and spun away crazily.
The third fighter soared up and out of immediate range.
"Outlaws coming up the hill!" Marcel yelled.
"I'll take this fighter!" Orde said. "You two take down the outlaws!"
Unable to see much over the top of the ridge, Des was forced to kneel upright, firing the manblaster down the hill. It flared, and shrieks of pain greeted her. Marcel gave up the manblaster to fire with his laser.
Out of the corner of her eye, Des saw the fighter wheel around and came zigzagging back towards them, avoiding the laser fire from Orde's manblaster. The fighter fired off a round, and she swore.
"Incoming!" Orde yelled. "Everyone back!"
They scrambled back just in time, for the ridge they'd been sheltering behind blew out in front of them, part of the hill sliding down in a rain of rock and rubble. Men below swore, but not as much as Des did.
"Our bloody cover is gone!" She cursed. "Those bastards will be up and over in no time!"
"There's no choice! We have to stand and fight!" Marcel rolled up onto his knees.
No sooner had he said so than the first outlaw's head appeared over the edge of the hill. Marcel fired and got him directly between he eyes. He fell back without a sound. Another outlaw appeared, and both Marcel and Des surged to their feet and started firing lasers.
Holding a laser in each hand, Des simply fired as each outlaw appeared. Managing to hold their ground, she didn't look around when Orde cursed, but she felt the laser blast from the fighter craft sear along her ribcage. Running on pure adrenaline now, she hardly felt the pain.
"He's not trying to kill us!" Orde yelled. "He's trying to make us fall to the ground and give the outlaws time to get up!"
"Well he's a bloody poor shot!" Des roared back over the searing sound of laser fire.
"He got you?"
"I'll live! Now try and get that bastard down!" Then the unthinkable happened. The fighter craft got off another shot, the laser fire searing into the hill top again, and this time Des felt the hill give out beneath her. "Oh, shit! The hill's going!"
Enough of it slid down to expose the peacekeepers directly to the outlaws. If they didn't move, they would be picked off at leisure.
"Oh, damn it!" The dirt started to slide under her boots. Des gripped her lasers as the outlaws shouted triumphantly and started firing and running towards them. "It's all shot to shit now! Let's go!"
"On your tail, Boss!" Marcel called.
Setting her boots firmly for balance in the loose soil, Des started to slide partway down the slope, then dug her foot in to stop the slide. The outlaws, surprised, stopped and gaped, then realized their mistake when she started firing.
At such close range, there was no missing, and four fell before they realized what was happening.
The survivors dropped to the ground, desperately trying to get a bead on her while scrabbling for cover, of which there was none.
Laser fire caught her across the upper arm, another across her thigh, a third burning a hole in the side of her calf.
Unaware of the injuries, the adrenaline taking over, Des started to once more slide down the slope in a crouch, firing her lasers. Marcel was behind her, and she dimly heard him cry out in pain.
"Don't kill the Demon!" someone roared out.
Marcel went spinning past her and fell to the bottom of the hill. He remained still.
Something hot seared just below her shoulder, and she nearly dropped the laser. Cursing and swearing, calling the outlaws for everything under the sun, she slid the last few feet to the bottom of the hill.
Manblaster laser fire went straight past her and shot the outlaw lunging for her. God bless Orde above.
Orde skidded to a halt beside her, and they looked up to see the fighter craft swooping down upon them. More outlaws were coming towards them.
"You're stuffed now, you bastards!" an outlaw a distance away jeered. "We've got you good and---"
A pursuit craft soared down in front of the outlaw fighter craft, making it veer off course. Another pursuit craft soared in from the right, lasers spitting death, mowing down the outlaws where they stood.
"Look!" Orde panted into Des's ear, and pointed.
Looking up, she saw the mystery ship appear in the distance, then it turned and was gone from sight within seconds. In its place a huge trading ship soared over the area, turned and started the landing process in front of the hill. The heavy legs stopped the bodies of the outlaws from being crushed.
The outlaws that could run did so, but not before Des saw several of the wounded being shot dead as the more able-bodied fled. They didn't get far before the pursuit crafts started to round them up, using laser fire to herd them into a section.
Realizing the intention, some simply broke rank and ran, only to be shot down. It all ended with four outlaws left standing, arms raised in surrender as Emory's pursuit craft hovered directly in front of them, his laser guns smoking.
"The cavalry has come." Orde stumbled and Des grabbed him.
"Orde? Are you all right?"
"A little scratched." His face was white. "But you look just as bad."
Adin's pursuit craft landed, followed by another of his peacekeepers. The rest stayed in the skies, keeping watch.
"Des?" Simon's voice came through clearly, a slight tremor in it.
"We're here." Her gaze flicked to where Marcel was lying face up in the dirt, but his chest was rising and falling and she breathed a sigh of relief.
"You're bleeding." Orde touched her shoulder.
"Bloody hell!" Cursing at the pain that shot through her from the tentative touch, Des stepped back, only to curse again as burning pain singed its way up her leg.
"All over, in fact." Orde said.
Now she felt the pain.
Sitting in the cabin of his trade ship, Simon listened to the battle going on not five minutes away.
Down there his lass was fighting for her life. He heard everything. In fact, every trader in the trade ship heard every word, every blast, and every grunt of unacknowledged pain.
Going into the Enforcers Building with the original intention of tracking down the elusive wench who'd given him such soul-shattering pleasure, Simon never thought that he'd find himself in the middle of an emergency.
The realization hit home hard when the sound of the battle came over the communication receiver.
Now he was waiting impatiently for the ramp to go down. Through the space shield he'd seen the three peacekeepers at the bottom of the hill, all covered in dust and blood. What alarmed him the most was that Des and Orde were leaning against a couple of the big boulders as though unable to stand upright alone.
Which meant that Des was hurt.
Once the ramp lowered, he strode down it, laser in one big fist. Behind him came his crew, each one armed and ready for trouble. However, once outside, it was more than apparent that Adin's peacekeepers had the situation under control.
A peacekeeper transport ship settled down in the midst of the carnage, and the peacekeepers loaded the four live prisoners into the depths of the transport ship, and tossed the bodies of the dead into the cage at the back.
Simon barely noticed, for his attention was fixed on Des. Blood streaked the side of her face, blood soaked the side of her shirt, and one pants leg was wet with blood. Her friends didn't look much better, but Des was the one he was focused on.
The medic, Moresby, was hurrying along behind Simon and Heddam, but he still couldn't keep up with the hurried stride of the far longer legs of the Daamen traders.
Des looked up from where she was leaning against a boulder that had been blown off the top of the hill and slid to the bottom. The pupils in her eyes were dilated with pain, but she managed to raise one brow. "Out for a breath of fresh air, trader?"
"You're wounded." Two long steps brought him up directly before her, and he reached out with his thumb to gently brush at the blood on her cheek.
Frowning, she moved her head back. "Don't touch. It bloody hurts."
"I'm taking you back to the ship---"
"No can do." She looked to where Adin was hurrying across from his pursuit craft. "The job's not done yet."
"Des, you're hurt. Let Adin finish up---"
"No." Her gaze narrowed on him. "I'm Head Peacekeeper, and this is my job." Her jaw clenched. "Back off."
Simon was out of his depth, and he knew it. Helping injured wenches was something he'd done a few times, but they'd always been grateful for his help, and it had been in situations in which the Daamens had been in control.
This situation was under Peacekeeper jurisdiction, and he had no rights on his side to simply pick her up and cart her back to the ship. Damn it.
Des switched her gaze to Moresby. "Aiken is up in the cave with a broken leg. He needs immediate transportation home."
"Don't tell me my job, and I won't tell you your job," Moresby replied waspishly. "How are you all?"
"Shot to shit. What do you think?"
"With that mouth still spewing obscenities, I'd say you'll live." The medic knelt down beside Marcel. "I can't attend to you all at once. I need help."
"We can wait. How is Marcel?"
"Pulse is strong. He has a head wound which might be the reason why he's unconscious."
Relief was evident on her face and she looked at Adin as he came to a puffing halt. "A bit out of condition there, old man."
"Don't start with me. Stars above, you all look like you've been dragged through the bushes backwards, and shoved back in the other side to repeat the process."
"No. Really?"
Simon noted how she continued to lean against the boulder.
"Did you recognize any of them?" Adin queried.
"No. We were in a bit too much of a hurry to exchange pleasantries---"
"Except for Stone." Orde gave a weak grin.
"Yeah, we heard." Adin nodded approvingly. "Nice shooting."
Simon saw something slithering down the boulder against which Des was resting, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to make it out.
"Adin, I'd appreciate it if you could drop the prisoners off at my Building," Des said quietly. "I'll get to them once we've cleaned up and had a bit of a rest."
"No worries." Adin looked her up and down. "You all right, Des? I've never seen you look so pale."
"I'm fine. Marcel and Aiken, however, are shot up a little, and Orde didn't exactly get away with just a scratch, either."
"And you're bleeding like a stuck pig," Simon said bluntly, hiding his anxiety. "Lass, you need to get inside a ship and be attended to."
Moresby glanced up from where he was checking Marcel. "Good idea, trader. There's not much I can do out here. Get them aboard your ship where I can start assessing them properly."
"His ship?" Des glared down at Moresby. "Didn't you bring your ship?"
"Didn't have time. One of these giants practically dragged me from the clinic and aboard their ship. And besides, there wasn't a whole lot of choice. My apprentice has the ship for several births he's attending on outlying farms. There was no time to call it back. So here I am. I---" His gaze lit up as a small medical carrier flew overhead and circled. "My ship!"
"Actually, that's my medic," Adin said. "But he'll help get Des and her men back home."
Simon was torn between relief that there would be proper medical equipment aboard, and regret that he couldn't keep Des with him.
The medical carrier landed and a medic and two medical apprentices hurried down the ramp with two fold-up stretchers.
"Time to go, Des." Moresby stood up. "Head for that ship."
Simon half expected Des to get her back up and argue. Instead, she glanced at her two men and nodded slowly. "Very well. But first I want to see that Aiken gets down all right. I don't even know if he's alive."
"I'm right here," Aiken spoke through the communication receiver. "And no worse off than before."
Shamon and Heddam came forward and took one of the stretchers. "We'll help carry."
They followed one of the apprentices up the slope into the cave, while the other apprentice laid the second stretcher beside Marcel, who was still unconscious and didn't stir when the apprentice and the medic lifted him over onto the stretcher.
Within minutes Shamon and Heddam reappeared with Aiken lying on the stretcher.
"Damn," Des said as the stretcher was carried past. "Nothing like lying back on the job, Aiken."
"Lazy bloke." Orde started to push away from the boulder he was leaning against, only to grimace and suck in his breath.
Immediately the second medic was by his side, wrapping one arm around his waist to steady him. "We'll get another stretcher---"
"I can walk." Orde insisted. "I just need a hand."
The medic started to assist him towards the medic ship, which had been parked nearby.
That simply left Des. Simon and Adin both looked at her.
"I'm coming." Straightening, she started moving carefully away from the boulder.
Now Simon could see what had been trickling down the boulder, and he sprang forward with a curse. "Hell, Des! You're bleeding all over everything!"
"There's plenty more where that came from, and I'm sure nature won't mind anyway."
"Damn it, Des!" Adin reached for her at the same time as Simon. "You're hurt more than you let on!"
"I'm fine." She swatted Adin's hand away. Almost as soon as she'd done so, her knees started to buckle. "Or maybe not."
"Des!" Simon caught her up against his chest, steadying her with his arm around her waist.
"Odd," she whispered. "Where's the daylight gone?"
Even as her body went limp, Simon swung her up into his arms. "Medic!"
Moresby, who had been following one of the stretchers back to the medic ship, turned, saw what had happened and swore. He met Simon partway and reached out to check Des's pulse.
"Well?" Simon demanded.
"I won't know anything until I've done a full examination. I need to get them all inside and back to Tyron."
A stretcher was already situated outside the ship, and Simon gently laid Des down upon it. With quiet efficiency, the apprentices had the stretcher up and slid into the holding bay of the medic ship.
"Will she be all right?" Worry gnawed at Simon and he looked past the medic to the interior of the medic ship.
"Like I said, I don't know." Climbing the few steps to the doorway of the medical ship, he glanced over his shoulder. "I'd invite you to come, but there's not much room as it is."
"Nay, 'tis fine. 'Tis more important that she---and the others---get proper treatment." Stepping back from the ship and watching the door slide down was one of the hardest things he'd had to do in a long time.
Aamun stepped up beside him and they both watched the ship lift, then soar towards the settlement of Tyron.
"She's a tough lass." Aamun laid his hand on Simon's shoulder.
"Aye." Simon took a deep breath.
Before the traders could move far, Adin met them. His gaze was serious. "I want to thank you for everything you traders did today."
"'Twas nothing."
"It was a lot. If not for you, the communications and the channeling would not have been done so efficiently, and certainly not in time." Adin shook his head. "Des, Marcel, Aiken and Orde would be dead by now. And I mean dead. There's no way they'd have gone down still breathing."
That on its own was enough to make the tension in Simon's gut coil tighter. The thought that Des might now be lying on the ground with her life's blood pooling, and no doubt her body still being used by outlaws ... His jaw clenched. "Do you have any idea what's happening?"
Adin looked curiously at him. "You don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Hmm." The peacekeeper stroked his jaw consideringly.
Impatiently, Simon folded his arms.
"Nothing." Adin shook his head. "Just law business." He gestured to one of his men. "Take the prisoners to Sharver."
"Didn't Des want them at her place?" Aamun asked curiously.
"That was the original plan, but now she's down as well as three of her men. Until she regains consciousness and is able to function at full capacity again, I'll keep the prisoners with me." Adin frowned. "She's got enough trouble with her injuries, without worrying about these prisoners."
"She's not going to like that, I'm guessing." Aamun raised one brow.
"Des might be hot-tempered, but she's got a good head on her shoulders. Trust me, she would do the same if the situation were reversed." Adin nodded to them. "I'll no doubt see you later."
While Adin walked back towards his pursuit craft, Simon strode back to his ship. "Come on. I want to get back to the settlement and check up on Des."
His crew were waiting for him when he entered the cargo hold.
"Mikal is waiting for the word to lift off," Torkra announced.
"Give it. I want to get back to Tyron as soon as possible."
"You did what?" Tyson bellowed.
"Well, it was only one pursuit craft at first, and we didn't expect it to come into the area---"
"Then what the hell were you doing? Didn't you pick it up on your scanners?"
The outlaw blinked nervously. "By the time we did, the peacekeeper had already spotted some of the men below, as well as one of the fighter craft. We reacted instinctively."
"You got him, yes. But you failed, you idiot!"
"Failed? But the ship is safe, we brought it back and---"
"Thanks to the stupidity of you and the others, your blood-lust and inability to think with your brains, those peacekeepers were crawling all over the place in no time!" Tyson fisted his hands. "You stupid bastards!"
The outlaw scowled. "I thought the scanner and communications system at the Enforcer Building were dealt with, anyway?"
"They were, but something went wrong!" Grabbing the outlaw by the shirtfront, Tyson jerked him close. "You were in charge of that little exercise, and you failed."
"The exercise was to put the ship through its paces and go through the plan and practice---urk!" He choked off, blood gushing from his mouth, his eyes wide.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
Giving the body a savage kick, Tyson snarled at the other two outlaws standing quietly. "Take him outside and hang him from ceiling in the men's house. I want them all to see what the next one who stuffs up so badly can expect to happen to him!" He wiped the blood from his dagger with a cloth.
Now he had the chore of telling the leader what had happened. Then again, if he kept quiet ... No, that was wishful thinking. It wasn't just a couple of outlaws that had died.
Damn it all to hell and back.
Going into the room he'd had set-up for communications, he hadn't even reached for the connection switch before the viscomm flared to life and Canute was looking coldly at him.
"Report," Canute said, his voice quiet but deadly.
Tyson cleared his throat. "There was a bit of a muck-up---"
"There was a huge mistake made today. Tell me about it."
"The ship was being put through its paces, and the men were practicing---"
"Put through its paces?" Canute's normally expressionless face was tight with fury. "The energy is not to be wasted. That ship will perform when needed, and until that time, it will remain grounded. Do you understand me?"
"Yes." Anger mixed with embarrassment trickled through Tyson.
"Many men died today." Canute rapped his knuckles sharply on the desk. "They were practicing, you said?"
"For the attack. Just a bit of fighting, signals, that sort of thing. The pursuit craft was upon them before they realized---"
"Your men are sloppy, Tyson. Get them up to scratch or you'll be the one swinging from the post."
How did he know about that? The idea of an informant in his camp was bitter, but there wasn't much he could do about it. "I'll get right onto it."
Canute's eyes narrowed. "I hear The Demon was shot up pretty bad."
"But she lives," Tyson replied swiftly. "The peacekeepers came from Sharver, and she was reportedly taken back to Tyron."
"Fortunately for you." Leaning forward, Canute pierced him with an intense gaze. "Under no circumstance is The Demon to be killed. No one is to rape her, beat her, or do anything to harm her when the time comes."
"She won't sit quietly when the time comes." Tyson scowled.
"Reasonable force only. I have heard she's been injured, but won't die. That's fortunate for you and your men, Tyson, for if it had been otherwise, your whole camp would be wiped out by now. You'd be nothing but a smoking skeleton, and those bits scattered to the four winds." Canute leaned back in his chair, but his eyes didn't lose their intensity. "Levi and Ruan are under no illusions as to what will befall them if The Demon is hurt by their hands, or perishes. Spread the word amongst those of your men who have survived, Tyson. Let them know that she's under my personal protection. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Suspicion is rife. The peacekeepers will know that something is going on now. The operation will be put on hold, and all the men are to go to ground. Understand?"
"Yes."
The screen went blank, and Tyson cursed. He didn't understand. He didn't understand at all. What was The Demon to Canute that she would be under his protection and not to be harmed, but be presented to Canute if the opportunity arose?
What hold did The Demon have on Canute?
And how the hell was he supposed to keep some of the most blood-thirsty outlaws around sitting and twiddling their thumbs?
The traders looked up from eating their midday meal when Simon entered the dining cabin.
"How's the lass?" Shamon queried. "Still in the medical clinic?"
"Fine, from what the medic told me." Sighing, Simon poured himself a hot cup of una. "She's not for visitors until tomorrow at the earliest."
"Her injuries weren't as bad as they first appeared?" Aamun frowned. "She and her men were covered in blood."
"They've been stitched and patched, Moresby informed me." Simon sat down on a stool at the table. "Apparently the injuries aren't light, but not enough to be deemed in danger."
"Nasty business." Mikal shook his head. "'Tis the problem when lasses are out in danger."
Shamon grinned at the younger trader. "I'll be sure to mention how you feel to Sabra and the Reekas."
"Do that, and I'll be the one in danger," Mikal retorted amidst the laughter of his friends.
"Come, now," Heddam chided him. "You've been around the wenches long enough to realize that some of them can hold their own against the male of the species."
"After all, look how many of us have been tamed by them already," Kel added.
"And just be grateful that none of them can hear you now." Heddam took a mouthful of stew and shook his head. "They'd have you strung up in seconds."
Good-natured ribbing took place, and Simon smiled but didn't join in, his thoughts wandering. There was something wrong about the events of the morning.
"Simon? Hello? Are you hearing us?"
Startled, he blinked to find his friends all looking at him in amusement.
"Apologies," he grunted.
Heddam leaned his forearm on the table. "I'm thinking a certain Demon is in your thoughts right now. Would I be right?"
"'Tis something going on." Simon took a sip of the hot una.
"With Des?"
"With the settlement. This place."
Torkra chewed thoughtfully on a large bite of sandwich, swallowed and stated, "'Tis always something going on in the Outlaw Sector."
"Aye, but we're on the outskirts. What 'tis been happening seems to be worse than normal for the outskirts." Simon frowned.
"Peacekeepers getting shot up isn't that uncommon, nor the innocent settlers," Torkra replied. "'Tis not unknown for outlaws to shoot up a settlement now and again."
"'Tis something more, though." Aamun fiddled with his fork. "I agree with Simon. A group of outlaws and a mystery ship that is faster than anyone has ever heard of?"
Torkra shrugged. "'Tis odd, the mystery ship. But then again, many unusual things occur the further into the Outlaw Sector you travel."
Simon nodded. "'Tis true, I'll not argue that. But why didn't the outlaws kill the peacekeepers when they had the chance?"
"Aye." Shamon looked up from his steaming plate of stew. "'Tis a good point. Did you hear what one of the outlaws shouted?"
"Don't kill The Demon." Torkra stopped eating. "I doubt 'twould be because she is a wench."
"Aye." Simon took another sip of una. "Outlaws would be happy to kill a peacekeeper, wench or not."
"A wench would be prime entertainment for them alive." Mikal, Torkra's brother, looked a little seedy. "I heard what they were yelling at her ... the threats."
Seated around the table in the dining cabin, the traders looked soberly at each other.
Remembering the threats, the crudeness, made Simon's blood boil. If Des hadn't killed Stone, he'd have wrung the bastard's neck himself and not flinched in the act. Just the thought of her tied down and helpless ... the mug in his hand cracked under the pressure of his fingers, and hot una trickled out onto his fingers.
"Ouch!" With a yell of surprised pain, he released the mug.
Torkra chortled, and the guffaws spread around the table.
"I think a certain peacekeeper is getting our friend a little steamed up." Heddam winked at Kel.
"I agree." Kel winked back.
Retrieving a cloth from the cupboard, Simon wrapped it around the mug and tossed it into the disposal bin. Sitting back down, he mopped up the spilt drink.
"So, what's your thoughts?" Aamun queried, watching him steadily.
Simon glanced up. "Hmm?"
"I doubt you're simply going to sit back and watch the events unfold without doing something."
Simon grinned faintly. "How transparent am I?"
"Very." Aamun raised one brow slightly. "Well?"
Simon pushed the cloth aside and rested his forearms on the table. Soberly he regarded his friends. "I'm going to see if any of our friends know anything about the mystery ship."
"The Argons are the only ones we know of who have the fleet crafts." Shamon scratched his beard idly. "They don't know anything about these mystery ships."
"Nor do the Reekas, the Saalms, the Felys, the Lypeople, or anyone else we can think of," Jarack added.
"'Tis true, but I haven't exhausted all avenues yet." Simon rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "'Tis still a couple of friends around with more knowledge of what might be happening."
"Ah, you're thinking of Sonja's pirates." Torkra grinned. "Shamon would be best to check them out. I'm sure Illona would be more than pleased to fill him in on any details." He turned to look at Shamon, who was grimacing. "You could sweet-talk her into anything."
"That wench scares me."
A rumble of mirth went around the occupants of the dining cabin, for it was well-known that Illona liked Shamon ... a lot. Then again, it was also well-known that Illona liked any man that was capable of a good time, and equally true that she targeted Shamon as soon as she saw him.
"'Tis your job, then, to ask the pirates," Simon announced, grinning.
"Thanks." Shamon sighed heavily.
"Meanwhile, I'll see if Sabra knows anything."
Aamun shrugged. "That lass won't tell you if it's not supposed to be known."
"Still worth a try."
"True."
"She could ask the bounty hunters for us."
"She probably will, but that might bring them here," Aamun pointed out.
"'Twouldn't be a bad thing," Simon replied. "The law here is down three peacekeepers, and one of those still walking has a broken wrist. Having bounty hunters here wouldn't be such a bad thing at all."
"You could be right there."
"So we're sticking around for a while?" Mikal queried.
Every gaze fell on Simon.
"We're here for another five days." He shrugged. "Might as well see what we can discover while here. What else are we going to do with our time?"
"Wench?" Torkra said hopefully.
"I think Simon will have more on his mind than just wenching." Shamon nudged Heddam. "Or should I rephrase that to, Simon has a certain wench on his mind."
"I think the second phrase is the correct one." Heddam nodded seriously.
Simon sent him a rude gesture.
"Oh, I think we struck a nerve," Heddam observed with a smug grin.
Knowing he was going to be in for more teasing during the rest of the week, Simon simply grinned back. It was exactly what he had done to his other friends, and he was a firm believer in that if you couldn't take it, you didn't give it.
Then a thought struck him. He was under no illusions that something nasty was brewing, and Tyron could very well be involved. He was responsible for his crew, and to ask them to stay here ... The wisest move would be to fly out of here---
"Uh-oh." Aamun sighed. "Look at his face."
"Don't even think it," Heddam warned.
Simon looked at them. "I have no right to ask you all to stay for the remainder of the week if trouble---"
"You're staying, we're staying," Shamon said firmly.
"But---"
"What 'tis with you men who fall in love?" Heddam threw up his hands in disgust. "One minute we're all in danger but having fun, and the next thing, you suddenly start getting all noble!" He turned to Shamon. "If that ever happens to me, you have my permission to boot me up the arse."
"I'd do that for no reason at all, if you wanted me to," Shamon replied. "But you're right. Every time one of us falls for a wench, we go through this big spiel about loyalty and not feeling right and we shouldn't risk our friends' lives, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera."
Aamun was grinning widely at Simon, who was shaking his head slowly in resignation. "Give up, Simon. We've all been in this situation before. We'll stay until the wench is out of trouble, or you decide we go. No recriminations, no excuses. We've faced danger before and survived---hell, many times. Makes life interesting."
"Aye," Mikal agreed. "'Tis something expected of us all. Right?"
The rest of the traders nodded.
"Thanks," Simon said.
"Aye, well, enough of that." Shamon shifted uncomfortably. "This soppy business makes me uneasy."
Aamun smiled sweetly. "Mayhap you should go and contact the pirates when you're finished then, just to get your mind off things."
Now it was Shamon who sent him a rude gesture.
Smiling, Simon left the dining cabin. He was almost to his own when a sudden thought occurred to him.
His friends thought he was in love? Stopping in the corridor, he blinked. What made them think that? What made them ... What made you drag the medic aboard? What made you do more than you had to, to channel communications and scanners? You could have done that without shifting from the settlement. You didn't have to go to the battle site.
You only had one thing on your mind, and that was Des's safety.
Was that love? Oh, hell...
Slowly Simon entered his cabin. He was attracted to Des, aye, but in love with her? He didn't know. He hadn't really thought about it.
Come on, be honest with yourself, Simon. In the bathroom, he stared at himself in the mirror. When you knew she was in danger, you wanted to be by her side. When you knew she was fighting for her life, and you weren't with her, you almost cried. And when she begged you to take her precious pets, you didn't think twice.
But was that love? He studied himself in the mirror.
He wasn't sure. Sighing, he splashed water on his face and dried it with one of the fluffy towels on a hook beside it.
Deciding it was too big a problem to worry about now, he switched on the viscomm in his cabin, but couldn't get contact with Sabra. She obviously wasn't home, so he left a message before trying the Intergalactic Peace Ship. The steely-eyed security officer there informed Simon that a message would be left for Sabra, but her whereabouts was unable to be given out.
That didn't surprise Simon at all. The IPS Security were an unknown force that kept the Lawful Sector safe at all costs. Their comings and goings were known only to a select few, and he doubted that even some of the Intergalactic Peace Council really knew what the Security did---or wanted to. They were almost a law unto themselves. They disappeared and reappeared in all sorts of trouble areas, and areas not considered trouble areas. They often came, dealt with a problem, and left without anyone even knowing they'd been.
Simon wondered how Cam, his friend and the husband of Sabra, could stand not knowing where his wife was from day to day. One day he just might have to talk to him about it, especially if his attraction to Des did turn out to be more...
His musings were interrupted by Shamon's voice coming over the intercom. "Simon, Emory from the Enforcers Building wants to speak to you."
Fearing that mayhap Des had taken a turn for the worse, Simon leaned one hand on the desk and switched on the viscomm with the other.
Emory's serious face appeared. "Simon."
"What's wrong?"
"What's wrong is the Boss."
"She's ill?" Simon straightened sharply. "I'll be right there."
"No!" Amusement glinted in the peacekeeper's eyes. "No, she's as fine as she can be, but we're needing a favor."
"Des wants a favor?" Simon's brows rose in surprise.
"Not Des. Us. Moresby is having a hell of a time keeping her in bed. She's worried about her lycats, and is insisting she needs to feed them."
"What? The wench wants to get out of her sickbed?"
"She's not strong enough. Seeing as how you were the one she wanted to have them if something happened to her, it's obvious she trusts you with them. And if we tried to feed them, they'd take our arms off."
"Chels and Fuzz?"
"Yeah." Emory grimaced. "I wouldn't blame you if you refuse. It's a bloody nightmare mission."
Relief went through Simon. "No problem. I'll go now."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
"Nay. Her lycats are beautiful. Of course I'll go feed them."
"They'll rip your arms off."
"We've already met." Simon grinned.
"And you left with your arms intact?"
"Aye."
"No wonder you were her first choice to have them."
"How is Des?" Simon took the opportunity to ask, knowing that her own peacekeepers would have the right to more knowledge of her wellbeing than he would. "Is she all right?"
"Right as she can be. She has synthetic blood going into her, and all of them are having IV fluids. In fact, none of them are being released tonight, or tomorrow, if he has his way." Emory grinned. "You should have heard him lording it over her, until she told him he could shove his synthetic blood up his behind if he didn't stop telling her what she could and couldn't do."
Aye, Simon could just imagine Des and the abrasive medic going at each other.
"You can tell they share the same blood." Emory laughed.
"They do?" Simon was surprised.
"Oh yeah. That's why he had no fear of telling her that if she didn't keep her foul mouth closed, he was going to tranquilize her. She threatened to lock him up and throw away the key." Hilarity shone in Emory's eyes. "It was a sight worth seeing, I can tell you."
"I'm sorry I missed it. Des seems to have a few relatives in the settlement."
Emory's face lost all expression. "Only a few."
It was obviously a subject the peacekeeper didn't feel comfortable discussing. Fair enough. Simon could, respect that.
"Tell Des I'll feed and water her pets until she gets home again."
Emory nodded. "She'll rest better knowing that. Thanks."
The viscomm flicked off as Emory cut the connection.
At least the lass was out of danger, and if she was well enough to argue with the medic, 'twas a good sign for her recovery.
After informing Shamon where he was going, Simon left the ship and strode across the open area to Des's home. The walk was refreshing, the scent of rain still in the air, but the afternoon sun drying out the puddles.
This time he approached her home with more than just idle curiosity. Now he really looked at it. Large, stone, with a stone wall around it. It was plain, serviceable, yet inside was so clean and spacious, like a small paradise with the garden built inside a courtyard. No one would ever guess the peace and tranquility that resided within the stone walls.
Going up the steps and entering her home felt ridiculously like coming home, and Simon was struck anew by the faint scent of flowers and fresh air.
But he didn't forget the hybrid lycats. As soon as he turned the corner into the living area, the big tabby met him at the corner with a hiss, her ears flat on her head and a ridge on her back.
Simon stopped walking. "Hey, lykitty."
A second snarling made him look cautiously towards the big armchair where Chels was slowly getting down from the cushion, his eyes alert for any sudden movements.
"'Tis all right, Chels, Fuzz," Simon said quietly. "Your mother is unwell, and I'm here to look after you until she returns."
Speaking quietly and reassuringly, Simon stayed still as the big lycats sniffed his legs. It didn't take long for them to remember him, for Chels gave his hand a sudden lick, and Fuzz bumped her head against his leg and purred.
Smiling, he stroked them slowly at first, then more briskly when they purred even louder.
"Fine, let's get you big lykitties something to eat."
They followed him into the kitchen, meowing plaintively. Sitting by the table, they watched him with big eyes while he opened the cooler and looked at the plate of thawed out raw meat. Another was on the shelf just under it.
"I'd say 'tis your meal," he told the lycats.
Chels yawned and Fuzz licked her lips.
Seeing the two large china bowls sitting clean and dry on the sink, Simon surmised that they were the feeding bowls of the lycats, and put the meat into the bowls. About to place them onto the floor, he saw that Chels was already halfway through the living area and Fuzz was watching him eagerly from near the kitchen bench.
"I take it your mother doesn't feed you in the kitchen?" Still holding the bowls, Simon crossed the room to where Chels was standing in the paved area of the courtyard beneath the small overhanging verandah that prevented rain from entering the open living area.
Stepping out into the garden, Simon saw the big bowl of water near the wall, and he placed the two bowls of meat next to it. The lycats soon cleaned the bowls of every scrap of meat, then Fuzz proceeded to go back inside and curl up on the armchair, washing herself elegantly. Chels laid down on the paving and started washing his paws.
Looking up, Simon saw clear sky. No wonder Des had such freedom to leave her home so open, with the invisible space shield around it, no one but herself and anyone she chose could enter. 'Twas really a haven.
Picking up the bowls, he took them back into the kitchen and washed and dried them, placing them on the sink where he'd found them.
Leaning back against the bench, he looked around leisurely. The house was a reflection of the wench who occupied it. Hard and unassuming on the outside, beautiful on the inside. Des showed no feminine attributes in her demeanor or attitudes when outside her home, but he'd seen the feminine side of her, the seductress ... His gaze fell on the table. Oh aye, the seductress.
He still found it hard to believe what had happened, and since the events of the morning, it seemed like almost days ago, but just the sight of the table and the flowery scent permeating the air brought it back in sharp clarity.
Heat flashed into his groin, and Simon shook his head. Just the memory of what she'd done was enough to make him start getting an erection. Meanwhile, the lass was lying in the medical clinic, injured and worried about her pets. While he stood here getting a hard-on.
But suns above, who could blame him?
Simon, you are sick. He started for the door. Lucky, but sick. He was grinning when he left the house, ensuring the door was firmly secured behind him. Stopping by the Enforcer Building, he told a relieved Emory that the lycats were fed and he could reassure Des that her beloved pets were happy and safe. Only then did he return to the trade ship.
Feeling like crap, aching and sore, Des glared at Moresby. "I'm going home, and you're telling no one who doesn't need to know."
"You should stay here another night."
"I've been here for two days. That's enough."
He scowled. "Your men---"
"That's different. I lay down the orders and they have to follow them. Tough titties for them. They stay until you give the all clear to go home."
"And what about you?" He followed her limping progress through the dimly lit clinic. "Damn it, Desdemona, you're not infallible!"
"Look, I just want the peace and quiet of my own home, all right?"
"And who's going to look after you?"
"I'll be fine on my own. I'll just sleep and rest. After all, you did say there was nothing wrong with me that a good rest won't fix."
"I meant that you'd be resting here." Exasperated, he jammed his hands on his ample hips. "Don't be so damned stubborn!"
Opening the door, Des nodded to Chas, who was waiting in the main waiting room of the clinic.
"You're as stubborn as your father, Des! He won't listen to anything I say, either!" Moresby stomped through into the waiting room after her. "You even needed my help just to get dressed!"
"Trust me, getting my clothes off won't be a problem."
Chas looked at her pale face. "Uh ... Boss, maybe you should stay another---"
"Just get me home."
"You don't look too good."
"I've been shot to shit, Chas, what do you think I should look like?" She glared at him. "Now, are you driving me home, or do I walk there myself?"
"You wouldn't make it," he replied bluntly.
"Don't get smart with me, Chas. I might not look good, but I can still knock you on your arse."
He looked at Moresby in resignation. "Any painkillers? Extra instructions?"
Disgruntled, Moresby handed him a bottle of liquid. "Half a ml of this three times a day in water will keep the pain at bay. And she's to return in three days so that I can assess the healing process of her wounds."
All Des wanted was to go home. She hated the smell of antiseptic, the sounds and smells of a clinic. Home to her garden and pets, where she could really relax and recover was all she craved. Her knees were trembling, but in the dimness no one could see. All she had to do was keep up the façade until she got behind closed doors, then in the privacy of her own home she could groan and moan and fall asleep in her own bed, curled up with the comforting presence of Chels and Fuzz.
"Are you coming or what?" she demanded of Chas. "Or are we going to stand here listening to Moresby belt his gums until I go deaf?"
"Ungrateful little biddy," Moresby muttered.
"Bullying old man."
They looked at each other, and a sudden grin tugged at Moresby's mouth. "You take care, Desdemona. You need me for anything---and I mean anything---you get on the viscomm, all right?"
"Yeah. Thanks." Pausing, uneasy when it came to expressing her real feelings, Des added, "Thanks. Really."
"Suns, I bet that hurt to say."
"You have no idea."
In mutual understanding and respect, they nodded to each other. To anyone who didn't know them, there appeared to be deep dislike between them, but to the few who knew them well, they could see below the abrasiveness to the affection they had for each other.
Chas ushered Des out into the dark street to the pursuit craft and ensured she got in without too much trouble. He hovered over her in concern, and when she finally threatened to rip his head off, he grinned and went around to the pilot's side.
He took the pursuit craft right up to the porch of her home, so she only had to walk a few steps up to the porch and then the door.
"I should see you inside," he began.
About to get out, Des looked at him seriously. "Chas, I'll be fine. Honestly. Stop worrying."
"You shouldn't be by yourself."
"It's exactly what I want. Besides, I have Chels and Fuzz, so I'm not technically alone." Slowly and painfully, she got out of the pursuit craft.
"You'll contact me if you need anything?" Chas was still peering worriedly at out her.
"I promise." She smiled slightly at him. "I never did get to thank you all for what you did for me, Aiken, Marcel and Orde."
A blush crept up his cheeks. "Just doing our job, Boss."
"Yeah." She understood his discomfort, for she wasn't one to take gratitude well herself. "Just wanted you to know. You and the other men."
"They sort of figured it out when you had that huge cake sent across to the Enforcer Building." Chas grinned.
"You all deserved it." She straightened and started up the steps slowly. "Now stop wasting my time and go and earn your pay."
"Whatever you say, Boss." Laughing, he pulled the pursuit craft away from the house, rose enough to go above the wall and headed back to the settlement.
Still keeping rigid control Des opened the door and walked carefully inside. The soft hall light came on immediately and the flowery scent of her plants hit her immediately, taking away the antiseptic smell of the clinic.
"I'm home!" she called, shutting the door securely behind her.
Home. Sweet, sweet home.
Chels and Fuzz came bounding around the corner of the corridor, purring madly at the sight of her. They almost knocked her over with their rubbing, and she had to bite her lips against the pain in her injured leg as Fuzz bumped against it, but for her, it was a small price to pay.
This was her haven. Her home. And Chels and Fuzz were part of her family.
Wearily, allowing her straight shoulders to relax, she walked into the living area, but before she allowed herself to relax, she moved into the kitchen. She knew the lycats had been fed by Simon earlier in the day, for another message had come from Emory. Two days in a row, twice a day, the Daamen trader had come and fed her lycats. It was the only reason why she'd stayed the two days and the night at the clinic.
The lycats might have been fed, but she wanted to give them a special treat.
Opening up one of the cupboards, she pulled out the dried fish they adored, and gave each a huge fillet. Immediately they darted out into the gardens to eat.
Smiling, Des poured herself a fizzy drink, downed it, looked longingly at the sofa and sighed. The other thing she'd longed for was a proper shower. The washes at the medical clinic just hadn't been good enough.
Moving stiffly into the bathroom, she took off the tunic and underwear with some difficulty, and stepped into the shower. The first touch of the warm water made her moan aloud in appreciation. It poured over her, the heat seeping into her aching muscles. She washed quickly, inhaling the scent of the flowery soap, finding it much more pleasing than the antiseptic soap she'd used at the clinic. Washing her hair proved a problem, for her sore shoulder didn't like being stretched, so she washed it one-handedly.
Finally getting out, she toweled herself dry and slipped into a clean nightgown. Now she felt better. Hair brush in hand, she went back out into the living area, poured another fizzy drink and moved across to the sofa. Touching a switch on the wall as she went, she listened as the soft music slipped through the speakers in the living area. Placing the glass on the small table beside the sofa, she eased herself down, gave a groan of pain and slumped back against the cushions. Propping her feet stiffly up on an ottoman, she breathed deeply of the clean night air, and let the peace of her home seep into her.
It might not have been the wisest move to leave the clinic, in Moresby's point of view, but having the peace and tranquility of her own place was something Des needed.
Sipping at her drink, she watched Chels and Fuzz play in the garden. It wasn't long before they came back in, jumping up onto the sofa to curl up beside her. Their purring was soothing, and she gently stroked them. Leaning her head back against the backrest, she closed her eyes and dozed.
When she awoke, it was to find that the night had turned to early morning, and Simon was kneeling down in front of her, concern and relief both evident in his face.
Blinking sleepily, she looked at him. No alarm bells rang, no tension filtered through her. There wasn't even any anger or annoyance to find him in her home. Simon was just there.
Her gaze wandered over him, hazily taking in the roguish, dangerous good-looks, the squareness of his jaw and straightness of his nose. The pale blue-green of his eyes were startling, even when not surrounded by the thick, black lashes, which should have made him appear almost girlish, but instead simply enhanced the uniqueness of his eye color. Des's gaze wandered lower, over his lips that, even though full, were undoubtedly masculine. There was nothing girlish in his face, just raw, male handsomeness.
"Des?' he queried softly.
His voice was a deep rumble that caressed her skin, and still caught up in the pleasant drowsiness of not being quite awake, she smiled dreamily.
One big hand came out and rested lightly on her thigh, just below the self-adhesive patch. "Lass?"
"Mmm?" Rousing a little, she sleepily rubbed her eyes.
A touch of amusement had those sinful lips curving upward. "Are you awake properly?"
"Mmm." The warmth of sleep was still beckoning, and she closed her eyes again, while inhaling deeply of his scent. Male, clean, heat. Strength. "You smell so good."
There was silence for a second before a low chuckle rumbled out. "Now I know you're still half asleep."
"Mmm." Opening her eyes briefly, feeling so very tired but relaxed, she took another peep at her dream man. "You look yummy, too." That was all she could manage to say before she closed her eyes and drifted back into the warmth of sleep.
Dimly she felt a hand brush her hair, an arm beneath her legs, and something soft under her cheek.
The second time she awoke, the sun was shining down, the flowers were releasing their scents, and she could see Chels and Fuzz playing in the garden. A cool breeze blew in through the open glass wall.
Only the scene was wrong. She was seeing it from sideways. Carefully lifting her head, she balanced upright stiffly on one elbow. The light cotton sheet covering her slid back to her waist with the movement.
Frowning, Des realized that she was lying on her sofa. She didn't remember getting the sheet, nor the cushion beneath her cheek. In fact, she didn't remember lying down at all.
Vaguely she remembered someone talking to her. Someone...
Simon!
Instantly alert, she snapped upright, only to give a small, involuntary yelp of pain the sudden movement caused her. Every laser burn made itself known immediately.
"Stay right there," a deep voice admonished from somewhere behind her. "I'll get you the pain killer."
He was here. Simon was in her home, and undoubtedly he'd been the one to lay her down on the sofa and make her comfortable.
Grimacing, Des pushed the sheet aside and slid carefully to the edge of the sofa, perching there gingerly as she waited for the fierce aches to dull down to a more bearable throbbing. Behind her she could the clinking of glasses.
Obviously Simon knew his way around her kitchen. Somehow she thought she should feel more than a mild prick of annoyance, but was she was sore and really didn't care right at that moment.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Simon moving around the kitchen, opening cupboards and the cooler, getting the things he wanted with a quiet efficiency that she was beginning to recognize as a part of him. The sleeveless, open vest he wore only enhanced the bunch of powerful muscles in his arms and chest as he moved. Even his stomach muscles seemed to ripple when he bent and straightened.
Easily carrying a small glass and two larger ones in his big hands, he padded silently in bare feet over the cool tiles. Carefully she eased back against the sofa, trying to relax the tension in her sore muscles.
Coming around the sofa, he squatted directly down in front of her and handed her the smaller glass. "Drink this, 'twill help with the pain."
"Who made you the boss?" Taking the glass, she drained the contents and grimaced.
"I did." Taking the small glass, he gave her the larger one. "This will take the taste away."
The berry juice was cool, sweet, and she moaned inwardly as it slid over her tongue and down her throat. Blissfully she drained half the contents of the glass before opening her eyes to find Simon regarding her intently. The thick, fair hair was confined at his nape with a leather tie, but a long lock trailed over his broad shoulders.
"What?" Des lowered the glass, then scowled as a sudden thought occurred to her. "If you're looking for payment for---"
Her words were cut off by the simple process of Simon reaching out and placing one finger on her lips. "Don't." His fingertip was calloused, yet his touch gentle. And firm. As firm as his voice when he added while removing his finger, "Friends help each other, 'tis all. Now stop looking for ulterior motives and accept it graciously."
"No one ever said I was gracious."
"And yet, I still find you cute." Grinning, Simon stood up.
While Des was still staring at him in surprise, he nudged the ottoman in front of her, gently raised her feet and put them on the ottoman, then proceeded to calmly sit down beside her. His weight on the sofa nearly tipped her over onto him, but she managed to regain her balance. Her surprise increased when he propped his bare feet, crossed at the ankles, beside hers on the ottoman. His feet were clean and strong, just like the man they supported. Sipping from the glass, perfectly relaxed, Simon idly watched the two hybrid lycats playing in the garden.
Turning her head, she looked at him. Their shoulders weren't quite touching, their hips a few centimeters apart, the warmth of his body tangible. Her head was on level with his broad shoulders, something she wasn't accustomed to, more used to the being one doing the towering.
Unbidden, her gaze wandered lower. The hard muscles of his stomach were clearly defined, enough to make many a woman's mouth water. She'd felt the hardness of those muscles, just as she'd felt ... Her gaze fell lower to the apex of his thighs. The coarse material pants were loose, but she knew the power that lay between his muscular thighs. Her mouth went dry and she took a sip of juice.
"Keep looking at me like that, lass, and I'll need a cold shower," Simon said conversationally.
Startled out of her silent musings, she looked up, a flush creeping into her cheeks when she met his knowing gaze. His voice might be calm, but there was a mixture of amusement and remembered heat in his pale eyes.
Never one to normally be embarrassed, Des scowled. "About that---"
"'Twas magical." His gaze turned sober. "I thank you for the gift."
Now that completely threw her. "Pardon?"
"No one has ever given me such a gift."
"Gift?" she repeated stupidly.
His smile was small. "Making love to me with your mouth."
She'd never heard it called that before. Giving head, oral, and coarser words were the normal ways of describing what she'd done, but the words Simon used were ... softer. More intimate. The sort of words lovers might use.
For the first time in her life, she was unsure how to handle a man. If he'd been coarser, she'd have had an even coarser answer for him. She'd have shown him the door. But now---now she wasn't sure what to say.
Which was both irritating and embarrassing, and made her scowl fiercer.
Simon startled her again when he reached out and smoothed his thumb across her brow. "Relax, lass, I'm not going to bite."
She moved her head back. "I'm not afraid of you, trader."
"I don't expect you to be." Unperturbed, he took another sip from his glass.
"Exactly why are you here? If it's for a repeat performance of the other morning---"
"Tsk. Lass, you have to stop jumping to conclusions before you hurt yourself, and I have to kiss you better." His eyes twinkled. "I'd love a repeat performance, but you're in no condition, and besides..."
Trailing off his sentence only piqued her curiosity. "Besides what?"
"Besides," his voice dropped lower, huskier, full of promise, "I have promised myself to return the gift."
"Return the gift?" She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. Surely he wasn't implying ... ?
Leaning down towards her, his gaze locked on her own almost hypnotically. "'Twill be my turn to make love to you with my mouth." His words feathered across her lips.
The warmth of Simon's breath was almost erotic, so innocent, yet with the promise of heat. She'd been kissed by him before, in his ship, and that one kiss had had the power to make her forget where she was ... until he'd spoken and broken the spell.
Spell? Frowning, she looked up at him. Where am I getting these crazy notions?
"Tsk." Reproving the word was, but Simon's expression was anything but admonishing. The dangerous planes of his face seemed to have softened, his eyes warming with a mixture of amusement and tenderness. Leaning down more towards her, he said quietly, "I can see your mind working, lass, trying to analyze this all out."
If she leaned back any further, she was going to fall back on the sofa. The man was so close, leaning almost over her now. Bracing her hand on the sofa behind her, Des refused to back any further. A warning twinge in her shoulder made her breath catch.
Immediately Simon's big hand was behind her back.
"Damn it, if you'd move back---" she began heatedly.
"Relax, lass. I'm just going to pull you upright again, rather than have you causing stress to your muscles."
Even as he said it, there was a wicked glint in his eyes that belied the careful way he easily lifted her back towards him. The fact that he himself didn't move any further back made the alarm bells inside Des go off.
"Simon---"
Now she was against his chest, and all with the ridiculous ease of his one hand at the back of her.
Des's heart beat faster as his eyes dropped to her lips. The heat from his hand seemed to sear through her tunic at the back, while the heat from his body against her front seeped into her deliciously.
Anticipation slipping through her, Des could only watch as Simon's head lowered even more, the long lock of his fair hair falling forward to tickle her neck. The heavy sweep of his eyelashes rose, and the paleness of his startling blue-green irises was emphasized by the blackness of his pupils.
"Des." He was so close now that the word was a warm puff against her lips. "I was so scared." And then he kissed her. Gently. Carefully. A light touch of lips, a caress of sensitive skin.
Before she could even make any response, he lifted his head to gaze down at her, his expression tender.
Tenderness from a man was something she'd only had from her father a few times, for he was uncomfortable with tenderness. Her lover of long ago had never really been tender. This big Daamen trader was treating her as though she was made of fine china, his hand so supportive at her back, his hold so careful, and his kiss so gentle, and his expression so ... tender.
She should have up and socked him one, but all she could think about was how he treated her as though she were someone fragile who needed taking care of. His gaze was tender, his expression caring. It made her feel warm inside.
And he was rattling her good senses, something no man had ever done before, regardless of his actions. It was unnerving.
Frowning, she placed her hand on his chest---suns! His skin was like hot satin overlaying hard muscle!---and pushed. "Back off."
"Why?"
"What?" She stared at him.
"Does my kiss offend you?"
"Bloody stupid question."
That disarming, roguish grin flashed across his full, masculine lips, and his eyes twinkled. "I'll take that as a nay."
"Take it anyway you damned well please."
Simon eased her back against the sofa and turned to face the garden again, lifting his glass to take a sip at the berry juice. Amusement was evident in his voice when he stated, "You're a prickly little thing."
Little thing? Des stared at him.
He slanted a look at her out of the corner of his eye. "I hear you've been keeping tabs on what 'tis happening at the Enforcer Building."
The quick change of topic caught her off balance, but not for long. "You're well informed."
"I happened to overhear the peacekeepers talking."
"How? They wouldn't say anything in public."
He laughed outright. "You're so suspicious, lass! I promise 'twas legally heard."
Des's eyes narrowed and she started to move to the edge of the sofa. "How did you hear anything?"
One muscular arm stretched out in front of her, and she had the choice of either pressing her breasts up against it, or subsiding. She chose to grab his forearm, and felt the flex of hard muscle under her palm.
"Sit back and relax, lass," Simon said softly, turning his head to look straight at her. "Your men couldn't figure out 'twas wrong with your communications system, so my engineer, Aamun, had a look at it. I happened to be there with him when a couple of your men came in talking. 'Tis how I overheard."
She met his gaze. "Your engineer fixed our communications system?"
"Aye."
Crap. It seemed as though she was having to thank the Daamens for more things every moment. Slowly she eased back against the sofa and sighed. That reminded her of several things she had yet to thank Simon.
As soon as she eased back, Simon withdrew his arm and relaxed beside her once again, his gaze moving once more to watch Chels and Fuzz as they played amongst the small trees.
Taking a deep breath, Des rolled the glass between her palms. "I owe you thanks for saving the lives of my men and me. Without you---"
"'Tis no thanks needed, lass." Draining the glass of the last of the berry juice, Simon placed it down beside the sofa. But he didn't get up, just remained relaxed on the sofa beside her.
"And for fixing the communications system---"
"My pleasure. Now forget it."
Des pursed her lips. "I don't like being beholden to anyone."
"You're not beholden to me." There wasn't a hint of annoyance in Simon's deep tones, just a calm matter-of-factness. "Friends help friends." He glanced sideways at her as she took a sip of her drink. "And lovers help lovers."
Des choked on her drink. Coughing, she leaned forward and blindly reached out for a place to put her glass, only to have it plucked from her hand. Low laughter rumbled through the room, even as a big hand rubbed her back soothingly.
Finally getting her breath back, she straightened from her bent position from where she'd been resting her elbows on her knees, ignoring the twinge of pain in her shoulder. No doubt if she hadn't had the liquid analgesia, it would have hurt more.
Simon was regarding her with a mixture of amusement and remorse. "Apologies, lass. I shouldn't have teased you when you're in pain."
"You'll be in pain if you keep up that nonsense!"
"Who says 'tis nonsense?"
Her heart fluttered but she kept her voice even. "We are not lovers."
His smile was slow and wholly male. "Not yet."
"Not ever."
"Ah, but then I haven't really got started, have I?" His eyes gleamed, a mixture of heat and devilment. "You, however, got off to an amazing start."
Her cheeks flamed. "That was a mistake."
"For which I thank God." He winked.
"And won't happen again."
His pale eyes glowed with an inner fire. "I won't say the same for me."
Suns! Des's mouth went dry and her heart skipped a beat. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and her heart started to beat harder. "I think it's time for you to leave."
The teasing light went from his eyes, and he grew serious. "You're embarrassed."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Your cheeks are red, and you want me to leave."
"You're irritating me." She lifted her chin and glared at him. And flustering me and I won't ever admit to that!
He made no move to shift from the sofa. Instead, he looked at her thoughtfully before saying quietly, "'Tis not my intention to make you uncomfortable, lass. A little teasing, aye, but not to upset you."
"I'm not upset." I'm feeling things I shouldn't be feeling, especially towards a man who irritates the hell out of me!
"Good. Because upsetting you would upset me."
She raised one brow in disbelief. "Right."
"Nay." The tie holding the hair at his nape slipped a little when he shook his head. "Truthfully, Des, I would never deliberately upset you. You mean too much to me."
Shocked, she stared at him, her mouth falling open. Surely she couldn't have heard correctly?
"Aye," he said calmly. "You mean more to me than a friend."
There was no sign of teasing in his level gaze, just sincerity. The flutter this time started deeper inside her, and she swallowed. "Simon, you can't possibly..."
"'Twould seem impossible, considering that we've done nothing but rub each other up the wrong way from day one," he acknowledged. "But 'twas the other day that I realized you meant more to me---"
Disappointment, unwanted and confusing, swept through her, making her scowl and retort crudely, "Since I sucked you off, you mean?" Her jaw clenched. "I guess I did such a good job, I made a lasting impression."
Simon didn't retaliate heatedly, as she expected. Instead, that same calmness remained in his expression. "Before you gifted me, do you remember what I told you?"
All she remembered was losing herself in the heady sensation of power, of having Simon at her mercy. Inhaling his scent, tasting his essence, pleasuring him ... She swallowed as a little tendril of heat trickled through her.
It didn't matter, anyway. She wasn't going to allow him to make a fool of her.
"To refresh your memory," he said quietly, "'Twas that I was attracted to you, and wanted to get to know you more."
Yes, she remembered that now. "So?"
"So, it still remains. I am attracted to you." Reaching out, he laced his fingers through hers, ignoring her tugging efforts to extract herself. "And I realized how much you meant to me when I heard you fighting for your life out in that damned nest of outlaws."
"You honestly expect me to believe that?" she scoffed.
For the first time, she saw a flicker of something else break through that calmness. In one smooth motion, he got up and turned to sit on the ottoman directly before her. This placed him on eye level, and directly facing her.
He was also close enough that his knees bracketed hers, and it was either retreat back against the sofa, or remain sitting stiffly upright. She chose the latter. Why she didn't just get up and move away she had no idea, but something made her stay where she was and look him straight in the eyes.
There was no hint of teasing in his gaze, but there was a steely determination that strengthened his jaw, firmed his lips, and intensified his eyes.
Her heart did another jump. Could he really be serious?
Reaching out, Simon took her other hand in a strong grip so that he now held both her hands in his, his thumbs brushing caressingly over the backs of them.
Silence fell between them as he studied her face, then simply looked at her with that calmness now combined with quiet determination. There was no amusement in his expression.
Des couldn't tell if the shiver that went through her was nerves or anticipation. She'd never had a man look at her with such intensity and honesty, and it was the honesty that was shaking her. For she had no doubt that whatever he was about to say was the truth.
Hot tempered and impatient she might be, but she was a good judge of character.
Did she want to hear what he said? Hell, I'm scared. Of what? Words can't hurt me. But he could...
"I can see your thoughts going a mile a minute, lass," Simon said quietly. "But before you get yourself into a state, just listen to me. All right?"
"I think you might have said enough already." She gave her hands another tug.
Ignoring her attempts, Simon stated, "I'm attracted to you. I've said it enough times for you to know. I want to get to know you better. 'Tis so hard to understand?" One brow quirked up. "Am I that repulsive to look at?"
She nearly laughed outright. "You know you're not. What, are you fishing for compliments?"
"I'm trying to understand you."
"You're not that easy to understand yourself."
"I am what you see. No pretenses." He shrugged. "If you want to know something, ask me."
Fine. "You're being blunt, so I will, too. Not that that would stop me, anyway."
Simon's lips quirked faintly in amusement.
Des frowned. "You've seen me in action, you've heard me. I swear, I'm rough, I don't give an inch and I'm not some dainty lady. Contrary to what happened between us the other morning, I'm not an easy lay. I don't give oral to every man I meet. In fact, you're only the second man I've ever done it to. And even that was unexpected." Let's see how you like that. She couldn't tell anything by his pleasant, patient expression. Might as well continue and get it all out into the open. "I've killed outlaws and won't hesitate to do what I have to do as part of my job. I'll arrest friends and family, and I'm known to be stubborn and bad tempered."
His lips quirked even more, and a twinkle appeared briefly in the depths of his eyes.
Des's frown grew. "And to top it all off, I have more time for animals than people. I have a few friends, some relatives I don't acknowledge, and I give my all for my job. Up to a point. So what do you think of that?"
"You're asking my opinion?"
"I'm asking why you would be attracted to a woman like me, when everything I've just said describes me. I'm not a lady, I'm not sweet and I'm not a fragile woman. A lot of people don't like me but you profess to be attracted to me regardless. I want you to answer that."
"Easy." His smile was open. "I see a tough wench who does her job well, in difficult circumstances. I see a wench who cares about those who work for her, has a sharp sense of humor, and 'tisn't afraid of standing up for herself. You have qualities I admire, loyalty one of them."
Des studied his face intently, looking for any sign that he was lying.
"Nay, by other men's standards, you're not fragile and a lady. But I don't judge people by other's standards. You're beautiful, prickly, intriguing, and everything you say you are. And I'm still attracted to you." He leaned forward a little. "Des, are you scared of me?"
"Hell, no." I'm scared of what might happen.
"I'm here only for another week. 'Tis longer than planned originally, true, but some merchants have been delayed." His fingers slipped from her hands to her wrists. "Des, 'tis not too much to ask that you allow me to spend a little time with you, getting to know you, getting you to know me. What 'tis the harm? I'm not asking for commitment. I'm not asking for all your time. Just let us see if 'tis something stronger between us."
He wasn't asking for commitment. But still ... for the first time, she glanced away.
"Des?" His tone was gentle, persuading. "Talk to me."
Taking a deep breath, Des looked back at him. Her father had brought her up to face things head-on and not be a coward. Now looked like one of those times.
"Fine," she finally replied. "I'm going to tell you something now, and I'm warning you, if you laugh, I'll knock your block off."
"I won't laugh."
"I don't even know why I'm going to tell you this." And she really didn't. No, she did. Don't lie to yourself, Des, sheesh!
"Because now's the time?"
It was her turn to give him a steady look. "Because you're being honest with me, and I'm no coward. I value honesty."
"Fair enough."
Here goes. "I've only ever had one man I cared enough about to share some of my life. He died a few years ago."
"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.
"He understood me, and accepted me for who I am and what I was. In some ways, we weren't that different. We went our own ways and met up when he was in the settlement. Since he died, I've never been with another man." She shrugged. "Never wanted to. I'm not comfortable with all this courtship and crap. It doesn't suit me. Besides the fact that apart from a few men wanting to screw the famous Demon, no man has been interested in me." She smiled faintly. "Not many men like a woman who towers over them and can beat them in a fair fight."
Simon's gaze was gentle, a trait she was starting to recognize as being a part of him. "Des, if you were a foot or more taller than me, 'twouldn't bother me at all."
"You're taller than any man I've ever seen, Simon, so how would you know?" she asked tartly.
He grinned. "I know. Lass, when I find a wench attractive, 'tis not their height or looks that make me interested."
"You honestly expect me to believe that? Come, I've seen men look twice at a pretty woman, and hell, I've snuck a second peek at a good-looking man a time or two." Let's see you deal with that.
Unfazed, Simon nodded. "Aye, I've looked twice at a pretty wench, I'll not deny that. But looking and wanting to get to know them are two different things. In fact, when I first met you, you annoyed the hell out of me."
"I have that reaction on men. And women."
"Seriously, Des. Your attitude when we saved Oriel rubbed me right up the wrong way. Aye, I noticed your looks, but there was no thought apart from anger at your attitude."
This intrigued her. "Really?"
Sliding his hands further up her arms, Simon lightly traced circles on her inner arms with his thumbs, but he didn't appear to realize he was doing it. "My wanting to get to know you has naught to do with wanting to conquer the mighty Demon. 'Tis an attraction, a yearning to know you more." His smile peeped out again. "If you're so suspicious of my intentions, I promise not to seduce you."
What more was there to say? She could either believe him, and allow them to spend some time together, or simply give him the heave-ho and continue on her way. But there was no real reason to reject him outright. She had to acknowledge that she found him interesting, a man who wasn't put off by her attitude and language, her way of life, her height and strength. And as long as he didn't interfere in her job, what harm was there in seeing how far he'd go?
She was Head Peacekeeper, but she was also a woman who, deep underneath, found it flattering that this handsome trader was attracted to her. She wasn't about to lie about that to herself.
But she was also the Head Peacekeeper trying to figure out what was happening in and around her settlement.
"All right." She nodded finally. "All right, you say you want to get to know me while you're here. Fine. But I can't promise to be around whenever you want to see me. I have a job to do, and it takes a lot of my time. If you can handle my time table, and my bad moods, feel free to see me."
The smile that lit his eyes made her breath catch. It was utter delight and ... yes, a hot promise. Uh-oh, what have I done?
"You won't be sorry, lass." Closing the distance between them, Simon pressed his lips to hers. The kiss this time wasn't as light, but demanded a little more. But again, before she could retaliate, he pulled back and smiled at her. "Hungry?"
For a second, she wasn't entirely sure just what he was getting at.
Interpreting her suspicious look correctly, Simon tsked and tapped her lightly on the nose with one finger. "I meant for food."
"Oh. Yes." She looked pointedly at him. "If you'll get up and out of my way, I'll get something to eat."
Standing upright easily, he held out one hand to assist her. Ignoring it, she stood stiffly and side-stepped around him.
Without a murmur, Simon followed her, but before she could head for the cooler, he pulled out a chair from the table. "Sit down. I brought some food earlier."
"Really? What?"
"Something to sweeten you up." He winked.
Rolling her eyes, she eased herself into the chair. "You wish. There's not much that can sweeten me."
"You've yet to taste the delights I can dish up." His face was perfectly serious, but devilment danced in his eyes.
"Yeah, well, we'll see." Leaning one elbow on the table, she pushed the tangled mass of her hair back over her shoulder. "Crap. Where'd I put my hairbrush?"
"Eat first, worry about that later." Simon pulled the tie from his hair and handed it to her.
"Don't think you can boss me around." Taking the tie, she lifted her arms to try and pull her hair back, only to grimace at the sudden painful pull in her injured shoulder. "I can still kick your arse."
Plucking the tie from her hand, Simon expertly pulled her hair back and secured it at her nape. She started when he dropped a kiss on the top of her head, but when she looked quickly around, he was already opening the cooler door and pulling out a tray of food.
Studying the map on the wall, Canute rocked back and forth on his heels, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.
Gally was curled up in an armchair, sulking. Well, let the bitch sulk. I'm not here to please her, but for her to please me. And right now, she doesn't please me at all.
"You were rough in bed," she complained again.
He didn't reply, his gaze going from one to the other of the four settlements within the glowing circle he'd drawn around them.
"Really rough. I've got bruises forming, and I bled a little." She sniffled.
"If you don't like my methods, Gally, go home."
He felt her angry look. "Why are you always such a bastard to me?"
"I pay you well for your time." He cast a disinterested look at her over his shoulder. Her cheeks were shiny with the tears she'd recently shed. "You're not pleasing me."
Licking at a spot of dried blood at the corner of her lip, Gally sniffed again. "You've never been this rough before."
"I don't answer to you, Gally."
She glared. "I don't like being beaten and raped!"
"Raped? My dear, you weren't complaining at the time."
"I didn't know how rough you were going to be until it was too late!"
"You're getting wearisome, Gally. Get out and leave me alone."
"That's all I am to you, isn't it?" Flouncing out of the chair, she cursed. "Damn you, Canute! You always act so high and mighty, when you're nothing but another outlaw!"
"I'm an outlaw with class, something you'd know nothing about." The woman was becoming annoying, which wasn't a good, or safe, thing for her.
"I'm not a fool! I know your plans, Canute! It's about time you treated me with some respect!" She tossed her head. "I'm more than just your whore, you know!"
Turning around fully, Canute looked at her thoughtfully. Yes, she did know a lot. Maybe too much. And she was feeling scorned.
He could be a gentleman and soothe her, feed her tidbits of false affection until she was all docile and loving again. Or he could fix a growing problem once and for all.
Canute pressed a switch on the viscomm. "Zared."
His friend's face appeared. "Yes?"
"Gally is finished here."
"Understood."
Canute looked across the room at his mistress, who was standing, flushed and furious and close to tears yet again, but not tears of sorrow, of that he had no doubt.
"You bastard!" she shrieked. "You're sending me home?"
"You're not going home." He looked at Zared as he came in. "Go with Zared."
"You're sending me to my room, like a child?" Gally cursed again. "You can't treat me like this!"
"Go with Zared, or," Canute looked at her, "Go and spend time with the men outside."
Her face paled. "You don't mean it."
"Oh, I do. You can either go with Zared, as I wish, or amuse the men. I'm sure they won't mind your tears and screaming. In fact, they'd find it quite entertaining, I'm sure." He turned back to the map. "Your choice."
There was silence for a second followed by a choked sob. Zared spoke quietly to her, and then the door shut.
Blessed silence. Canute rolled his shoulders and returned to studying the map. Another problem taken care of. He leaned back against the desk, and when Zared entered the room minutes later, Canute looked at him.
"It's done," Zared said.
"Once they start threatening and carrying on, Zared, it's time to end it."
"Yes, sir. What do you want done with her body?"
"We can burn it, or send it home." Canute rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Burn it. It isn't to our benefit to send her home."
"Yes, sir."
"Any news from the GeoSear?"
"We're starting to get some readings back."
"Ah. Anything positive?"
"A little."
"Let me know if we get anything worth looking at."
"Yes, sir. Anything else?"
"Yes. Make sure Ruan, Levi and Tyson are holding their positions in secrecy still."
"Their outlaws are getting edgy."
They were blood-thirsty outlaws, true enough, and not used to sitting and twiddling their thumbs. That would breed insubordination. But they'd just had a close call with the peacekeepers. There had to be other ways to keep them occupied.
"Tell Tyson, Levi and Ruan to send a couple of their men to other settlements and get themselves a few girls to occupy the camps with. Or a few boys, if that's what interests some of them." Canute shrugged. "Whatever. Give them a tidbit to keep them grounded for now."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and Zared?"
"Yes?"
"I have no doubt we'll have to move soon."
"The sooner the better."
"Yes." Canute stared at the map. "But we have to be sure, very sure."
"'Tis well pleased you're looking," Torkra remarked as Simon sat down in the chair opposite him.
"Aye." Shamon squinted at him over the mug of ale he held. "Very pleased. I'd half expected you to come scurrying back with your tail between your legs after a good tongue lashing from The Demon."
Simon just grinned and ordered a mug of ale from a hopeful-looking tavern wench.
"Not eating breakfast?" Aamun queried.
"I've already eaten."
"Ah." Aamun looked at Shamon, who whistled.
"I don't believe it," Shamon said. "You ate breakfast with the little peacekeeper and lived to tell the tale?"
"'Twas most enjoyable," Simon replied calmly.
"I am in awe." Shamon shook his head. "Torkra, before you is a wild wench tamer."
"Who says I tamed her?" Simon accepted the mug of ale with a small nod for the tavern wench, who left with a disappointed look when he said nothing further to her. "I like her fine the way she is."
"Ah, spoken like a man in love." Placing one hand on his chest, Shamon gave a sigh. "'Tis so sweet."
"So." Aamun took a sip of ale. "You are making headway with The Demon?"
"She's agreed to allow me to spend some time with her." Simon looked at his friends seriously. "'Tis more than I'd hoped for."
"You never can tell what goes on inside a wench's head," Torkra said.
"'Tis true," Shamon agreed solemnly. "They are another species."
Aamun nodded. "I'm wed, and trust me, 'tis very true."
"Cam reckons he knows exactly what Sabra is thinking." Catching the eye of a pretty tavern wench, Torkra winked at her, making her giggle.
"Cam and Sabra have old ties." Simon grinned. "And trust me, I've seen him in knots when he doesn't know what she's up to."
"Mayhap 'tis best he doesn't know." Aamun picked up the slice of toast off his plate and took a bite. "So, you're courting the lovely little peacekeeper."
"Courting? Nay. Des hates the thought of courting. Spending time together when we can is her idea of getting to know each other."
"'Tis a good thing," Aamun nodded. "Courting is all well and nice, but spending time together is much better."
Torkra looked around from his little flirtation with the giggling tavern wench, who was perched on another man's knee. A man who wasn't too happy with the young giant's flirting with her, but wasn't about to call him out on it. "What's the difference between courting and spending time together?"
"Young lads." Sighing, Aamun shook his head. "You tell him, Simon."
"I'm not the expert," Simon protested.
"You're the captain."
"What? What's that got to do with it?"
"You're responsible for your crew."
"Not educating them in their love lives!"
"'Tis your love life, actually, that we're discussing."
"I never said we were discussing my love life."
"I'll do it." Shamon heaved a martyred sigh and turned to Torkra. "Courting is bringing a lass flowers, pretty things, being subtle about the fact that you're lusting after her---"
"Don't you dare come courting my daughters," Aamun muttered.
Ignoring him, Shamon continued, "Spending time together means not even worrying about being subtle. No pretty words or presents, just a few words then a lust session."
"Suns." Simon rolled his eyes.
Torkra stared at Shamon for a few seconds, then turned to Aamun. "Right. Now I'd better hear the truth."
They all laughed, but Torkra cast Simon a curious look.
Simon smiled at him. "Torkra, all I know is that the lass doesn't want pretty words and meaningless presents. She wants straight talk, no pretenses, and no false airs. 'Tis all she wants."
"Isn't that sort of like what happens after you're wed?"
Snorts of laughter from all of them, including Simon, met this naïve statement.
"Stars!" Shamon wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes. "I want to be there when Torkra meets the wench that captures his heart!"
"Hey!" Torkra said indignantly.
"Lad, you're not even twenty yet," Aamun said kindly. "You've time to learn."
"Thanks for nothing." Torkra saw the tavern wench get up off the man's knee and wink at him. "Er---excuse me."
"Youthful lust." Amused, Aamun watched as the young trader met the tavern wench at the bar, and within seconds they were going up the rickety stairs of the tavern to the floor and rooms above.
"Even not-so youthful lust." Leaning back in the chair, Shamon sighed. "'Tis no spare wenches around to play with!"
"You'll survive." Aamun suddenly started laughing. "Here's some interesting diversions!"
Simon looked up and grinned. Four Daamen traders had just tromped through the door and were looking around. "Sedam and Carlow and some of their crew!" He waved to them.
Grinning, the traders strode across the room, their boots thudding heavily on the wooden floor. Along the way, they plucked up spare chairs and set them down at Simon's table.
"Simon!" Sedam slapped him on the back. "Friend, I've come to check the rumors!"
"Oh?" Simon had no doubt what his old friend was referring.
"Aye." Carlow beamed, his roguishly good-looking face filled with merriment. "We just had to see for ourselves."
"'Tis all true," Shamon informed them happily. "Simon has fallen for The Demon."
"Head Peacekeeper." Sedam nodded. "Had a run-in with her last year. We ended up in her cells for the night."
"You've met, then." Simon laughed.
"Oh, aye. We've met the little wench. And now I hear you're chasing her." Leaning his forearms on the table, Sedam winked. "How's it progressing?"
"He's spending time with her," Shamon answered.
"Do you mind?" Simon said.
"Not at all." Shamon turned back to Carlow and Sedam. "He's been looking after her lycats while she was recovering, and this morn he had breakfast with her!"
"Do tell?" Carlow wiggled his eyebrows.
Simon rolled his eyes.
"Went flying to her rescue the other day, carried her to the medic ship, 'twas all so romantic." Shamon fluttered his eyelashes. "Now he's courting her." He glanced at Simon. "Sorry, spending time with her."
"'Tis a difference?" Carlow queried.
"You ignorant man." Sedam jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. "Of course 'tis a difference!"
"And I thought young Torkra was ignorant." Shamon shook his head.
A movement at the door of the tavern caught Simon's attention, and he glanced up to see a man run inside.
The man looked around quickly with a scowl on his face and hurried across to a table where two other men sat. He spoke quickly, and they all bolted up from the table.
"Hello," Sedam commented. "Interesting."
"Aye, wonder what 'tis happening?" Aamun pushed his mug back into the middle of the table. "Trouble coming?"
The men in question were hurrying for the back door when it crashed open to reveal Emory holding a laser. "Going somewhere?" he asked mildly.
They swore and spun around, only to come to a halt when Des strode in through the front door, a manblaster balanced nonchalantly on her good shoulder.
Simon's mouth fell open in shock at the sight of her.
"Aye, 'tis trouble." Shamon glanced at Simon in concern. "Is she well enough to be working?"
Simon certainly didn't think so, but he was unable to interfere. Damn it. All he could do was watch, and be prepared to help if trouble broke out too much. But if he did interfere, she'd never forgive him. Her job. She'd emphasized that earlier.
"Hands up," she growled.
"You're not supposed to be up and around!" One of the men snarled, his hands lifting.
"Says who?" She gestured to the other men. "All of you, hands up."
The other man put his hands up, but the third man hesitated, his eyes narrowed.
"Get your bloody hands up or I'll blow a hole right through you!" she snarled. "Trust me, it won't be a hardship, either."
Reluctantly he did as she ordered.
She touched her ear. "Chas, you got the pursuit craft out front? Good. Open the back. We've some garbage to upload."
As Simon watched, she dropped the manblaster into her hands without even a wince. "Emory, take the lasers off these blokes and let's round them up."
"You really are a demon, aren't you?" The third man sneered. "You're supposed to be badly injured, and here you are, walking around as though not even touched."
Emory divested them of their weapons, careful not to get too near.
"Check them for concealed," Des ordered.
"Why don't you do it yourself, Demon?" the third man goaded.
"Why don't you shut the hell up before I give you another hole in your face?"
"Maybe you really are hurt, Demon." His eyes narrowed. "You're not coming too close." His hands started to lower.
Without blinking an eye, Des shot him in the foot. The blast took a good portion of the floor with it. He went down screaming and yelling, blood spurting from his boot, while his friends leaped back, faces pale.
Striding over to him, Des grabbed him by the shirtfront and lifted him upright. "Don't mess with me, arsehole. I'm not in the mood." She shoved him at his two friends, who grabbed his arms and managed not to drop him. "Get him to the pursuit craft outside, and move it. I've a lot to do today."
"You shot him in the foot!" One of the men gaped.
"Only part of his foot. The other part is fine." She jerked her head. "Now are you going to move, or do I give you a little help, like I did your friend?"
They helped him out, his screams and blubbering following him from the room.
Des gave Emory a small grin as she swung around to follow. Her gaze fell on the traders at the tables, her gaze flickering from Simon to Carlow and Sedam and their two traders. A frown creased her brow.
"I think she knows more Daamens are in the settlement," Shamon murmured.
That was the least of Simon's worry. He studied her, looking for some sign that she was hurting from her injuries. The lass shouldn't have been walking around in her state, taking on outlaws. Not two days before she'd had to have a blood additive. But she looked healthy, nothing like the wench who'd slept so soundly on the sofa just hours ago.
Someone said something to her from beyond the door, and she swung around and strode out of the tavern, Emory at her side. Within seconds, Emory came back in and approached the traders.
"Message from the Head Peacekeeper." Emory regarded them all closely. "She says she knows there's more Daamens in the settlement, and if there's one hint of a brawl, you'll find yourselves with your arses back in the cells."
"How heartwarming," said Shamon.
Amusement flashed briefly in Emory's eyes when he looked at Simon, but he didn't smile. "Just passing a message."
"Warning more like," Simon muttered when he walked away.
Sedam's eyes gleamed. "Aye, you've fallen for a right wench there, friend."
"Aye," he growled.
"Hmmm, I'm thinking someone 'tisn't too happy right now."
Simon frowned. "That wench should be resting, not running around tracking down outlaws."
"That wench is a law unto herself." Carlow chuckled.
More than anything, Simon wanted to track down the wench in question, give her a sound telling off and cart her back to her sickbed. And he just knew that if he tried, he'd find the door slammed in his face.
Des was not one to be told what to do.
But he sure as hell could ask her what she was up to. Only not right now. Now she was in the middle of her work, and he had to wait for an opportune moment. And that had to be tonight, when she was off-duty.
Until then, he had to clench his teeth and wait ... and stew.
Glancing up, he noticed all of his friends watching him with amusement. Shaking his head, he called for another mug of ale.
"The prisoners aren't talking?" Des looked at Yucel.
"Adin tried, but they're not talking," Yucel affirmed. "He said you might have more luck."
"Right. I'll get onto him in a minute."
Going into the adjoining room to replace the manblaster in the locked case, Des caught sight of the small box still sitting on the table. She still had no idea what it was for, or from where it came.
Crossing to the viscomm in the corner, she typed in the military code for the nearest military base, and came up with the Canton Guard.
"Afternoon, Peacekeeper." The communications officer nodded to her.
"I need some help."
"If we can be of service, certainly."
"I'm going to send a picture of an unknown object to you. I need it identified, as we have no idea what it is."
"Where did it come from?"
"It was found in a blown apart warehouse building. It may have come from the mystery ship."
"Mystery ship?"
The one that's been seen in the vicinity of the settlements that have seen an increase in outlaw activity. The description was sent to you."
The communications officer frowned back at her. "We heard about the increase in activity, but haven't received anything about this ship."
"Yucel sent it yesterday."
"Sorry, Peacekeeper. We've received nothing."
Puzzled, Des leaned back against the table. "I'll have it re-sent."
"I'll be looking for it, as well as the picture of the object in question. Was there anything else?"
"No. Just any information you can give me on this stuff."
The viscomm went blank, and Des strode out into the main office. "Yucel."
The peacekeeper looked up from where he sat at the scanner. "Yes?"
"Did you send the information we had on that mystery ship?"
"Of course."
"The military didn't receive it."
"Impossible. I did send it." He caught her frown. "Honestly, Boss. I sent it yesterday when you had Chas pass on the message."
"What's impossible is that they didn't receive it."
Yucel's jaw tightened. "Boss---"
"I know. You sent it. Don't get your knickers in a knot."
"The record of being sent is right here." He brought up the sent records on the screen. "Here."
Peering over his shoulder, Des studied it. The information had been sent, but it had also been interrupted.
"I swear it was going through," he said. "There was even a confirmed record!"
He tapped the screen beside the sent records, and the confirmation came up.
"How's that bloody possible?" Straightening up, Des scowled. "It can't be sent, stopped and yet confirmed!"
Perplexed, Yucel scratched his head.
They both looked at the screen for several seconds before he said, "Do you think the outlaws have found a way to interfere in our communications with the military?"
"I doubt it. I hope not." Crossing to the viscomm on her desk, she linked to Sharver and within minutes Adin was scowling back at her.
"What the hell are you doing back on duty?" he barked.
"Doing my job. Have you been in contact with the military at all?"
"No. Why?"
"Because I had the info on the mystery ship sent to the military yesterday, but they didn't receive it, and my records are conflicting."
"Conflicting how?"
"The records show it's been sent, transmission interrupted, yet it's confirmed as well. That's not possible."
"No, it's not possible." Adin pursed his lips. "Have you had the transmitter checked?"
"Not yet. But even then, Adin, this kind of thing wouldn't happen."
"Normally, no, but with all the crazy things happening, who can tell?"
"You're right. I'll have Yucel go through the whole thing."
"Good. Now what the hell are you doing up?"
Des grinned. "Can't keep a Demon down, you know."
"Damn it, Des---"
"The natives were getting cocky, Adin. Had to shoot one in the foot just to make them see that I was back."
Adin shook his head.
"Anyway, is there any news from the others?"
"Nothing. All seems quiet."
"That could be a good or a bad thing." Des frowned. "Right now, quietness is not a good thing. Whoever is out there could be regrouping and planning."
"I'm thinking of asking the military to do a sweep of the area."
"Not a bad idea."
"I'll get onto it, then. I know they're flying over soon, so a sweep of the area wouldn't be out of their way."
"Good. By the way, Yucel said the prisoners aren't talking?"
"The ones from the attack on you and your men? No. They're clamped tight shut."
Des looked at the clock. "I can come down this afternoon or now if you want."
"Feel free, but I won't be here. I have to go and sort out some complaints on an outlying area, and a couple of my men will be coming with me." He rubbed his chin. "Bloody in-breeding, I tell you."
"Oh yeah. Some places are really nice." Des drummed her fingers on the table. "When will you be back?"
"Probably late tonight, but as I said, you're welcome to come down and interview them if you want."
"I'd rather see what you collected and do it together. Two heads are always better than one, especially in this instance." She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Then I could bring them back here."
"Don't be surprised if the military are interested in them because of this mystery ship."
"Shit. Forgot about that. When are they doing the fly over?"
"Tomorrow night."
"Then they'll undoubtedly want to collect the prisoners on their way. Or send another craft to pick them up. Right. Tell you what, I'll come tonight."
Adin frowned. "Are you well enough?"
"Of course I am."
"Des, you're overdoing it on your first day out of the clinic."
"I get enough of this from the men." She folded her arms. "I'll be at your Enforcer Building by ten o'clock tonight. Unless, of course, it's getting too late for you?"
"Don't you worry, I can take it."
Des grinned.
"Just be there in good condition," Adin warned her. "Or I'm telling ... Simon."
That wiped the grin off her face. "What the hell---"
"See you tonight." Grinning, he cut communications.
Of course he knew that Simon was interested in her. Every peacekeeper within range and listening to the battle she and her men had been in, would have heard Simon's words to her.
Damn.
Well, there was no help for it now. She'd have to put up with the teasing---at least until the traders left the settlement. Once Simon had left, the teasing would fade.
The thought of Simon leaving wasn't a happy one, but she managed to push it from her thoughts. For now, there were other things she needed to concentrate on.
Taking a seat at her desk, Des scanned the box in the other room through a camera and sent the picture to the Canton Guard. The transmission went smoothly, with the confirmation coming up uninterrupted.
That having been taken care of, Des made her way to the medical clinic. Sure enough, as soon as Moresby saw her walking in, he started.
"Damn it, Desdemona! Have you got a death wish or something?"
"Or something. How're Aiken, Marcel and Orde?"
"Orde and Marcel can go home tomorrow, and Aiken in three or four days. Aiken won't be able to return to work for a while, and the other two need to rest for several days, just like you should be doing right now."
"I'm fine."
"Don't look at me if you faint, Desdemona."
"I won't be able to, Moresby. I'll be studying the inside of my eyelids."
"Ha-ha, very funny."
"Thanks, I thought it rather witty myself."
Moresby eyed her sourly.
"So, can I visit the blokes or not?" She took an uneasy sniff of the air. The smell of antiseptic was giving her the heebie-jeebies. "Damn, how can you stand this smell?"
"My sense of smell went the same time your vocabulary did."
"Oh, that's a low blow."
He grunted. "Follow me."
Aiken, Marcel and Orde were in a shared ward. Aiken's leg was in a thin splint of some kind that covered him from his ankle to nearly his hip.
"How come you get to be out, and we have to stay?" Marcel demanded as soon as she walked in, and then his eyes widened. "And working! You're working!" His tone was accusing.
"Suck it up, boys. I'm the boss and I get to say when I'll go back to work." She grinned. "Just like I get to say when you'll come back."
"You shouldn't be working." Orde watched her closely. "You're feeling a bit of pain, right?"
Right. Her rib, shoulder and calf were starting to burn, the liquid analgesia having worn off. Not to mention that carrying the manblaster around and yanking people to their feet didn't help freshly healing wounds, either. "Not a twinge."
"Liar."
"If you weren't lying in that bed, Orde, I'd take you apart for saying that."
He looked unimpressed.
"That's the trouble with working with you lot," Des stated. "No bloody respect."
"We respect you, Boss," Aiken replied. "But that doesn't mean we can't call it as we see it."
"How the hell could you see properly, anyway? You're doped up to the eyeballs on pain killer."
"I love your bedside manner."
"Stay out of it, Marcel, unless you want me to start on you next."
"I'm sick. You can't touch me."
"I can wait until you're standing on two legs."
"I'll tell Moresby."
"Oh, now I'm scared."
Moresby just looked even more sourly at her from where he stood checking the observation scanner at the head of each bed.
"So, anymore news of the outlaws? Or the ship?" Orde asked.
"Nothing. But I've sent some things to the military, to see if they can identify anything, and Adin is asking them to do a sweep as they pass over on their way somewhere."
"Good idea."
Moresby left the room, and Des gingerly lowered herself into a chair by Marcel's bed.
"How badly were you hurt?" He asked her.
"Just a scratch or two."
"Crap. You were bleeding as badly as we were, and you fainted."
"I don't faint."
"Unconscious, then."
"I'm fine."
"Shot in the shoulder," Orde intoned. "Scorched along one rib. Seared across the thigh and upper arm and a nice hole in the side of the calf. Not to mention that cut to your temple."
"What are you?" Des scowled at him. "The bloody medical assistant?"
"You were in the next room and I heard everything."
"I'm fine."
"You keep saying that and yet you're looking peaky."
"Only because I've stopped, and now I've stopped..."
"You're hurting." He raised one brow.
"Damn." Marcel opened his mouth to call out, but Des slapped her hand over it.
"Shut up, or I'll have Moresby hounding me again. I've got analgesia in my pocket, all right?"
The men eyed her dubiously until she pulled a small bottle from her pocket.
"You're taking some now, right?" Aiken demanded.
"No, I'm going to wait until I'm all comfortable again. Damn, will you stop nagging me?" Unscrewing the cap, Des took a good swallow, grimacing at the taste.
Marcel handed her the mug of una on his bedside table.
Gratefully she took a swallow, eyed the little bottle, took another swig from it and drank some more una.
"Should you be having that much analgesia?" Marcel queried. "Is it watered down?"
"What are you, my father?" Des rolled her eyes.
"Is it watered down? It's supposed to be watered down."
"Yes, yes, it's watered down."
He grinned at her. "Nice to see you back to your normal self. Scared us when you fainted. Sorry, went unconscious."
"Don't push it." Hooking the other chair with her good foot, she jerked it towards herself and with a sigh of relief, rested her sore leg on it while leaning back against the chair she was sitting on.
Orde, Marcel and Aiken exchanged glances.
"Don't start," she said. "Don't bother to even breathe a word. Marcel, how is your wife holding up with you in here?"
"She's fine. Visiting twice a day." He leered. "Says she has a hot surprise for me once I get home."
"I'm sorry I asked. Orde? Are you going to be able to cope on your own at home?"
His expression was calm as always. "As well as you, Boss."
"Cute. Very cute. Aiken?"
"My lady love is moving in once I'm home." He winked. "Going to give me bed baths and all, she says. A little massage to ease my tender parts."
"A little too much information, Aiken."
"Just trying to keep you informed, Boss."
Des spent some more time with them before finally leaving. Having stiffened up from sitting, she hobbled a little when she moved the chairs back, and had to put up with the jokes and eye rolling from the three men.
But when she left the clinic, she did so with a smile and relief in her heart. Her men were safe and on the road to recovery. Contrary to what people thought of her, the men who worked for her weren't only just her responsibility, but also her friends. Not close enough to know her every thought, but having a bond with them that only peacekeepers living in dangerous areas would form. Each of them knew they could die, either separately or together. It forged a mateship that was hard to break.
Assured of their wellbeing, she went back to the Enforcer Building to see if any data had come through on the mysterious ship and box. The news wasn't good.
"Nothing," Yucel greeted her as soon as she walked through the door. "The military have no idea of the ship or the box."
"Bugger it." Crossing to the urn in the corner she poured herself a cup of the hot liquid. "At least they know what the ship looks like, I guess."
"By the way. About those men in the cells back there---"
"They're still here?" Des blew on the hot liquid. "Damn, I forgot about them. We've got more on our plate than those idiots. Get Chas to drop them off at the shuttle station and tell him to ensure they get on it and the hell out of our settlement."
"I hear you, Boss." Grinning, he contacted Chas.
Des went into the cell corridor and surveyed the men in the holding cells. They looked back at her with angry cautiousness.
Taking a sip from the mug of una, she scrutinized their faces, wondering if any of them had anything to do with the mystery ship or the box. Some of them she recognized as trouble drifters, bumming from place to place and causing trouble wherever they went. They hung out in taverns, getting drunk, fighting and stealing. They wouldn't know much.
"When are you letting us out?" one of the men demanded.
"It's your lucky day," she replied. "One of my men is taking you to the shuttle station, where you're getting on board a shuttle."
"And going where?"
"I really don't give a vagrat's arse, as long as it's far away from here."
He scowled, and angry mutters came from several of the men.
"But I live here!" one of them protested.
"Then it's a long walk back, isn't it?" Des greeted Chas as he walked in through the rear entrance. "Got the back open?"
"You bet." He grinned at the men. "Ready for a little ride?"
A good deal of grumbling and swearing came from the men, but they left the cells without a fight and went out to the pursuit craft. Once in the back of it, Chas shut and locked the door, got into the pilot seat and took off for the shuttle station.
The men wouldn't cause a problem on the shuttles, not with the guards that now traveled on them. Draining the last of the una from her mug, Des rolled her shoulders gingerly, feeling the bite from the wounds on her shoulder and along her ribs. With a mental shrug, she went back inside the Building.
"You say the settlement doesn't have as many peacekeepers in this afternoon?"
"That's right. Some of them are going out on a trip."
"And The Demon is on her way." Canute smiled. "Then by all means, go ahead with the plan."
After bidding Sedam and his crew goodbye, Simon watched until the big trading ship had disappeared into space, and then he turned his attention to the Head Peacekeeper's house. The lights were on in the gloom, and he was about to start towards it to visit Des, when a pursuit craft landed near her docking bay. Another followed close behind to land.
"Now what could be happening?" Heddam murmured from behind him.
"I'm not sure." Simon frowned. "I was hoping the lass would be resting."
"After today, you'd think so. The wench was everywhere." Leaning against the ramp opening, Heddam added, "No doubt ensuring that everyone knew she was up on her feet."
"Undoubtedly. But she was also working double time." Simon thrust one hand through his hair. "Mikal overheard her questioning the storekeepers, Etol saw her at the site of the collapsed warehouse, Kel saw her coming out of all three taverns, and Shamon saw her leave in a pursuit craft and return not long after."
"Your lass has no intentions of slowing down, Simon."
And that was exactly as Simon feared. The wench wasn't in a hundred percent full health yet, but there she was, forging ahead as though she were uninjured. He planned to check her injuries tonight and make her rest while he cooked an evening meal for them both.
Now he wasn't so sure what was happening.
Even as he watched, the door to her place opened and she came out, still dressed in her peacekeeper's uniform, along with the heavy coat that protected her from the cold evening breeze.
And that could only mean one thing ... Simon swore when he saw her get into one of the pursuit crafts. Alone. Both crafts lifted off the ground and soared away from the settlement. The peacekeeper who'd delivered one of the pursuit crafts walked back towards the Enforcer Building.
"Hell!" He couldn't believe it.
Heddam looked just as incredulous. "She's going out? After the attack, she's actually going out into the same area?"
Simon ran up the ramp.
"Where are you going?" Heddam pounded up behind him.
"To the control cabin to listen."
The platform lift clanked laboriously up to the second floor.
"The wench will spit chips if she finds out you still have their private frequency in our systems," Heddam warned.
"I don't care what she thinks. I'm going to make sure she's all right." The platform lift stopped and Simon ran down to the control cabin. "I can't believe she's going out at night, and injured!" Dropping down into the seat before the viscomm and scanner, he tapped the viscomm screen and got the peacekeepers' private frequency.
Taking the seat next to him, Heddam brought the two pursuit crafts up onto the scanner.
The communications were quiet, but the scanner showed that the two crafts were flying high and fast, and on track away from the settlement.
Ensuring that the communications was one way only, and thereby not risking letting the peacekeepers know that they were still locked into the trade ship's scanners and viscomm, Simon waited tensely.
"How you doing, Boss?" Emory's voice came over the communications system.
"Fine."
"Did you take more of the analgesia?"
"Goddamn, will you stop nagging?"
"Did you take it?" he persisted.
"Of course I took the bloody stuff!"
A snicker sounded over the communications system, and Simon recognized the voice of one of Adin's peacekeepers. "He's just making sure you don't faint on us, Des."
"Shut your gob, Benel."
"We can't carry you on our own if you faint on us, Des."
"You'll need someone to carry you if you continue this crap."
Several other voices laughed.
"Sounds like 'tis more than just us listening in." Heddam grinned faintly. "The peacekeepers are giving her a hard time."
"It must be the peacekeepers from wherever she's heading." Resting his elbows on the armrests of the chair, Simon steepled his fingers and placed them under his chin. "At least she's not alone this time."
"She wasn't alone last time," Heddam pointed out. "She had Orde and Marcel with her."
"And still got shot out of the sky." Simon stared at the scanner.
"Is Adin back yet?" Des's voice was low and husky over the communications system.
It made him warm to even just hear her voice, and 'twas something that had never happened to him before.
"On his way. Says he'll meet you here at the Enforcer Building about ten thirty."
Heddam glanced at Simon. "She's heading for Sharver."
"The prisoners," Simon guessed. "The survivors from those that attacked her. She's going to see them."
"This time of the night?"
"Don't look at me."
Sure enough, the scanner tracked the pursuit crafts into Sharver.
"We're about to land," Emory's voice came over. "Don't worry about locking us in, we're heading back tonight."
"Tonight?" Benel queried. "But Des's injuries---"
"You'll be facing injuries if you don't quit that!" Des stated. "We're going to question the prisoners, and then head back home."
"All right, but Adin won't be happy with you."
"Damn, Benel, you're asking for it."
His snicker came over the air loud and clear. "Or we could just tell ... Simon."
"I'm going to rip your head off when we land."
Heddam laughed. "I'd say those peacekeepers aren't as afraid of Des as the settlers are."
Simon grinned. "Mayhap she'll be scared of me and not travel while injured next time."
"You wish." Heddam rolled his eyes.
Silence descended as the pursuit crafts flew in over the settlement.
"Got you on scanner," Benel said.
"Hell, I hope you had us on scanner the whole time, Benel."
"Demon, I'd be too scared not to."
Des's laughter was low and unexpected. It curled up around Simon like scented smoke.
Silence came again as the pursuit crafts landed, then Des and Emory resumed talking as they headed into the Enforcer Building and were greeted by Benel. After the initial greetings, Benel took them into the cell corridor to see the four prisoners.
Simon and Heddam listened in interest.
"They don't look so hot now," Des commented.
"Probably afraid you've brought your manblaster along," Benel said cheerfully. "Worried about their manhoods."
Emory gave a bark of laughter.
"Bitch," one of the outlaws growled. "Demon bitch!"
"Your reputation has preceded you, Boss," Emory said cheerfully.
"I'm famous." There came the sound of something hitting the iron bars. "So, boys, care to spill your guts to me?"
"I'd like to spill your guts full stop," was the growled answer.
"Don't be like that. Out in the desert you couldn't wait to share sweet nothings with me."
"And we'd have pai---"The words stopped abruptly.
"You'd have what?" Des asked calmly.
There was no answer, so Simon could only presume that the outlaws weren't talking.
"We could always chain them to the back of the pursuit crafts and drag them around the rocks a bit," Emory suggested. "Loosen their tongues a little."
"Waste of fuel. I've got another way."
"What? You're going to shoot them?" Benel laughed.
"Just a little off here, and a little off there." There came the sound of laser fire, and a curse.
"Bitch! You singed my earlobe!"
"Damn, I'm a bad shot today. I was aiming for your whole ear."
Heddam chuckled. "That wench is unbelievable."
"'Tis the truth." Leaning his head back against the chair, Simon closed his eyes. He could just about see her facing the outlaws in the cell, totally cool and deliberate in all she said and did.
Des might have a bad temper, but she had an array of emotions she could display when the time called for it.
"So, you taking these boys back to Tyron?" Benel queried. "I don't want you bloodying up my cells."
"Don't be such a sissy," Emory drawled. "We clean up after Demon all the time. The brains can be hard to get off the walls, sometimes, but nothing a good scrubbing brush can't fix."
"You don't scare me, Demon," another outlaw's voice sneered. "Give it some time, and you'll be screaming for mercy."
"Is that right? I'm so scared."
"Hey." Emory's voice had a frown in it. "What's wrong with your friend?"
"He's not feeling too good." The outlaw's tone indicated that he didn't really care.
"He was all right a couple of hours ago," Benel said. "In fact, so was your other friend."
There was silence for a minute, a quiet murmur.
"I don't feel good," the weak voice was a new one.
"Looks like you might have some spew to clean up soon," Emory told Benel.
"Hell. Use the bucket if you're gonna vomit, outlaw. Don't mess my floors."
There was still no word from Des, and Simon opened his eyes. What was happening? What she thinking?
"Were they sick when they came in?" Des queried.
"No," Benel replied. "No injuries, either."
"Hey, you. The one with the singed ear."
The outlaw grunted.
"When you say they've been sick for a while, how long exactly?"
"What's it to you, Demon? I thought you'd just love seeing us spew."
"Trust me, I don't give a vagrat's arse how sick you are. I want answers, and I want them before you all cark it."
"We're not dying."
"You might not be, but your friends are debatable. So tell me again, about that mystery ship."
A low groan came through the communications, and Simon lifted his head from the backrest when Benel said, "He's bleeding from the mouth. So's your other friend. What the hell is going on? What did you do to them?"
"Nothing!" The outlaw cursed. "Damn. Tasj, what's going on? What---"
A muffled explosion, so low and wet sounding, broke off his words.
Simon jerked upright in his chair. "Des!"
There was silence for a few seconds, then came another muffled explosion, again low and wet, followed by a man's scream.
"What the hell?" Emory exclaimed. "They're exploding!"
"Get back!" Des yelled. "Back!"
"I'm covered in blood!" Benel sounded incredulous.
Confusion sounded, and now it was hard to separate the words from the muffled explosions and swearing, the screams and yelling.
"Guts flying---"
"Get down! Get down!"
"He's killing us! Damn it, Ruan---"
"Get me out! Help me! Help me and I'll tell you everything!"
"Tell me what you know now!" Des yelled.
Even in the midst of chaos, Des was trying for information. Simon didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He certainly had a death grip on the armrests of the chair.
"Get out of there, Des," he muttered from between clenched teeth.
"Help me!" screamed the outlaw. "Let me out! They planted a bomb in us! They gave it to us in the food! Canu---" There came a wet, sticky sound.
"He's bleeding!" Benel yelled. "He's gonna blow!"
"Goddman!" Des swore. "Not yet!"
"Down! Hit the floor!" Emory roared.
There came a gasp of pain, and it was feminine, but it was lost almost as soon as it was uttered, as another soft, wet explosion sounded.
Simon and Heddam stared at the scanner, straining their ears. Desperate to know what had happened, if Des was all right, Simon leaned forward.
"Speak, Des, c'mon," he said. "Please speak. Let me know you're---"
"Bloody hell!" she roared.
He closed his eyes in relief. The wench was fine.
"No!" There came the sound of something hitting the cell bars. "No, no, no! Damn it, no!"
"I think I'm going to be sick," Benel's voice sounded weak.
"As long as you don't explode." Emory gave a shaky laugh.
"Those bastards could have lasted a bit longer!" Des raged.
"Don't slip in those entrails, Boss."
There came a thud, a cry of pain, and a swear word.
"Let's get out of this blood bath." Benel made a dry retching sound.
"And to think you'll have to clean the cells," Emory said. "And you were worried about a bit of vomit on the floor."
"Up yours, Emory!"
"This floor is as slippery as hell!" There came another curse as Des must have slipped again.
"That's because you're stepping on the entrails I told you to avoid, Boss."
"Just get off the floor and help me, will you?"
"You're looking a bit green yourself, Boss."
"One more word, Emory, and I swear to the sun I'll reach down your throat and pull you inside out!"
"You don't look so hot yourself, Emory," Benel said.
The sounds now were grunts, a few more swear words, and finally the slamming of the door leading into the cells.
Another door slammed and then Adin's astonished voice sounded. "What the hell have you three been up to?"
"Questioning the prisoners, what else?" Des snarled.
"What the hell---"
"It's all right," Benel said. "It wasn't Des that caused this."
Simon couldn't stop the grin that tugged at his lips. Worried for Des he was, but he wished he could have seen her face right then.
"What happened?" Adin's boots sounded as he crossed the room. A creak came, and then he gagged. "Oh my God! Des!"
"I didn't do it. They blew up themselves."
"What?"
"Look, I'd love to go into detail right now, but I have the blood and guts of four men all over me. I want a shower and a change of clothes, then we'll talk."
"But---"
"Unless you want to come in and chat while I'm having a shower, Adin, that's my final word!"
"You can use the work bathroom," another peacekeeper said. "Please."
"I'm coming," Emory stated firmly.
"There's only one shower in there," the peacekeeper said.
"That's okay. I need to use the basin first." The sound of a dry heave came over, making Simon wince.
"Go through that door," Adin said quickly. "Throw your clothes outside the door and I'll put them through the clothes cleaner. You can have them back in fifteen minutes."
The communications were suddenly cut.
"They've taken the head microphones out," Heddam announced.
"Damn." Simon thrust a hand through his hair. "That wench is making me age fast."
"She does get into some scrapes." Heddam shook his head. "Simon, you sure know how to pick 'em."
"Thanks."
"What are you going to do now?"
"Wait until I hear them get back into the pursuit crafts and get home safely."
"I'll wait with you."
"No need." Simon shook his head. "It might be awhile before they head home. I'm just going to catch up on some trading news and things over the viscomm while I'm waiting."
"Can I bring you something to eat or drink?"
"Nay. I'll get something after."
Heddam left and Simon switched on the trade information, but he kept the scanners running to alert him to when Des and Emory left Sharver and started home. They might have gotten there safely, but he wanted to make sure they returned home safely, too. Especially Des.
Raf flew Des and Emory home after they docked the pursuit crafts at the Enforcer Building docking bay. She strode confidently to her door, opened it, turned and gave him a wave.
He waved back and left.
Striding through the door, she turned and shut it behind her, then slumped and leaned back against the wall.
Pain was what she felt. Pain and exhaustion. Her calf burned, her shoulder burned, her ribs burned. She had a pounding headache.
Chels gave a loud 'meow' of greeting, and bumped his head against her sore leg. With a groan, she slid down the wall until she sat back against it, her knees bent. Dropping her head forward, she rested her forehead against her knees.
Fuzz rubbed her head against her arm, and without raising her head, Des lifted her hands and gave them both a pat.
"Oh suns," she muttered. "I am so tried. I am so sore. I want painkiller and my bed." She groaned as a slight shift in position made her calf burn. "I may have to stay right here, lykitties. I don't think I can move another step. Stars, I hurt!"
"Drink this," a deep voiced commanded in a low but firm tone.
Des groaned inwardly. She had no doubt to whom that voice belonged. "How did you get in?"
"The same way I did before."
Lifting her head wearily, she found Simon hunkered down beside her. One big hand held a glass of liquid, but it was his concerned gaze that warmed her.
It had been a long time since anyone had waited for her with concern.
"Drink," he repeated firmly.
Taking the glass, she was surprised to find that her hand trembled a little, but ignoring it, she downed the liquid and grimaced. "Ugh."
"For the pain," he said unnecessarily.
Handing the glass gratefully back to him, she dropped her forehead back onto her knees. "Thanks." Opening one eye, she peeked sideways at him, but could only see the rock hard muscles of his chest and abdomen. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you."
"Nice. You can go now."
"I don't think so, lass. I'm getting you to bed."
Unsure she'd heard correctly, she lifted her pounding head. "Pardon?"
Before she could realize his intentions, Simon's arms came under her knees and behind her back, and he straightened with ridiculous ease until he stood upright with her cradled in his arms.
The movements made the pains of her injuries known, and she winced even as she protested, "I can walk."
"Just do as you're told for once." The chiding was soft. "Where's your bedroom?"
In no condition to argue, she pointed in the direction, and Simon carried her through into the bedroom. The light came on dimly at his spoken command, casting the room in a welcoming shade.
The cool tiles underfoot, the slightly darker lilac walls, the simple furnishings and big bed were a welcome sight.
Simon sat her on the side of the bed and knelt down to tug off her boots. She didn't object until he reached up and started to unbutton her shirt.
"I think that's enough." She laid her hand flat on his, and had to clamp her jaw against a roll of nausea.
"Des---"
"I may be a wreck, trader, but I can still undress myself."
"I'm not about to jump your delectable body, Des." His gaze was sincere. "You're pale and I can see the pain in your eyes. Let me help."
The pounding of her head was making her nausea worse. "I'll undress myself."
Brushing aside her hand, he continued to efficiently unbutton her shirt. When she tried to stop him again, her head pounded warningly, her stomach churned and her shoulder screamed a silent protest.
Hitting the opposite cell to the exploding bodies hadn't helped the healing process of her body. Keeping up the façade in front of the other peacekeepers had taken every effort of willpower, but once she had let the façade drop in the privacy of her own home, there was no way she could regain it.
Taking a deep breath, she centered her thoughts on settling her stomach.
Simon gently peeled the shirt back and down her shoulders, tossing it onto the end of the bed. Pushing upright, he retrieved her nightgown from the pillow and held it in his hands. "You want your support garment left on, lass?"
"Yeah, leave the bra on," she rasped.
The nightgown was dropped over her head, and she lifted leaden arms through the thin straps.
Once it was settled over her and pooled in her lap, Simon placed one hand at her waist. "Stand up, lass."
Her calf almost spasmed and she had to grip Simon's arm to steady herself. His fingers unsnapped the button of her pants, hooked into the waistband, and skimmed them down her legs. One at a time she lifted her feet almost mindlessly, and he drew the pants completely off and tossed them onto the end of the bed as well.
Slipping one arm around her waist, he drew her against his side while he grabbed the bedclothes and drew them back.
There was no way she could resist leaning against him, resting her head on his shoulder and easing the weight off her sharply throbbing leg, letting him take charge because all she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep away the pain and fatigue.
Letting him take charge because she trusted him without a doubt.
The dim light was almost too bright, and she squinted when he lifted her up into his arms and laid her down on the cool sheets.
"Sweetheart?" Concerned, he smoothed the hair back tenderly from her forehead, and his touch was a cool bliss. "What's wrong? 'Tis not just your injuries causing you pain."
"Headache." She closed her eyes. "Bad headache."
"I'll get the medic---"
"No." She held out her hand, snagging his vest. "There's nothing he can do. I'll sleep it off. I've had it before."
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
Opening her eyes a fraction, she managed a ghost of a smile. "You know, apart from my Dad and Moresby, you're the only other person who cares."
"Your mother---"
"Doesn't love me." She closed her eyes. "It's okay, Simon. I'll be okay."
There was silence.
The coolness of the pillow beneath her cheek didn't ease the pounding inside her head, but simply lying down was a huge help. And once the pain killer kicked in...
The covers were drawn up to her waist, and her tight, damp braid was untwined, releasing the pressure on her scalp. Then she felt calloused fingertips on her forehead, the touch light and soothing as Simon gently massaged her temples, moving from the middle of her forehead and down to her temples to massage again, the rhythm repeating over and over.
It was magic. Within minutes she could swear the pounding wasn't so bad.
"'Tis a bit better?" Simon asked softly.
"Yes..." she whispered. "Good." It was all she could manage to say before sleep tugged at her and she drifted off to the soothing touch of his hands.
She awoke during the night to feel a warm body behind her, strong and reassuring, and knew it was Simon. Somehow she wasn't surprised that he'd stayed.
Still drowsy and in pain, the headache thankfully now a dull thumping, she made to sit up and the arm around her waist tightened.
"Des?" Simon came up on his elbow.
"I just need the bathroom."
"Dimmest light," he ordered softly, and immediately only enough light to see by filled the room. "I'll take you."
"Honestly, I can go by myself." She touched his arm.
His arm disappeared, but by the time she'd carefully stood up, he was beside her, his arm around her waist once more.
"You're not going into the toilet with me," she said firmly.
"Fine. I'll take you to the door of the bathroom."
He was true to his word, and when she finished attending her needs and washing her hands, he was waiting by the closed door to assist her back to bed. Once she was lying down, he pulled the covers back over her and padded out of the room in bare feet.
She was awake enough now to notice that he only wore long pants. He'd obviously divested himself of vest and boots to lie on her bed.
Back within minutes, he held a small glass and a larger, frosty glass. "Pain killer and water."
Sitting on the side of the bed, he waited while she propped herself up painfully on one elbow, then he handed her the analgesia first, followed by the water.
"Thanks." She lay back down.
Placing the empty glasses on the bedside table, he moved back around the bed, and she felt the mattress dip under his weight when he got on.
"Simon," she said softly. "You don't have to stay. I'll be all right."
There was a few seconds of silence, then his voice came low in the dimness. "Do you want me to go?"
She didn't have to think twice. "No."
"Then close your eyes and go back to sleep."
Smiling to herself at the gentle order, she obeyed. "You're bossy."
"Aye. Like you."
The covers lifted, the cool night air making her shiver before the sudden presence of his hot, hard body was pressed against her back again. His arm slid around her waist and he curled around her protectively.
"Lights off." His voice was a deep rumble that vibrated through his chest.
His chin brushed the top of her head and he made a contented sound deep in his throat.
Relaxing into his warm embrace, Des slipped back into the healing power of sleep.
"It's done, then." Canute tipped his chair back and gazed up at the ceiling.
"The military won't get the men," Zared confirmed. "They're dead."
"How fortunate that the Sharver peacekeepers were so busy." Canute smiled. "A job very well done." He raised the glass of wine to his lips and took a sip. "I hear the peacekeepers involved were a little shocked."
Zared smiled.
"Des held together very well, though. Just ranted and raved." Canute's smile widened. "Such spirit."
"The woman is strong."
"Strong and spirited. She'll last a long time." Canute raised the glass and studied the ruby depths of the liquid that filled it. "Desdemona is one in a million."
"That she is." Sitting opposite Canute, Zared stared out into the night sky. "That she is."
Lifting his legs to rest his booted heels on the tabletop, Canute rested the glass against his cheek. "We move soon."
"You're getting back readings?"
"Faint, but growing. Two places are dud, the other two..." He took a sip of wine. "The other two are so much more promising, and one place in particular." He took a deep breath of the fragrant wine. "Yes, one place in particular holds more than one interest."
Des was still sleeping when Simon woke up. Nestled in his arms, her face tucked into his neck, her long limbs entwined with his, and her soft breasts pressed against his chest, she was a warm armful, and one he would normally have enjoyed exploring more. However, the pain she'd been in during the remainder of the night after her trip to Sharver was very real. It had taken awhile before her restlessness in bed had eased to a more relaxed sleep.
A cold, wet nose poking into his ear made him flinch and glance over his shoulder, to see Chels sitting on the side of the bed, his face quizzical. Tail twitching, he licked his lips.
"Hungry?" Simon smiled and reached back to pat him.
Chels gave his hand a swipe with a rough tongue and jumped off the bed with an eager purr. Fuzz peered around the door and meowed.
"Hungry," he clarified.
Not wanting the lycats to awaken Des, Simon slowly and carefully untangled himself from her, feeling a stab of disappointment as the cool morning air took the place of her warm body.
She murmured in her sleep and turned over.
Dropping a kiss onto the top of her head, Simon got out of bed and padded into the kitchen. It was still early, the sun not quite up over the horizon. The cool morning air blew fresh and clean through the open wall into the garden.
After feeding the lycats, he poured himself a cup of hot una and checked on Des once more. She was sleeping soundly, so he tugged on his boots and vest, swallowed the una and hurried across the distance to his trading ship. It didn't take him long to have a quick shower and change of clothes.
Aamun met him in the corridor. "I see you spent the night with the lass."
"The stubborn wench was in more pain than she should have been." Simon shook his head. "Had to dose her up with analgesia. She was still sleeping when I left."
"You're heading back there now." It wasn't a question but a statement.
"Aye." Simon stopped walking. "Do you need me for anything?"
"Nay. Some trading still to be done when those two merchants arrive, so meanwhile we're all just resting and relaxing while we wait. Torkra and Mikal are busy with the tavern wenches, and some of the others are visiting friends and checking out new stock. We're fine." Aamun patted Simon's shoulder. "Go see to your little wench."
Simon walked to the platform lift. "You know where I am if you need me."
Aamun grinned. "Oh, aye. Playing nursemaid and scoring points."
"Jealous?"
"Only if 'twere my beloved Mina." Aamun winked.
"Your beloved Mina looks at no man apart from you." Simon scratched his head. "Though I've never understood why."
"She knows a good man when she has one." Aamun rubbed his muscular chest. "And a damned fine looking man I am, if I do say so myself."
Simon rolled his eyes.
Entering Des's house was like coming home. The flowery scent, the fresh breeze coming in from the garden, even the lycats who purred upon seeing him, all felt like a home. His own home back on Daamen was big and beautiful, but he alone lived there, and somehow it had never seemed as homely as this.
Checking on Des, he found her still fast asleep, and as he looked at her, the wealth of red hair spread on the pillow, the slow rise and fall of her full breasts under the nightgown, he realized now why his house didn't seem like a real home.
It lacked a wife, a life partner.
It lacked Des.
It was no huge shock, but simply an acknowledgement of his true feelings. Leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, he watched her. He was falling in love with the hardheaded Head Peacekeeper.
What 'twas it about her that attracted him so? She was a shrew at times, bad mouthed and hot tempered. But she was also funny, courageous, with a sharp sense of humor and loyalty to those she cared about.
Did she care about him? He thought so. She hadn't thrown him from the house, which he knew she considered her sanctuary. She'd trusted him to have her lycats when she thought she was going to die. She'd accepted his help and hadn't tossed him out of her bed.
Did that mean her feelings were equal to his?
He just didn't know, and frowning, he pushed away from the door and went back into the kitchen to pour another cup of una.
Standing at the sink, he looked out towards the settlement. All was quiet in the early morning, with only a few people walking around. He saw Torkra and Mikal heading for the ship, and grinned to himself. They'd obviously spent the night with some tavern wenches, and knowing the hot-blooded brothers, no doubt they'd been busy with more than one wench each.
The lusts of youth.
'Tis not like you're that old, Simon. You're only thirty years old. And the wench he was lusting after was alone in the big bed in her room. Injured. But so warm and curvy in his arms. 'Tis a sick man you are, Simon.
Chels suddenly looked up from where he'd sprawled on the sofa, his head turning towards the bedroom. Jumping off the sofa, he loped into the little corridor.
Placing the mug down on the bench, Simon quickly followed. He found the bed empty, the covers pulled neatly into place.
"Des?" Worried, he glanced around. Hearing the sound of the shower, he moved to the door and knocked on it. "Des? Are you all right?"
"Fine." The word was muffled.
"You shouldn't be up."
"I'm fine."
"Do you need some help?"
"No." The rebuttal was firm. "I'll be out in a minute."
Stubborn wench. "You have ten minutes, and then I'm coming in."
There was silence for a few seconds. "Then enjoy your last ten minutes of life, won't you?"
Grinning, Simon went back out into the kitchen and retrieved his hot drink. Sitting in the chair at the head of the table enabled him to see the door through which she had to come out. Sipping his drink, he waited.
Des came limping through not long after. When he made to get up, she raised her hand. "I can walk. Don't mess with me in the mornings. I'm not a morning person and need a little while to come to terms with the world."
"Do you want a drink or something to eat?" Though amused at her honest words, Simon observed her carefully.
Her clothes revealed the self-adhesive patches on her thigh, shoulder and calf.
Crossing the room in bare feet, her tall, curvy body was shown to full advantage by the short blouse and skirt she wore. The hem of the simple, sleeveless blouse just brushed her belly button, while the skirt hem stopped mid-thigh. The lass dressed very differently when not on duty.
On duty it was pants, shirt and boots, uniform and nothing feminine. But off-duty, she favored tunics, skirts and blouses, in feminine colors and patterns. Even her hair was feminine, spilling around her shoulders and down her back.
Intriguing. And titillating. Knowing she was so feminine when at home, when she portrayed such a tough exterior outside, made her intriguing. Desirable. Like a gem hidden beneath a rock. The feminine side only there for one man to see and touch and know so intimately and---
"What's the matter with you?" Eyes narrowing, Des stopped at the kitchen bench.
"You're beautiful," Simon said bluntly.
"Is that right?" She titled her head. "Wow, one night in my bed with no hanky panky, and you think I'm beautiful. What would I get out of you if I let you have my body?"
Simon choked on the mouthful of una he was in the act of swallowing. Coughing, eyes tearing up, he saw the grin on her face right before she turned away and got a cold drink from the cooler.
By the time she'd poured a glass of the fizzy drink, Simon had regained his breath. Munching on an apricot, Des took the chair opposite him and watched him with amusement.
"Suns, lass, unless you want me to choke to death, don't say things like that when I'm drinking," he gasped.
"Just an observation." She shrugged, the narrow ties on her blouse showing off her smooth shoulders. "Just wondering."
"I'll be more than happy to turn the wondering into fact when you're well enough." Simon leaned back again in the chair, taking in the healthy pink color in her cheeks with interest.
Des slanted him a look but didn't reply. One fine brow arched, but whether it was in amusement or query, Simon didn't know. He returned her gaze boldly, but she still didn't give her thoughts away.
Raising the mug, he took another sip while keeping his gaze on her.
She took a bite of apricot and chewed slowly, her tongue flicking out to trace the juice from her bottom lip.
Heat flushed through his groin almost immediately and his grip on the mug tightened. Those full lips caressed the roundness of the apricot before she took another bite.
When Simon finally dragged his gaze from her lips to her eyes, he could see the flash of heat in her eyes, the pale brown seeming to be more yellow, and his breath caught.
Desire flared through him. God above, one sultry look and I'm ready to throw her onto the bed right now!
Des glanced down at Fuzz, who was bumping her head against her knee. Reaching out, she tickled her under the chin. "Hey, baby. I see Simon has fed you then, gorgeous girl." Leaning down, she rubbed her cheek against the big hybrid's head, a smile of enjoyment spreading across her lips. "Have you been conning the trader into feeding you, sweet pea?"
Simon wondered what it would be like to hear her call him by endearments. To have her stroke him. As she stretched out her arm, her blouse lifted slightly to show the self-adhesive patch on her side. Take it easy, you horny hound. The lass is still injured and certainly not well enough for the kind of lovemaking you have in mind. Any lovemaking.
He managed to get his expression calm and his libido under control by the time she finished smooching up to her lycat and straightened. "You look and sound much better than you did when you came home."
"I feel it," she replied candidly. "Thank you for staying with me."
"You weren't in any condition to stay alone."
"I'd have managed."
"You'd still be on the floor near the door."
She grinned faintly. "Been there, done that."
The thought didn't sit well. "Truthfully?"
"Sure. A couple of times. But I manage to get myself to bed after a time."
Simon didn't like what he was hearing. "Surely you could have called someone?"
"If you're thinking Gracie, forget it. She'd come only if there was something in it for her. Dad's away somewhere, and he doesn't even live here, besides. Moresby would drag me to the medical clinic, and there's no way I'm having those ham-fisted men of mine trying to attend to me." Finished with the apricot, she got up and limped over to the disposal unit next to the sink. Tossing the pip in, she turned and said matter-of-factly, "I'm a big girl and can take care of myself."
The thought of her alone and wounded, hurting, with no one to help her made Simon's stomach clench. Standing up abruptly, he took the few steps needed to bring him almost against her. When she didn't move but simply looked at him, he braced his hands each side of her on the sink and looked down at her.
"You don't have to be alone."
"I'm used to it."
Bending his head down closer to her, his voice lowered. "It doesn't have to be."
Tilting her head back slightly so that she could meet his gaze, her eyes showed curiosity, then became searching. Silence fell between them as she studied him.
He met her gaze steadily, allowing her to see what she would, to see how he felt, knowing his feelings were reflected in his eyes.
The lass's reaction was intriguing on its own. Her eyes were intent, searching, then narrowed, and finally widened a little. "Simon..."
Closing the small gap between them, he kissed her gently, capturing his name on her lips even as she breathed it.
The taste of apricot on her lips just added to the sweetness of the kiss. Simon kept it light, controlled, a tantalizing brush of sensitive skin against sensitive skin. Only when her lips opened beneath his did he make it deeper, tasting the honeyed essence of her mouth almost before he entered.
The touch of her hands was light at his waist, almost hesitant before she slid her palms beneath his vest and up the muscled hardness of his back, her fingertips smoothing and shaping as she went.
Every touch left a flicker of heat on his skin.
Meaning for the kiss to be an example of his feelings, a show of tenderness, Simon was unprepared for the rush of rapacity that swept though him with a carnality that had him claiming her mouth hungrily. His kiss changed, the tenderness turning to a coveting to taste more, drink more, claim more. Always more.
One tender kiss wasn't enough.
One hard kiss wasn't enough.
Slipping one hand around her waist and the other cupping the back of her head, he pulled Des against himself and held her still for his kiss. Desire was climbing inside him with a steady relentlessness and his kiss became hungrier, carnal.
His hand left her back to drop to skim the curve of her hip and partially down her thigh before trailing back up to lay against the bare flesh of her waist. Her skin was silky smooth, warm, beckoning to his heated senses to feel more, explore further, and shape the treasures hidden beneath her blouse.
Even as he plundered her mouth, the heady scent and taste of her filled his senses. Hot sweetness like heated honey, fresh and clean, feminine and flowery. The combination of taste and scent was like a drug to him, and he inhaled deeply at the same time he drank her in.
Skimming her slightly curving belly, Simon slid his hand up beneath her blouse, delighting in the silkiness of her skin beneath his calloused palms. His fingertips nudged the edge of her bra, trailed up over the lace, and he groaned into her mouth in pure pleasure when finally he was cupping the fullness of her breast in his hand.
Heavy, round, the weight of her breast was a sweet torture behind the confining material of her support garment. Her soft moan when he pressed gently against her flesh was music to his ears.
Leaving her lips, he trailed soft kisses down the side of her chin to her neck, using his hand to tilt her head to the side to give him better access.
Through the material of her bra, he felt the budding of her nipple, and shifting the position of his hand, he rubbed her nipple with his thumb.
"Simon..." She moaned.
"Aye, baby?" Gently he scraped his teeth on the curve where her shoulder swept up into her neck.
"Please..." She pushed her breast harder into his hand.
"Please, what?" He teased darkly, lifting his head to look down into her eyes.
Her irises were more yellow than brown now, hot desire making them brilliant, and her full lips were slightly swollen from his kisses. Thick red hair swirled around her shoulders, a long lock curving down to brush against her breast where his handed rested beneath the material.
"Please, what?" Simon rubbed her nipple with a firm stroke, and smiled when her breath caught.
"Make love to me."
The simple words made his loins hot, his manhood harden. "'Twould be wholly my pleasure." He slid his hand from her breast down her side. "Des---" The brief flinch in her face made him stop at almost the exact instance his hand registered the self-adhesive patch on her ribs.
Cursing inwardly, Simon cupped her cheek in one big hand. "Nay."
She blinked, then frowned. "Don't be silly."
"Your injuries, remember?" With a sigh, he stepped back. "Nay. No lovemaking this time."
The step she took forward brought her against his body again. Her eyes were sultry. "Yes."
"Nay." Taking her upper arms in a gentle grip, Simon regretfully held her in place while he took another step back. "I'll not risk hurting you."
"I'm not fine china, Simon." One brow quirked and her eyes held a decidedly wicked glint. "I can handle a bit of roughness."
The thought made him groan. "Don't torment me, lass. The answer is nay."
"Come on, Simon." Des shook her head. "You didn't hurt me."
"I saw you flinch." Leaning forward, Simon gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and stepped aside quickly when she reached for him. "Nay. When you're not hurting so much, then I'll make love to you, but not before."
Giving an exasperated sigh, Des leaned back against the sink again. "You might not get the chance again, trader."
It might have taken a bit of effort to get his libido under control, but Simon's sense of humor was never far from the surface. He raised his brows. "Trust me, lass, I can have you begging for me within minutes."
"I might never know," she drawled, her easy tone belied by the nipples pushing so enticingly against her blouse, and the heat still burning in her eyes.
Simon grinned lazily. "Oh, you will."
Pushing away from the sink, she crossed the small distance between them and stopped in front of him.
With his own desires safely under control, Simon looked down at her confidently.
Placing her finger on his chest, she said huskily, "If you're so sure of yourself, trader, then you have a lot to live up to. All talk ... can you match it?"
"A promise is a promise. Don't you worry, wench, I can more than live up to my words."
"Then let's hope you get to keep that promise." Her smile was darkly sensual. "I don't offer myself very often. You won't get many chances." Her finger trailed down to his stomach, skipped over his belly button and stopped at the waistband of his pants. Hooking into the top, she gave it a small tug. "Be warned, trader."
The words and the action, and the expression in her eyes, all combined with such a hedonistic undercurrent that Simon felt his control start to crack dangerously.
"You're playing with fire, wench." He made to step back.
Des smiled carnally. "I like to see how much heat I can handle." In one swift move her finger swept down from the waistband of his pants to skim across his semi-hardness and down to the apex of his thighs.
Simon's breath caught in his throat, but before he could retaliate, she swung around and walked across to the bench, where she reached up and flicked a switch beneath the viscomm.
He couldn't stop himself. With a silent swiftness, Simon moved up behind her, catching her waist to pull her carefully but firmly back against him. Her soft, taunting laugh made him want to wrap his hand in her thick hair and pull her head back so he could cover her mouth and replace that laughter with moans. The feel of her bottom pressing back against his groin made him want to bend her forward over the bench and lift her skirt, bury himself in her heat.
Only iron control and the knowledge of her injuries made Simon lower his head to whisper hotly into her ear, "You've stoked the fire and trust me, lass, 'tis the fire you're going to feel once you're able to handle it."
"I say I can handle it now." She looked up at him over her shoulder, the sultry heat in her eyes mixed with hedonistic teasing. "Try me."
"You think you can handle it, wench, but you have no idea." Giving in to one impulse, Simon wrapped his fingers in that wealth of thick fragrant hair and pulled her head back enough that he could claim her lips in a searing kiss without hurting her.
He couldn't bury himself in her lush body right now, but by the suns, he could give her a taste of what she was missing, and what was coming.
While plundering her mouth mercilessly, Simon slid one hand down the front of her, grabbed the hem of her skirt and flipped it up enough that he could get his hand beneath it. At the same time he pushed his knee between her thighs from behind and parted them enough to allow his hand to slide between and unerringly cup her mound.
Swallowing her muffled cry of surprise, Simon drank from her rapaciously, and while his mouth tended her own, he massaged the heel of his hand against her mound, while rubbing his fingers firmly against her womanhood, feeling the moisture through her underwear.
Raising her arm, her hand cupped his nape, and he felt her writhe against his hand, her bottom rubbing his thigh.
He was in danger of losing total control, the blood pumping hot and furiously in his veins and filling his staff. If he didn't stop now, there'd be no turning back.
Sucking in a deep breath, he removed his hand from her womanhood, slipping it out from beneath her skirt to rest on her stomach.
Her eyes were heavy with desire. "Simon---"
"'Tis just a taste of the fire," he said huskily. "You just be ready when it burns out of control."
Moving away from her was the next wisest thing, and Simon retreated to the chair and sat back down again. His gaze stayed on Des, noting how she tipped her head back and took in several deep breaths before turning and spearing him with a hot look.
"Don't play with me again and expect to walk away," she said softly.
"Trust me, next time I play with you neither of us will walk away."
They gazed at each other hotly for several seconds before she finally shook her head, but before she could say anything, the door to her home slammed shut.
"Des?"
Des blinked, and then looked towards the corner of the corridor. "Moresby?"
The medic walked in warily, his gaze moving to where the lycats were sprawled on the floor near the wall opening onto the garden. They eyed him back but didn't move.
Grateful for the diversion, Simon nodded to Moresby.
"What do you want?" Des queried as he set his small pouch on the table.
"I heard that you hit the cell bars in Sharver." Moresby moved towards her. "I'm here to check your injuries."
"You hit your injuries?" Concerned, Simon looked sharply at her.
"It's nothing," she replied. "And you don't need to check, Moresby."
"You're the Head Peacekeeper with an injury, and it's my job to check if you've done anymore damage, which," he added sourly, "Wouldn't surprise me."
"The dressing is intact."
"But is the wound underneath it?" He gestured to her. "Come over here."
"Don't make me start swearing at you."
Simon frowned at her. "Des, let him check the wound."
Her frown was darker. "Stay out of it."
"I'm concerned."
"Whoopee for you." She glared at Moresby. "I'm fine."
"Don't be so bloody stubborn, Desdemona."
"I think I'd know if I did any damage."
"And I'll know for sure if you did." His scowl was as dark as her own.
In that instant, Simon saw the resemblance. They both frowned the same way. He grinned a little.
"What's so funny?" Des glared at him.
"Family resemblance."
"God help us," Des and Moresby said simultaneously.
"You'd be so lucky," Des said to him immediately.
"I need a face lift," Moresby said sourly. "Now show me your side."
It surprised Simon when, with nothing but an annoyed sigh, Des leaned one elbow on the bench and lifted her blouse up slightly.
With quick, efficient movements, Moresby took off the self-adhesive patch and inspected the wound. While he did so, Des rolled her eyes at Simon.
The viscomm gave a small beeping signal, and Des immediately reached up with her free hand and touched the screen. Huxley's face appeared.
"'Morning, Boss."
"It was." Des glanced at Moresby who ignored her while he took a tube of cream from his pouch. "I'm coming in shortly. What is it?"
Moresby snorted and Simon shook his head mentally. The wench didn't know how to rest.
"Just thought you might be spending the day resting."
"Not likely." Des dropped her blouse once Moresby had put a new self-adhesive patch on her ribs and shrugged the thin strap of her blouse down so that he could work on her shoulder wound. "Anything on the murders?"
"Afraid not."
"No fresh links?"
Huxley shook his head.
"Anything come through on the box?"
"Not a thing."
"Why the hell did you contact me again?"
Unfazed, Huxley grinned. "To enquire about your state of health?"
"Great." She slid the strap back up her arm. "Anything else I need to know?"
"A military battle cruiser will be landing in two hours."
Des's gaze sharpened. "Really?" She waved Moresby away when he gestured for her to turn so he could check her thigh wound.
Irritated, Moresby dropped to one knee and reached for her calf wound.
"Yep. Adin sent us a forewarning."
Simon watched Des rub her jaw thoughtfully. The sharp, intelligent look in her eyes was a surprising turn-on. Watching her mull over information, knowing her agile mind was moving fast, was not only interesting but entertaining as well. And intriguing. He wondered what was going on in that fast-thinking brain.
Des's gaze glided over to Simon, but he could see that she wasn't really seeing him. "I'll be there soon."
"Righto, Boss."
"Anything else?"
"Gracie was here."
A fresh self-adhesive patch in hand, Moresby glanced up at Des. Simon saw the flash of sympathy in his eyes before he returned his attention to her calf.
There was no change of expression on Des's face. "What did she want?"
"She says one of her girls is missing."
"Put it on the list of to-do things. Anything else?"
"Nothing else that can't wait until you get here."
Des nodded. "Right. See you very soon."
The viscomm went blank and she touched the screen, turning it off completely.
"I need to see your thigh," Moresby protested when Des skirted around him and started across the living area.
"I'm busy. Leave a new patch and I'll see to it."
"Damn it, Desdemona!"
"Thanks for dropping by." She went through the doorway and shut it behind her.
Throwing up his hands, Moresby got up, retrieved a self-adhesive patch out of his pouch and slapped it onto the table beside the tube of cream. "When you get the chance, put this on that stubborn female's thigh."
"Certainly." Simon hesitated. "I've heard you and Des are related."
"What about it?" He grabbed the medic pouch.
"Just curious."
"I'm her uncle." Moresby paused, his gaze keen as he looked at the trader. "Takes a strong man to match her."
"So I see." Simon met his gaze levelly.
"Underneath that brusque manner, she's a nice kid."
Simon smiled.
Moresby cleared his throat and scowled. "Just don't hurt her."
"Never."
After a curt nod, Moresby walked out of the house, the door slamming behind him.
Simon shook his head. Gracie was Des's mother, and Moresby her uncle. He wondered what her father was like.
Picking up the self-adhesive patch and the tube of cream, he crossed the living area and knocked on the door. "Des?"
"What?"
"Your uncle left a self-adhesive patch for your thigh."
"Great. Leave it on the table and I'll get to it later."
"I could do it now."
"I'm half dressed for work."
That brought some titillating images to mind, but his concern quickly banished them. "Des, 'twould be wise to rest at home."
The door jerked open and Des stood there, frowning at him while buttoning up her shirt. "No."
"Lass, you were exhausted last night---"
"That was last night. Today I'm fine." She turned and went back into the bedroom.
Simon followed and leaned against the bedpost as she pulled on her boots. "'Twould make a difference if I said I'm worried about your health?"
"Not at all." She went into the bathroom.
"Will you at least come home early?"
"When I'm done, I will." Sticking her head around the door, a tie clenched in her teeth, she scowled. "You're not going to start nagging, are you?"
"'Twould make a difference?"
"Hell, no."
"Then I won't nag." Caught between amusement and concern, Simon added, "Be careful."
"Sweet." She withdrew into the bathroom again.
Simon sighed. Loving the Head Peacekeeper was easy, but controlling her movements for her own good was out of the question. Damn it.
Booted feet propped up on the edge of her desk, Des ran her hand over her face and sighed. The records and reports on the viscomm showed that they were no closer to finding the murderers of the girls, and the box was still a mystery. The mystery ship was a mystery still. She was no closer to finding out anything.
"Hell's bells." Dropping her head back, she stared at the ceiling.
Huxley and Chas glanced over at her from where they sat sipping hot una.
"Nothing new," Chas commented.
"Surprise me some more."
"We've gone around the whole settlement. Nothing on anything or anyone."
Silence reigned in the room.
The sound of boots ringing authoritatively had Des tipping her head forward so she could watch the door. Her hand was over the laser holstered on her thigh when the door opened and three soldiers walked in.
"You're early," she commented.
The officer glanced around the office before shifting his attention to her. His gaze was cool, calculating, and curious. "Yes."
The man was curious about the female Head Peacekeeper. Whoopee. She quirked a brow. "What can I do for you?"
He looked around for a chair, spotted the one sitting before her desk and sat in it. His uniform was spotless. His two escorts, a corporal and an unranked soldier, stood on either side of the door, hands linked behind them, legs spread apart slightly, at attention.
Huxley and Chas looked at the soldiers in a friendly fashion, but their expressions were otherwise unreadable. They took their cue from Des.
"I am Captain Gorman," the officer stated.
"I'm Head Peacekeeper here, Captain. What can I do for you?"
Gorman studied her, and she met his look unblinkingly. Finally, he replied, "The prisoners who had knowledge of the mystery ship died last night."
"Blown to pieces," she agreed.
"How?"
"From what we could gather, one of them said someone had fed them some kind of explosive in their food."
"Who?" Gorman's manner was that of one speaking to an underling, an air of superiority about him.
What a complete bozo. Crossing her arms beneath her breasts, Des drawled, "I have no doubt you've already been to question Adin, Captain. You have the story."
"I want to hear it from you."
"Why?"
Obviously unused to being questioned, he stiffened. "The peacekeepers contacted the military about a mystery ship that flew faster than anything anyone has ever seen. We're trying to investigate that, and your cooperation would be appreciated."
"We're cooperating, Captain. Adin told you what we knew."
"But you were there when the men ... exploded."
"So was Benel. You questioned him?"
Eyes narrowing, Gorman leaned forward. "Yes. Now I will have your version. Do you have an objection to that, Peacekeeper?"
She smiled pleasantly. "No objection. Let's see. None of them said who had fed them the food."
"How'd they get past the peacekeepers?"
Anger flickered through Des. "I'm not here to be questioned like a suspect, Captain. Don't waste my bloody time."
"So what's your problem with answering my questions?"
"You're starting to annoy the shit out of me."
The unranked soldier gave her a startled look.
Gorman gave her a scowl.
Chas and Huxley grinned widely.
Gorman's jaw clenched. "I'm an officer of the military, here to investigate. You are required to assist me."
"Quite right. But you're being a total arse by asking me questions you already know the answers to. I wasn't there when the prisoners were fed, and I know you've already asked these questions at Sharver. Ask me things I can answer."
His nostrils flared. "You're insolent, Peacekeeper."
"I'm also a bitch, so don't push all my buttons." She eyed him speculatively. "What have you found out about the mystery ship?"
"I'm not at liberty to say."
"Crap. We sent the information. This isn't a military zone, and your assistance was required for the identification of the ship. Now I know you want to get your little hands on this ship, but that's no just reason to hold information back." Her smile was chilly. "As the law in a civilian area, and as a civilian investigation is on-going into this case, I have a right to any information you have ... Captain."
Just watching his cheeks go red with fury was so good. Lifting an eyebrow at him, Des waited. The pompous jerk was trying to bully her into submission, but the law was on her side. He could strut around all he wanted in his own compound, but she didn't come under military law, and neither did this case.
"We know nothing as of yet," he finally said tightly. "The prisoners were our only link."
"They were ours, too. Anything else we can assist you with?"
A nerve jumped in his cheek, and his dislike of her shone from his eyes. "That's it---for now."
"Then have a pleasant trip to wherever it is you're going." She smiled.
He got up abruptly. "I'd say it's been a pleasure, but I won't go that far."
"I'm wounded."
He strode from the Building, his steps hard and angry, the soldiers falling in behind him.
Chas laughed outright.
"What an arse," Des said.
"I love seeing you in action," Huxley stated.
About to reply, Des groaned when the door banged open and Gracie stalked inside.
"Desdemona!" she shrieked.
"Goddamn." Still keeping her boots on the desk, crossed at the ankles, Des looked at her mother. The day was getting worse.
"What have you done about finding my missing girl?" Gracie demanded shrilly.
"It's an open case."
"You're just sitting there!"
"Oh my God. So I am."
Hugely entertained, Chas and Huxley watched.
Big bosoms heaving, Gracie stabbed a finger in her direction. "I don't see you doing anything, Desdemona! What sort of a peacekeeper are you?"
"A busy one?"
"Laugh all you like, missy! While you're sitting here scoffing at me, people are being murdered and disappearing!"
"I didn't know that."
Gracie gritted her teeth.
There was no love lost between Des and her mother. In fact, it had died a long time ago. The woman was an annoying blight in her life, and Des amused herself by baiting her whenever Gracie tried to shame, embarrass or bully her.
And the day was getting worse anyway.
"Gracie, my men have all the information they can get on your missing girl. They've asked around."
"She cost me good money, Desdemona!"
"Your concern is heart wrenching."
"Don't be so smart!" Gracie shrieked. "Find my girl or else, Desdemona! You're a disgrace to your profession!"
"And you're a shining example of yours," Des returned mildly. "Don't fret, we're working on the case."
Gracie scowled, her dislike of her daughter clear on her face. With a hiss, she turned and flounced out the Building.
Chas and Huxley looked at Des.
"They say bad things come in threes." Des stood up and stretched. "What's number three, you reckon?"
"I couldn't begin to imagine," Chas replied.
"Well, I'm going to do a little tour of the settlement, stretch my legs. Contact me if you need me."
"I'm going to do a fly patrol of the outlying areas," Chas announced, also standing up.
"Huxley, let Adin know that Gorman has been here."
"Any personal message?"
"He could have warned us the captain was a dick."
Laughter followed her out of the building.
The settlement was busy as always, and she caught the furtive movement of petty outlaws slinking into the alleys. It wasn't a huge worry. If she spent all the time on petty outlaws, nothing else would get done. Right now, she was after bigger game. The petty outlaws could wait an hour or so. Now if any bigger outlaws appeared, then she'd be diverted.
Moving through the taverns, she lingered with the bouncers, exchanging idle chit-chat, but they had no news for her. Not that many would, but there were a couple who were willing to exchange information, for she'd saved their hides a couple of times.
Gracie glared daggers at her when she entered her tavern, but Des ignored her.
At another tavern she saw five Daamen traders sitting at a table, and they grinned and waved at her. She nodded shortly, her gaze already going to a man who sat in the corner. He caught her eye and nodded slightly.
Des left the tavern and walked around to the back. The man met her there.
"What news have you, Vaj?" Des asked quietly.
The man, small and slight and shifty-eyed, glanced nervously around him before answering. "I heard about the prisoners blowing up."
"What else?"
"I know someone killed the usual eatery server and took the food in to them, and a small explosive was placed in their meals, which they swallowed."
It was old news. "You know a lot."
Vaj smiled slyly.
"But not enough."
His smile slipped away immediately.
"Give me a name," Des said.
"Someone heard one of them yell 'Ruan'."
"Yeah, I heard that, too. What else?"
The man shifted. "The murdered girls are said to be linked to the same ones who killed the men in the Enforcer Building in Sharver."
"You don't say." Des stroked her chin. "Who told you?"
"I heard whispers only."
"Where?"
"In the taverns. There was a man there last night, one I didn't know. He heard it from someone who met another man in Sharver at the time. A hard-eyed man who was laughing as he watched the Enforcer Building from the shadows. He was speaking into a communicator."
It was the closest Des had come to knowing anyone linked to the murders. "Give me some names."
"I don't know. The man who told me was drinking at the bar, and he left for Vaksal."
"Shuttle?"
"Private ship."
"When did he leave?"
"Last night."
"Anything special about the ship?"
"No. It was an ordinary travel ship, small, compact, nothing unusual."
"Did you get the coordinates?"
Vaj gave her a cynical look. "Oh yeah, everyone gives others their coordinates here."
"Don't be a smart arse." Des frowned. "Keep your ears to the ground and tell me the minute you hear anything, understand?"
"Gotcha."
Watching him run from the alley, Des rubbed the back of her neck. There was nothing new in his information. Rolling her shoulders, she turned and moved back out into the street.
By midday, she'd found nothing new, so she returned to the Enforcer Building. As soon as she entered, she knew something was wrong by the way Chas and Huxley looked at her.
"What?" she demanded.
"We've found the third bad thing," Chas announced.
"And what is that?"
"Captain Gorman is coming back to look at the mystery box."
"So?"
Huxley grimaced. "It's gone."
"What?"
"It's gone," he repeated.
"Shit." Crossing the room, she flung open the door and stared at the stand. The empty stand. The box was gone. "How the hell did it vanish? Have you searched?"
"High and low." Chas came up to her side. "We ran a scan, but the only thing that showed was a fuzzing of the image when the box must have disappeared. The security cameras show no intruder."
Moving around the room, Des opened cupboards and drawers. "Are you sure you looked everywhere?"
"Yes, Boss."
"Search again while I re-check the security film."
The search brought up nothing, and the security cameras didn't reveal anything helpful. No one had come into the room or out of it. One minute the box was in view, then the film fuzzed and when it cleared, the box was gone.
Des stared at the film. "According to this, it happened this morning. Who was in the Building?"
"It was changeover time," Chas replied quietly. "We were in the front room exchanging the reports. No one was back here."
"The bad news is that the only ones who have access to the security cameras are us, the peacekeepers."
"Yeah."
The three peacekeepers looked grimly at each other.
"So," Chas finally said. "Which of us did it?"
"I don't know," Des replied tightly.
"I can't think any of us would do it," Huxley said just as tightly.
"I wouldn't have, either."
"But now you do."
Des glared at him. "Damn it to hell and back, Huxley! You think I want to believe that one of my own men did this?"
"Seems to be the only thing left to believe, doesn't it?"
"Don't get in a huff with me."
Chas laid his hand on Huxley's shoulder. "Don't take it personally, Hux. It could be any of us."
Shoving a hand through her hair, Des looked up at the camera. Was it possible that something else had happened? Anything? Anything at all?
Lowering her gaze, she found Chas and Huxley looking back at her. Chas's face was expressionless, but Huxley had an angry, betrayed expression.
"Don't look like that!" Des strode over to the bench.
"How am I supposed to look?"
"Huxley, I don't have time to soothe your hurt feelings. There's something going on that smells of betrayal, but I'm not saying it's you. Or any of us. I don't intend to jump to conclusions so fast." She speared him with a furious look. "And neither the hell should you."
He had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed.
"Chas, get the recordings of the last of us to come in and out of the building at the time changeover occurred. Bring it to me and we'll see what shows." She looked at Huxley. "Contact all the peacekeepers, even those who have gone to bed, and have them assemble here within the half-hour. While you're at it, contact the medical clinic and ensure that Orde, Marcel and Aiken are still there and haven't yet been released."
Once alone in the room, she sighed and her shoulders slumped. A traitor in the midst wasn't something she'd even thought of, but it was certainly something she had to consider and look at now. But it wasn't the final answer, either.
With a mystery ship, a mystery box and the increase then sudden decrease of murders, something was happening---she just didn't know what the hell it was.
The meeting with the peacekeepers was strained. Chas, Huxley, Raf, Yucel and Emory were grimfaced, as was to be expected.
Des was just as grim, but truthful. "I'm not pointing the finger at any of you. The happenings lately are too odd. I'm simply looking at all the data we have available and see if I can pinpoint who entered the Enforcer Building and stole the box. It may or may not have been one of us. And that includes me, in case you haven't thought of it."
Emory relaxed enough to grin faintly. "You were asleep at your house since I dropped you off last night."
"I could have left, you don't know that."
"I doubt it, not with the Daamen trader on guard."
Des looked blank for a few seconds, then, as the grins and raised eyebrows flitted from one to the other of her men, she grimaced. "You can't know that for sure. I---"
"He was there when we arrived, I saw him in your kitchen window. He was there this morning when Moresby went by your place to check your injuries. You didn't leave your place. Des, you were so tired and in so much pain last night. No, you're out of the puzzle."
But it didn't solve the puzzle, either.
Des met their gazes steadily. "Fine. I'm not going to deny I spent the night with the trader. Big bloody deal. But that doesn't mean that I suspect any of you of stealing the box, either. I'm looking at the top layer first to see if I---we---can spot the problem. That's why I've got all of you working on this as well."
The peacekeepers relaxed a little.
"The night shift can go back to bed. I'll need you on board tonight, we're short staffed with Marcel, Orde and Aiken down, and you're no use if you're half asleep. I'm sorry you were called out, but you had to know what was happening. The day shift will get their jobs delegated to them to see if we can find out what the hell is happening. Dismissed."
The men went their ways, except for the day shift. Des put Huxley in charge of re-checking all the electronic equipment, while Chas was given the job of circling the taverns and the settlement to see what he could overhear.
Once the men had left, Des took a deep breath and sat down at her desk.
Boots thudded outside and a loud voice shouted, "Baby girl!"
Eyes brightening, she looked up just as the door thumped open and a rough, hard-eyed bounty hunter with a flashing gold tooth walked inside.
"Dad!" Catapulting out from behind her desk, she ran straight up to the bounty hunter and flung her arms around him.
He stood a good five inches shorter than she did, but he hugged her to him and patted her back, laughing. "Who's Daddy's baby girl, huh?" Creed was as hard-hearted as he was hard-eyed, but his daughter was his sole soft spot.
Hugging him back, Des said, "Dad, when did you get in? Just now?"
"Baby girl, I heard you'd been shot to shit, so I came back as fast as I could." Placing his hands on her arms, he pushed her back and ran his gaze up and down her. "Are you all right? Want me to string the bastard up who did this to you? Just give me the word and point me in the right direction."
"If I knew, I'd have done it myself." She grinned at the brutal looking man in the open doorway who was giving her a twisted smile from his scarred face. "Kerey, how are you?"
"Mopping up your daddy's tears when he heard his baby was hurt."
"Ignore that bastard." Creed released Des to pull his bullwhip over his shoulder and drop it onto the desk. He nodded briefly to Huxley before turning back to Des. "Need some help here?"
"I don't know if you can help. Maybe." A flash of hope went through her. Crossing to the urn, she held up a mug. "Want some?"
"I'm starving, baby girl. Let's go and get something to eat in the tavern." His gold tooth flashed in a nasty grin. "Should we surprise Gracie?"
"Not if we want you to keep your appetite. Besides, my name is shit with her right now."
"When was it never?"
"True. But to be truthful, Dad, I'd rather we eat somewhere where we can discuss things quietly."
He looked at her closely. "Fair enough."
"My house?"
"Sure. Still got Chels and Fuzz?"
"Of course. What about you, Kerey? Coming for something to eat at my place?"
"Thanks for the offer, sweet cheeks, but no. I'm going to the tavern for a drink and sex."
"A little too much info."
He flashed her a dangerous, twisted grin.
Des started for the door. "What about the rest of the pack? They're welcome to come to my place, stay there---"
"They're happier on the ship, and besides, they're thirsty and horny, too. They're at the taverns."
"They won't be fighting, will they?" She cast him a serious look. "I can't afford to have any more of my peacekeepers hurt."
Creed returned her look with a thoughtful one. "Yeah, so I hear. No, they'll be good. I've already spoken to them."
"There's Daamens in the settlement."
Creed's eyes twinkled. "Oh, well then..."
"Dad."
"They'll be good."
Des looked over her shoulder. "Huxley, you know how to contact me if you come across anything or need me."
"Rigtho, Boss."
As they strode down the street, Des still limping, she was amused to find it nearly deserted. Every two-bit outlaw had gone to ground at the arrival of the bounty hunter pack. Creed walked beside her, and she made her pace smaller to accommodate his shorter stature.
When she neared her home, she noticed the huge Daamen trading ship in the docking bay was surrounded by hover crafts and two of the merchants. The traders were taking huge crates and bundles from the hover trays and loading them into the cargo hold. She couldn't make out which of the couple of fair-haired traders was Simon, for their backs were to her, and they were too far away.
"God Almighty," Creed said.
"What?" She opened the door and ushered him inside.
"I heard you had it sweet for a trader."
"Where'd you hear that?"
"You'd be surprised." His face changed, going all soft, as the two big hybrid lycats came skidding around the corner of the corridor. "Chels! Fuzz! Come and give Daddy some lovin'!"
Purring loudly and meowing, the lycats twined around his legs. Picking first one up, then the other, Creed rubbed his face against theirs before finally putting them down. He nearly tripped over them several times on the way to the living area. Rather than sit on the sofa, he made straight for the cooler and peered into it. Getting out two packs of meat that were in there, he opened them up and gave them to Chels and Fuzz, who purred loudly and bounded out into the enclosed garden with it.
"Thanks, Dad." Des smiled wryly. "That was their dinner for later."
"You'll just have to thaw two more out, won't you? Hell, baby girl, you don't expect me to come and not have something for them, do you?" After investigating the contents of her freezer, he pulled out some more meat. "Here you go."
"Why don't you just help yourself to my stuff?"
"Why, thank you." He looked over the top of the cooler door. "Want anything to eat?"
"Not for me." Dropping into a chair, she watched her father fix himself some food and a hot cup of una.
Placing the second cup in front of her, Creed took the opposite chair and proceeded to take a big bite of a sandwich. Chewing, he eyed her searchingly before swallowing. "You look pale."
"I'm fine."
"Heard you were in the path of blood and guts last night."
"Wasn't the best shower I had."
"You get shot up, have prisoners explode, and the military visiting. What's up?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out. Maybe you can help."
"Maybe. Tell me everything."
Leaning back in the chair, Des took a sip of the hot brew. "Short and straight to the point, we've had increased outlaw activity, which has mysteriously decreased after the separate murders of three women. All were killed in the same way. In a couple of other settlements not long after, the same, only the pattern was broken a bit."
"Ah, yes. Scalping and gutting." Creed nodded and took another bite. "Women first, then a man."
"You've got your finger on the pulse, I see."
Creed looked innocent, or as innocent as a hardened bounty hunter could manage. "Just heard a few things."
"Of course you did."
"So, what else?"
"There's been a mystery ship around, faster than any I've ever seen. The same ship was spotted at Sharver, Calton and Merver. It was also there when Aiken was attacked in his pursuit craft, and it helped bring Orde, Marcel and me down, too. It disappeared just as fast and hasn't been seen since." Getting up, she switched on the viscomm above the kitchen bench and brought up the description and rough drawing of the ship. "Recognize it?"
He squinted. "Afraid not. But I'll put a call-out over the bounty communications system. Someone might have heard something."
"Great. I did try to contact you earlier, but you weren't answering."
"I was further into the Outlaw Sector."
Des sat down again. "There was also a mystery box that appeared in a collapsed warehouse. Some kind of strange language was coming from it, but we have no idea in hell what it is or where it came from."
"I'll have a look at it."
"Yeah, well that's the thing. It's gone missing."
Creed paused in the act of taking a bite of sandwich. "Missing?"
"Taken while the security cameras were put out of action for that time."
His eyes took on a hard gleam. "Traitor?"
"I don't want to think so."
"Baby girl, face facts. It might be."
Sighing, Des leaned back in the chair. "Yeah, I know."
He picked up the second sandwich. "Anything else?"
"That's about it, I think."
"We'll be here for a couple of days, I'll see what we can find out for you."
"Thanks, Dad." She smiled at him. "It's good to see you again."
"Had to stop by and make sure my baby girl was doing okay."
"Always."
One brow quirked. "So, what's this I hear about you and one of those damned Daamen traders?"
"None of your business."
"I just want to check him out, make sure he's all right."
"None of your business."
"I'll find out anyway."
"I could always throw your arse in the cells."
He grinned widely at her. "You make me so proud."
Des gave a bark of laughter. "You nearly died when I became a peacekeeper, then Head Peacekeeper."
He laughed.
They spent awhile chatting about things in general, then Creed left.
Des linked to the bounty hunter's ship and sent a copy of the mystery ship details as well as the mystery box to them. With their shady contacts, who knew what they could stumble across?
Leaving the house, she looked up at the clouds scudding across the sky. Rain was in the air and she smiled a little before heading back to the settlement. The Daamens, she saw, were now loading up the hover trays with cargo. There was no fair-haired trader to be seen, and she sighed.
Wondering what Simon was up to, she entered the settlement and continued down the street to the Enforcer Building.
Chas and Huxley were waiting for her.
"Report," she said, leaning back against the desk and fishing the bottle of analgesia from her pocket.
"The electronics show some interference, but I can't tell if it's by hand or other equipment," Huxley stated.
"Other equipment?" She took a swig of analgesia from the bottle and re-pocketed it.
"It may have been done from outside interference."
Des frowned. "An outside jamming device?"
Huxley nodded. "It's possible. Considering that I can't find any evidence that it was tampered with on the premises, outside influence is the next step to look at."
"Bloody impossible. This equipment is supposed to be tamper proof from outside!"
"There's a mystery ship flying around, and our scanners and communications systems have been fooled with." Huxley looked at her. "It's not so far-fetched to think that someone can do this as well."
"Bugger me." Scowling, Des stared at the scanners. "You can't track an electronic emission?"
"No. This equipment is made to be hack-proof, so there's nothing I can use to track anything."
"Damn. All right, the good news is that might let us off the hook for a traitor." Des looked at Chas. "Anything?"
"Nothing tangible."
"Okay. Keep listening, anyway. Any kind of gossip that even sounds odder than normal, we investigate."
Shamon stepped off the platform lift into the cargo hold. "You owe me, Simon."
Simon glanced up from where he was attaching planet labels to crates. "Why?"
"I just spoke to Illona."
Simon grinned widely. "Thought you looked a bit pale."
"Ha-ha. That wench is scary."
Aamun winked at Heddam. "Could be your fluttering heart is from fondness, not fear, Shamon."
"I think I'd know the difference." Shamon sat down on a barrel.
"So what news did the lasses have about the mystery ship?" Simon queried.
"Well, they've only heard snippets of gossip. Seems that whisper came to Illona's ears from a lover about a new kind of spaceship."
"Oh?"
"Aye. 'Tis supposed to be faster than anything ever seen."
Putting down the labels, Simon gazed at Shamon. "Where is the ship kept?"
"Don't rightly know. She said he never revealed that, because he flaked out in a drunken stupor." Shamon shrugged. "And she doesn't know who he was, either. It was further in the Outlaw Sector, and they parted company the next morning."
"Does Brina or any of the other pirate lasses remember?"
Shamon shook his head.
"So 'tis no closer to finding out." Simon rubbed his jaw. "I thought they'd be the best bet to know."
Heddam looked up. "Did you get hold of Sabra?"
"Not yet." Simon started for the platform lift. "I'll give her another go."
In the control cabin, Cam's face appeared on the viscomm in answer to the communications link Simon sent to his and Sabra's home.
"Hello, friend," Cam greeted him cheerfully. "How's the love life with the hardheaded peacekeeper going?"
"News travels fast."
"Sedam told me."
"I just bet he couldn't wait."
Cam laughed.
"Is Sabra home?" Simon queried.
"About four more days, so Uleah tells me." Cam's dark eyes sharpened. "Everything all right?"
"'Tis a bit of trouble here which I'm trying to help Des with. I thought Sabra might have some answers."
"You could always send the information through the viscomm and she can read it when she gets back."
"I'll do that. 'Twill save some time."
"No worries." When Simon hesitated, Cam quirked a brow at him. "Something else?"
Knowing Cam was the only one who could possibly have some idea of the problems he faced, Simon let out a long breath. "Between you and me."
"Aye?"
"Sabra. Security."
"Aye?" Cam waited patiently.
"You don't know exactly where she goes or what she gets up to."
"True. I'm not privy to the information." Cam smiled a little. "Would this have something to do with the Head Peacekeeper?"
Simon sighed. "Des has been injured a few times, her life in danger. 'Tis nothing I can do about it."
"Ah." There was gleam of sympathy in Cam's eyes.
"How do you handle it, Cam? How do you handle watching the wench you love go head-first into danger, and not be able to do a damned thing about it?"
Settling back in the chair, Cam gazed steadily at him. "Sabra is Sabra, and 'tis not for me to tell her what to do. When I fell in love with her, I had to accept her as she was, I knew that. She thrives on mystery, secret missions, fighting for our safety. How much of that takes her into danger, I strongly suspect many times. I've seen her return patched up, with new scars and wounds. Other times she returns unharmed."
"How do you do it, Cam?" Moodily, Simon traced a circle upon the armrest of the chair. "How do you stop worrying?"
"I never stop worrying, friend. But 'tis what she does, what she is. I respect her work, and I respect Sabra. I could no sooner make her give up what she loves than catch the moon. If my lass is happy, I am happy."
"She could die," Simon stated bluntly.
The dark eyes of his friend flickered, but his reply remained calm. "Aye, she could. Every time she goes away on an unknown mission, I have no idea if 'tis simply computer work, investigative, or a full-on battle. I don't know if she'll come back lying down or standing up."
"Yet still you accept it."
"Aye, I do. 'Tis what she wants. Our own work is not always safe, you know that. We travel in places which are outlawed, and carry goods worth a fortune. Sabra has never once asked me to stop."
"Don't you think 'tis a little different?"
"Nay. Nay, I don't." He grinned. "Well, mayhap. 'Tis more chance of her getting hurt than me. And I stick to the Lawful Sector now."
"Have you talked about it?"
Cam drew a deep breath. "No one but Sabra and I know this, but when I thought she was going to return to bounty hunting, I was going to go with her."
Simon's mouth dropped open. "What?"
"Aye." Cam nodded. "I love Sabra unconditionally, and I would do whatever it takes to make her happy."
"'Tis fortunate you didn't have to go with her sour-faced pack after all."
"Very fortunate. But, Simon, I would have Sabra however I could have her. Security is her job, and she's good at it. Better, in fact. And I'm damned proud of her." Cam smiled. "I would never ask her to give it up for me."
"Why?"
"Because she's happy, and if she's happy, I'm happy."
"Would she give it up if you asked?"
Cam regarded him seriously. "I wouldn't ask, but I suspect aye, she would. But I would never ask."
"Because you love her and want her happy."
"Simon, could you honestly see Sabra running a trade store?"
Simon grinned at the thought.
"Aye, now you see. Sabra had an upbringing that was unorthodox in comparison to Daamen lasses at home here. I accept her for who she is and what she does and believes in." Cam's eyes were serious. "You have to decide if you can accept Desdemona and her job, and everything that goes with it."
"I guess." Simon leaned back in the chair. "You've given me something to think about."
"And besides, could you see your lass running a trade store?"
Simon feigned a shudder. "She'd frighten the customers away and would thrash half the merchants."
Cam laughed.
"Thanks," Simon said sincerely.
"Hey," Cam replied, "'Tis happy I am to finally have someone who is in a similar situation to me. We can contact each other when we're worried stiff and cry on each other's shoulder."
"You're on."
They chatted for a while more, then Simon cut the communications link. Leaning back in the chair, he stared at the viscomm screen and thought about what Cam had told him.
He'd never known Cam to be happier than since he'd wed his bounty hunter turned security officer, and his one-time little friend, Sabra. Now Simon could fully appreciate just how much Cam loved her.
Unconditionally.
Could he love Des like that? He sighed. Dumb question. He already did love her. Now he just had to figure out of he could live with her as a peacekeeper and facing danger constantly.
"Simon." Heddam's voice came through the communicator. "Your wench is heading this way."
Immediately his heart lightened and warmth surged through him. Flicking on the outside viewer, he watched Des stride towards the ship, a slight limp betraying her injured leg. Her face was set, her movements decisive and without hesitation.
This was the wench he'd fallen in love with, and at that moment Simon realized that he'd have her any way he could, as long as she loved him in return.
"Send her up to the Control Cabin," he instructed Heddam.
"I take it you don't want anyone to interrupt you two?"
"Heddam, you dirty-minded bastard. You're correct."
Heddam laughed.
Simon listened to Des's husky tones inquire after his whereabouts, and Heddam's reply, along with the greetings of the other traders.
"Can't he get his arse down here?" Des demanded.
"He said to send you up," Heddam replied, laughter in his voice.
"Damn. What am I, his servant?"
Aamun coughed. "He's busy, lass."
"So am I, and you don't see me sitting on my arse, do you?"
Someone let out a snort of laughter which was quickly muffled.
"Sitting down doesn't necessarily mean he's not working," Aamun tried again.
"I'll bet. Never mind, I'll go find his Lordship. Second floor, right?"
"'Tis correct."
Grinning, Simon swiveled the chair around so he could watch the doorway of the control cabin. Anticipation at seeing her again flared, and he heard the clank of the platform lift seconds before it appeared. Had it really been only hours ago that he'd held her in his arms?
Des stepped out of the platform lift, her customary frown in place as she walked up the corridor. Her gaze was locked on his, and apart from the limp, her stride never faltered. As soon as she got close enough, she said brusquely, "What are you looking at?"
"The love of my life," he drawled.
That did make her falter, but she re-established her rhythm and continued to eyeball him while she entered. "Cute."
"Not as cute as you." He winked.
One fine brow rose sardonically. "My, we're feeling good today, aren't we?"
"Even better since I heard your voice and saw you, sweet lass."
"What do you want, trader?"
"A kiss." With that simple reply, Simon surged to his feet and closed the distance between them in one long stride.
She halted him with her hand on his chest and a glint in her eye. "Business first, loverboy."
"I give in to you over many things, wench. This isn't one of them." Cupping her elbow, Simon quickly used his thumb to press down into the curve of her elbow, causing it to bend, while he placed his other hand at her waist.
Des's eyes widened in surprise when she found herself pulled forward quickly and firmly, coming up against his body.
Amused at the surprise in her face, Simon breathed, "I win," and kissed her.
One touch of their lips was all it took. The light kiss turned deeper almost immediately. Her arms crept up around his neck while she pressed up against him, her soft breasts pushing against the hard muscles of his chest.
Desire burned through Simon, straight from where their lips met to his groin. One long, hot, flash of flame that could only be quenched one way.
Now wasn't the time, he knew that, but still he drank from her, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth to taste the honeyed sweetness beyond. He held her still for his kiss, almost wanting to devour her. Stamping his very essence onto and into her.
There was only one final way to really stamp himself into her, but damn, 'twasn't the time.
He drew back with a groan. "God, lass, you make me burn!"
"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly feeling all cool and collected, either," she managed, stepping back from him. "And you started it."
He grinned ruefully. "Aye, I did."
Her eyes gleamed. "Don't play with fire if you can't put it out, Simon."
"One day, lass," he said, his voice deep with leashed desire, "I'm going to stoke that fire until it burns out of control, and then I'm going to stoke it even higher."
Her pale eyes held a hint of yellow, the heat of answering passion. "Nice words, trader, but I'm telling you now. You better live up to your promise."
"Oh, I will, you can count on that." Drawing in a deep breath, he dropped back down into his chair. "Now, what can I do for you?"
"My, my, my. All officious."
"Keep smirking with that pretty mouth, wench, and I'll do something for you, all right, but 'twon't be what you expect."
There was a daring in her face, a gleam in her eyes, when she braced her hands on either side of him on the armrests. Leaning forward until their faces were close, she drawled, "How do you know what I expect?"
Stars, the wench was the one playing with fire now. "I'm looking forward to finding out."
"I just bet you are. However, since you insist on waiting and treating me like the fine china I'm not, let's get to business." Abruptly she straightened, her tone changing, the peacekeeper taking over the passionate, daring and playful wench of mere seconds before. "Have you found out anything to do with the mystery ship?"
It took several seconds for Simon to clamp down on the amorous lover and reclaim his normal calm. "Only that there has been a whisper of a fast ship further into the Outlaw Sector. 'Tis all I have."
"Damn." Scowling, Des leaned back against the wall. "No closer."
"'Twould seem not, though I am still waiting for someone else to get back to me."
"Who?"
"A friend."
Des stared at him.
"Don't try and break me, wench, for I'll not say." Amusement trickled through Simon.
"Your sources could come in handy for me one day."
"My sources could end up in your cells."
"I always suspected you traders dabbled in illegals."
"Not so. Some of our friends are shady, 'tis true, but we deal solely in legal things." He sobered. "We're not outlaws, and we're respected. 'Tis how we work. Just because we trade in outlaw areas doesn't mean our goods are ill gotten."
"I know. My, you are sensitive."
"Only since knowing you. Before that, I'd have laughed you off."
"How nice to know."
Simon shook his head and sighed.
"Back to business," Des said. "Did you happen to hear anything about that mystery box at the scene of the warehouse collapse?"
"Haven't asked, lass. I wasn't aware that you hadn't discovered the origins of it."
"Well, we haven't." She hesitated. "And it's gone."
Simon's brows rose in surprise.
"Yeah. Gone. Shocked the hell out of us, too."
"Your security cameras---"
"Were blocked or something. The films go fuzzy during the period it disappeared." She looked gravely at him. "It was shit having to think one of my men could have been a traitor."
"I bet 'twas. You've found out 'twasn't them, though, right?"
"Maybe." Folding her arms and tipping her head back against the wall, Des sighed. "We're constantly chasing our tails here, and no closer to the truth."
"I'm sorry, lass. I wish I could do more."
She smiled slightly. "You listen, that's a good start."
"Mmmm." Elbows resting on the armrests of the chair, Simon steepled his fingers. "Where did Sol, the owner of the collapsed warehouse, get that box?"
"He denies all knowledge."
"He must know. He's such a tight-fisted bastard, nothing gets past him."
"Chas questioned him for ages. He denies everything."
"Odd. Very odd."
Des eyed Simon. "What are you thinking?"
Thoughtfully, he contemplated his steepled fingers. "I'm thinking that Sol never did much trading from that warehouse. He has two warehouses, and the one that collapsed was one he didn't take traders to. The other one was where the trading happened."
"Really?" Des's eyes narrowed. "And you'd know because you trade with him?"
"Not a lot, though. He's too shifty, too sly. His goods can't be guaranteed, 'tis why we check all our cargo from merchants, especially in the Outlaw Sector. 'Tis why we personally oversee the packing and unpacking. Nay, Sol is not on our list of regular suppliers."
Watching Des, Simon could just about see her brain working. Her gaze remained sharp, and a new alertness crept into her stance.
"The warehouse collapsing, what could it mean?"
"He didn't care for his property."
"But his house is one of the best around. And his other warehouse is kept in good condition. This one looked fine."
"Ever been inside it, lass? I have. The other warehouse might be in good condition, but this one was an accident waiting to happen. You just couldn't tell from outside."
"Really?" The gleam was back in her eyes, but it was one of speculation, not desire.
"Aye."
"Well, well. I think I'm going to have to go and have a little chat with Sol myself." She pushed away from the wall, and then looked at him.
It was obvious to Simon that she was debating telling him something, for there was a flash of indecision in her normally confidant expression. Patiently he waited, keeping his gaze steady on her.
"Simon," she began slowly. "I want to ask you something, but this is not to be spoken of outside this cabin."
"All right."
Taking a deep breath, she rolled her sore shoulder carefully while searching for words. "Oh, bugger it," she finally said. "Simon, we know of two names mentioned right before that last prisoner blew up in Sharver. The names were 'Ruan' and 'Canu'. We've run them through every system we have, with no success."
"Mayhap they're not in the system. If they're outlaws from further into the Sector, they may not be known."
"Exactly. But I'm thinking, with your connections, you might be able to find something out for me. The names, the men."
"Of course. I'll ask as soon as you leave."
Her brow quirked up. "My, wanting me to go already."
Realizing what he'd said, Simon quickly leaped to his feet. "Nay! I didn't mean---"
She laughed. "Relax, trader. I know what you meant." Crossing the short distance between them, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you later."
"Des---"
"It's all right, Simon." She winked. "You go and ask your sources as soon as I'm out the door."
He caught her hand just as she made to turn away. When she looked back at him, he said softly, "I don't ever want you to leave, you know that, aye?"
Her smile was slight, partly amused. "I'll see you later." A twinkle came into her eyes. "You can meet my Dad."
"Your father?" Simon was openly surprised.
"He arrived today. I'm just dying to introduce you to him." Mischief danced in her eyes.
Simon studied her closely. "Why do I get the feeling you're laughing at me, wench?"
"I have no idea." Tugging her hand loose, she winked at him. "Later, trader."
Simon watched her all the way to the platform lift, where she turned and waved cheerfully to him before hitting the descend button. Shaking his head when it clanked out of view, he turned back to the viscomm and relocked into the last transmission between Shamon and the pirate ship.
The communications line was one only privy to his particular ship.
The screen flared to life, but there was obviously no one on the other end. The screen made him pause, then chuckle. It showed a cartoon picture of a barely-clad buxom female pirate with huge, pouting lips. Illona's voice came over.
"Hello, you gorgeous hunks of Daamens. We're not here to attend to your needs, but we'll be in touch when we can."
"Oh, for stars' sake," a feminine voice was heard in the background.
"We're about to go out on a raid now, you well-hung hunks," Illona's voice continued. "Leave a message and we'll talk to you later!"
Simon shook his head, half amused and half concerned. The female pirates were friends of an entirely different ilk. He hoped they never got caught, but at the same time, he knew how ruthless they could be. It was only a matter of time before something happened. Mayhap. They were a wily bunch.
"Lasses, 'tis Simon. I'm chasing information on a mysterious box that turned up in Tyron, as well as two names, Ruan and Canu. It's urgent, so when you can, get back to me. Thanks---and oh, keep safe. Damn, can't you wenches stay out of trouble?"
Des, with Chas behind her, strode into the warehouse, spotted Sol talking to a worker, and went directly to him.
Looking up, Sol frowned. "Did you find out what happened to my warehouse, Demon?"
"Yeah, about that," she replied. "A few questions."
"I've already told you, I don't know anything about the missing box!"
Chas glanced at Des.
"Really?" Des said slowly. "Well, isn't that interesting?"
Anticipation filled her. This was the first sign of something, anything, that might point the way to finding out who was behind the happenings. Any chance was to be seized with both hands, and that's just what she intended.
"What?" Sol threw down his electronic information gatherer. "What is it?"
"No one knows about that missing box."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"How did you hear about it, Sol?"
"Talk in the taverns."
"Who's talking?"
Sol shuffled back a step. "Some of the whores."
"Is that so? Well, I'm going to just have to go and have a little chat with them, aren't I?"
"They're scared of you, Demon. You know they'll say nothing."
Des smiled tightly. "They usually talk to me because they're scared not to. Come down to the Enforcers Building, Sol, we're going to have a little chat about a few things."
"I can't. I'm busy and---"
Grabbing the back of his robe, Des yanked him in front of her and shoved. "Move your arse."
"Damn it, Demon!" But he moved forward quickly.
"Chas, go and start questioning the tavern girls. See what they know about the box."
"Rigtho, Boss."
Once outside, Chas went to the nearest tavern while Des walked Sol to the Enforcer Building.
Once inside, she kicked out a chair in front of her desk. "Sit down."
Obeying, Sol's eyes flashed angrily.
Huxley watched curiously.
"Your warehouse, the one that collapsed," Des began.
"The one you can't figure out what happened to?" Sol sneered. "What about it?"
"It's come to my attention that that particular warehouse was hardly used, and in disrepair. An accident waiting to happen, in fact."
"Who told you that?"
Ignoring the question, Des leaned back against the desk, towering over Sol intimidatingly. "What did you use the warehouse for?"
"I'm a merchant, what do you think?"
"I'm thinking a lot right now. It'd be easier for you if you told me."
"There's nothing to tell."
"A warehouse that's a wreck, and one with not much in it. Tell me about it, Sol."
"Damn it, Demon! There's nothing---awk!" His words cut off when her hand fisted in his robe front and jerked him forward.
Nose-to-nose, she growled, "I smell something off, Sol, and it's coming from you."
For the first time, he looked anxious. "Des, listen, I was going to pull that warehouse down."
"And yet you made such a big fuss when it collapsed. Why?"
"I just ... I ... It was the shock."
"You'll have shock in a minute when I reach down your lying throat and pull you inside out." She shoved him back in the chair and straightened. "Spill your guts before I do it for you."
A trickle of sweat slid down his temple. "I don't know why it collapsed."
"Then let's try another item. The box disappearing. You say the tavern girls mentioned it."
"Yes!" Eagerly, he leaned forward.
"When?"
"Last night."
"Last night?"
"Yes. Yes, they said it had gone missing."
"You lying bastard." Grabbing his robe again, Des hauled him out of the chair and slammed him back against the wall. "That box was here last night. No one apart from we peacekeepers knew it had gone missing, so how is it that you know, Sol? Huh?"
"Suns, Demon, I swear I just heard it!"
"Which tavern girl?"
"I don't remember!"
"Don't jerk me around, you bloody little vagrat." Her eyes narrowed on his sweating face and fear-filled eyes. "What do you know of the murders and the missing girl?"
"No! No, you can't pin them on me!" He started to struggle.
Fisting both hands into his robe, Des lifted him up and slammed him back against the wall. His feet cleared the floor by a good foot.
"You listen to me, you piece of crap. I get the real feeling you're into some of this right up to your neck. Before this day is out, I'm going to find something to pin onto you unless you come up with some answers."
"I can't!"
"You can."
"I don't know anything! I swear!"
"We'll see who'll be doing the swearing." She dropped him with a jarring thud to his feet, but kept her fist knotted in his robe.
The door of the Enforcer Building opened and Creed walked in. His brows rose in interest when he saw Sol sweating in her grip.
"Baby girl," he said. "You're busy?"
"Just be a minute, Dad." Her grin was feral. "Help yourself to a drink while you wait."
Swinging around, she dragged Sol, squawking and yelling, behind her into the corridor cell. Shoving him into a cell, she slammed the door behind him.
Regaining his balance, he ran back to the door and grabbed the bars. "You can't do this! What's the charge?"
"Being a total prick should do it." Leaving him yelling protests behind her, she strode back out into the main office.
"You make me so proud." Creed faked wiping a tear away.
Huxley grinned widely.
"He knows something," Des told him. "Huxley, secure this Building, and then I want you to come down to the warehouse with me."
"Whatever you say, Boss."
Des turned to Creed. "Hi, Dad. What brings you here?"
"I saw you shoving that blubbering mess down the street. I was curious."
That didn't surprise her. "Did you find anything out about the ship?"
"Only that it's been spotted on the other side of this planet once, a couple of months ago."
"Who spotted it?"
"Cormac's pack. Or his ex-pack, I should say, since he up and wedded the witch."
"Yeah, wedding will do that to a person. Good thing you and Gracie never hooked up."
"Cheeky bit." He tugged her braid. "You're busy, so I'll go back to the ship and see what else I can find."
"Dad, could you do me a favor?" Des glanced at Huxley, who had moved out onto the verandah, and lowered her voice. "Could you do a check on two names for me?"
"Sure."
"Ruan and Canu. It's all I've got."
"Consider it done. I'll let you know as soon as I have anything."
"Thanks."
She waited until he stepped outside, then she followed, pulling the door shut behind her. There was a faint whir as the locks snapped shut, securing the Building. Creed walked back towards the docking bay, where the bounty hunter ship stood not far from the Daamen trading ship.
Des and Huxley headed for one of Sol's warehouses near the end of the street.
"So what are we doing in here?" Huxley asked.
"We're going to do a search. Sol knows something about that box, but he's not talking."
"True?" Huxley was intrigued.
"Yeah. You and I are going to search every corner of the warehouse."
The four workers were standing around when the peacekeepers arrived, and Des noted who they were, taking their names down in her electronic information pad. Pocketing it, she sent them all outside to wait.
She looked at Huxley. "Ready?"
"Ready," he confirmed.
Even one-armed, with his broken wrist in a sling, he was able to cut open the ties holding some of the crates together, or lever them open. It took them three hours before they finally finished.
Sweating, and even more short-tempered than normal at having found nothing, Des kicked one of the crates. "Bloody hell!"
Huxley nodded. "Bugger."
"There has to be something. Something..." Frowning, she looked down at the floor, then up. "What's happened to the warehouse that collapsed?"
"It's all been cleared. Nothing there at all."
"Damn it."
"It was only rubble," he pointed out. "A few bits and pieces, but nothing out of the ordinary."
Not willing to give up straight away, Des started walking over the floor, stopping now and again to bang her heel against the boards.
"Looking for a hidey hole?" Huxley guessed.
"No, doing a tap dance."
Grinning, Huxley copied her movements.
They were halfway down the warehouse when she heard an odd empty sound. Rapping her heel on the floor again, her eyes narrowed when the same empty sound resonated.
Huxley moved to where she stood and they both squatted down and searched for an opening. There didn't seem to be one, and Des stood up and stepped back, gesturing to Huxley to do the same.
"Let me guess," he said. "You're going to blast a hole in the floor."
"Wrong. I do that, I could hit something and destroy it. Something important." Angling her head, Des walked around the spot. "I'm trying to find a discrepancy in the flooring."
"You mean like that dark spot?" Huxley pressed down on it with his foot.
A click sounded, and he drew back as the board slid back to reveal a small hole, and sitting inside it, the box.
"Well, well." Kneeling down, Des scooped the box out and held it up. "Sol knows something."
"If not him, one of his workers," Huxley said.
"Good point. Let's round them all up and take them back for questioning."
They went outside to find only three of the workers waiting. One had left.
Des's eyes narrowed. "I want him."
But the man had long since left the settlement.
Tyson swore. "The bloody idiot!"
Standing behind his lavish desk, Canute raked him with merciless eyes. "Get someone in that settlement to silence him."
"Not so easy. The military have landed again, and they're in the Enforcers Building."
Thrusting his hands in his pockets, Canute glared at Tyson. "The box we can do without. We know where the source is now. But any link to the box and to us must be terminated."
"Gally would have done it without raising suspicion."
"Gally's dead. Now you get someone in there to silence anyone who might talk, and that includes Sol."
Giving a short nod, Tyson left.
Balling his fists in his pockets, Canute took a long breath and stared at the opposite wall. There was no time to lose now. Everything had to be timed just right. Once the military was gone, and the bounty hunters, it would be time to move.
He had to hit hard and fast.
Leaving his luxurious office, he strode out of the house, down the steps and across the dusty yard to where the hill rose up. The opening in it was small, just enough for one man to walk through, but once inside, it opened up into a huge cave that went well underground.
Standing at the top, he looked down at the sleek ship that rested on the platform below. Behind it was the geological equipment that had to be pushed into fast use. Dangerous, a possible overload, but one that was necessary.
One that would come into play as soon as the coast was clear.
Desdemona was starting to tread around the fringes of the plan. Even the fringes were too close.
"Desdemona," he said quietly, chidingly. "You are a bad girl. Smart, but bad. You're starting to push me, and I don't find that amusing anymore."
He needed someone to vent his annoyance on, but Gally was gone. The Demon was not yet his.
Catching sight of Zared, he waved him over.
Zared approached, cool and calm as always.
"Have everything double-checked and ready to move at a moment's notice," Canute ordered quietly. "Things aren't going quite as planned."
"Worrying?"
"A bit. Tyson is hopefully taking care of it. Get Ruan and Levi back here with their men. We'll need them soon."
"The settlement of Tyron has it, then?"
"It does. That's the area we need." Canute looked up as a fighter craft lowered down through an opening in the cave roof, which closed over quickly again. "Once the military have left, and the bounty hunters, and it's just the peacekeepers, we move."
"Hard and fast," Zared murmured.
"Hard and fast." He looked at his friend. "I find I'm a little lonely, Zared. Fix it for me."
"Yes, Sir."
Deciding to leave Sol sweating in the cells, Des shut the door to the corridor of the cells and came back out into the main office.
Chas walked in and looked from her dirty, sweaty countenance to Huxley's equally grubby clothes. "Should I ask?"
"Some of us were working while you chatted up the tavern girls," Huxley informed him. "And me with one arm in action only, too."
Des sat down. "Did you discover anything?"
Chas poured a cup of hot una and leaned back against the counter. "The tavern girls knew nothing about the box."
"Sol's a lying bastard." Swinging her legs up, Des plunked her heels on the corner of the desk.
"I'm so surprised," Huxley said.
"Sol's not talking?" Chas queried.
"Not a thing. But he's sweating heaps." Des grinned. "Now that's fun to watch, if you feel like amusing yourself."
"You're so generous." Chas stretched. "I'm getting hungry. The others should be here any minute for shift change."
"That time already? Time flies when you're having fun."
Emory, Raf and Yucel came through the door minutes later, the old janitor behind them carrying a tray of food for the prisoner.
"In back," Huxley directed him, and he went through to the cells with a nod.
"We've made some progress while you've all been having your beauty sleep," Des informed the men. "The vanishing box was found at Sol's warehouse, and he's in the back for questioning."
"I heard you'd dragged him through the settlement." Raf grinned.
"Is he talking?" Yucel queried.
"How did he fix the security cameras?" Emory queried.
"The bastard's not bleating as yet, but he's sweating heaps." Des linked her hands over her stomach. "We're also expecting Captain Gorman to arrive at any time to check out the box himself. He'll probably take it for analysis, which is fine because no one here sure as hell knows what it is."
The janitor came back out. "Anything else, Demon?"
"That's it for the night."
The old man nodded and left the Building.
"Any special orders for the shift?" Raf asked.
"Emory, just keep the fly-overs regular. Yucel, keep close to the scanners and contact me if anything goes wrong. I don't expect much trouble tonight."
"Oh?"
"Dad's home."
He started laughing. "And every outlaw has gone to ground."
"That's about it. I doubt anyone with trouble on their mind is going to show with the bounty hunters here and the military close by."
"Unless the Daamens and the bounty hunters have a little conflict."
"Dad's promised me the hunters will behave." Des sighed. "Though things can change in seconds. It should be all right."
"So you're going home now?" Pulling out a chair, Raf sat down.
"I'll wait for Gorman. Once he's been, then I'll go home."
A sudden scream from the cell corridor behind them had them all turning and looking at it.
"What the---" Yucel began.
The scream came again, followed by hysterical shrieking. "No! No! He can't do this to me! He can't---"
"Oh shit!" Des bounded out of the chair and ran for the door.
"Surely not!" Emory was hot on her heels.
No sooner did Des yank open the door than a wet, muffled explosion sounded, and bits of blood and flesh spewed out of the cell.
Des slammed the door just in time to hear bits of flesh and blood spatter against it. She looked at Emory.
"Goddamn," she said. "I don't believe it."
"How could it happen?" Emory shook his head.
"What?" Raf demanded.
Slowly Des opened the door, and Raf, Chas, Huxley and Yucel gaped at the bloody mess smeared over the corridor.
"Someone just blew our only source up." Des drew the laser from the holster on her thigh. "Chas, come with me. We're searching the levels. Yucel, see if you pick up anything unusual on the scanners. Raf and Huxley, search the outside. Emory, get the janitor and bring him back here."
Refusing to even think about what she was running through, Des dodged the muck on the floors and led the men in a thorough search of the Building, but it proved fruitless. No one was outside or inside the Building apart from the peacekeepers and the blown-apart body of what had once been Sol.
Des wasn't surprised, and she kicked the door back into the main office as she left the cell corridor.
Emory was just entering the Building, and his face was grim.
"The janitor," Des guessed.
"He's dead," Emory replied. "Murdered at the back of the tavern that provides the meals."
"How?"
"Knifed through the heart."
"Quick and silent." Des jerked her head at Emory and Huxley. "Sorry boys. No one goes home until we do a complete search of the settlement and see if we can come up with anything."
Organizing the men into search couples, and leaving a retching Yucel to clean up the cell corridor, Des went on the search.
Starting with the tavern that supplied the meals to the Enforcer Building, she and Chas went around to the back, where the janitor was lying in a pool of blood. His old face looked surprised.
"Obviously not expecting it," Chas murmured, putting down the element scanner, communications recorder, print scanner and body scanner. Engaging the element scanner, he swept the area with the thin rod.
With a grunt, Des looked towards the kitchen. "I'll leave you to the data collecting. I'm going to search the premises, though I just know whoever did it has long gone."
"We might get lucky this time." Chas moved further out.
Entering the kitchen, Des quickly looked around to see that only the normal staff was there, and they looked uneasily at her. Leaving the kitchen, she went up the back stairway to systematically search the rooms and corridors, but as she suspected, no one was hiding there.
Except Gracie, who at the sight of her came out of her room, screeching, "The bodies are piling up, Desdemona!"
"You don't say?" Annoyance rippled through Des. "Unless you've got something to tell me, Gracie, keep out of my way."
"What kind of a peacekeeper are you when you can't even find a murderer?"
Ignoring her, Des continued down the stairs into the barroom. Her gaze swept over the patrons, some who were curious, the others indifferent. Just another murder on the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector.
"Have you found out anything about my missing girl?" Gracie demanded.
"No." Des moved slowly through the room, and the patrons parted for her.
Most of the patrons she knew by sight, if not by name. The few strangers she noted, but there was nothing that set off her instinctive inner radar. The killer wasn't here; she could sense it.
"So you're just going to walk around?" Gracie demanded shrilly.
"Apparently." Des went back into the kitchen and shut the door in her face. Going up to the cook, she said, "Tell me what you know."
"Nothing," he replied immediately. "I cooked the food, gave it to the janitor, and he took it. That's it."
Roaming around the kitchen, she peered into the pantry. "Was anyone with him?"
"No."
"Did anyone come back with him?"
"No." The cook frowned when she peered into a pot of boiling food.
"Did anyone come here asking for him?"
"No."
"So you saw nothing and heard nothing?"
"No."
"You really cook this shit?" Grimacing, she dropped the lid back onto a pan simmering with meat.
He glowered at her while one of the serving girls tittered.
Des looked around at the kitchen staff. "I want answers. If anyone has them, you know where to find me." Blank gazes met this statement, and she snapped, "If you think staying silent will buy you safety, think again. The killer or killers are out there, and any of you could be next. If you know anything, or care about anyone, come and see me."
A couple dropped their gazes but still there was no answer.
Des scowled. "Stupid bastards. All right, where's his next of kin? His daughter?"
"Away," the cook said. "She left the other day."
"Where for?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know bloody much, do you?"
"She's the one who disappeared." He smirked. "The one you can't find."
"You're not being smart with me, are you?" Crossing over to stand in front of the sturdily built cook, Des glared down at him. "I'm in no mood for smart arses. Answer my questions without the smart bloody comments, or I'll bust your balls and you could try cooking them for tea."
He didn't answer, even though his eyes glinted angrily.
Moving away, Des looked around the room once more before leaving in disgust.
Outside, Chas had finished collecting data, and was watching the morgue attendant load the dead body onto a floating trolley. The alley light was pushing the gathering dusk away from the murder site.
"Anything interesting?" Des came to a stop beside him.
"Yeah." He glanced at her. "The killer is female."
"Really?" Her brows rose.
"Yep. One footprint, small, but weighty."
"Not a small male?"
"Female shoe. Imprint of a heel." He lifted up the element scanner. "Recorded it all here. One print only, careless. In a hurry."
"Good. The shoe, was it expensive, cheap? Dainty?"
"You want the color as well?"
"I've had enough of smart arses right now, Chas. Don't make me rip your damned head off."
"Sorry, Boss. The shoe is one that would be worn inside. High-heeled."
"Got a make?"
"I wish. It's something not bought from around here. Nothing in the scanning system is identical with what's available here. It's a very expensive shoe, I'm betting."
Hands on hips, Des stared down at the pool of drying blood in the dirt. "He knew the killer."
"Yep." Chas collected the equipment up. "He didn't fight. Didn't try to run."
"Which means he didn't expect anything to happen." Des glanced up at the windows of the tavern. "Which means it's someone he has regular contact with."
"He looked a bit surprised."
"Because of the stabbing, or because he didn't expect to see her?" Des walked around the blood-soaked earth, her gaze going from the kitchen door to the building next to her, the stone of it rising above into a two-story dwelling. "The kitchen door is just off view unless someone was looking right through it to out here, but it's still a risky move. How did she get away so fast? Someone would have noticed a woman running."
"She flew on a disc, maybe."
"Any dirt kicked up around the area?"
"Yes, but that could simply be from the janitor falling, or the woman getting away. But there's no pattern that would come from a disc flying fast."
"Then it's not a disc. She needed a fast getaway, but not enough to use a disc. There would be dirt elements kicked up." Des took a deep breath then turned and looked at Chas. "It's going to be a long night."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. We're going to question every woman in this tavern." She jerked her thumb behind her. "And every man." Placing her finger to her ear, Des ordered briskly, "Raf, Yucel. Come down to Gracie's tavern. We're going to start questioning and checking everyone's closets."
"Oh, that'll be fun," Raf replied. "Gracie is just going to love you."
"That's why you and Yucel are going to do her tavern. Huxley, you man the scanners. I don't want to risk you hurting your arm in a struggle."
"We're going to do all the places tonight?" Chas queried.
"Only the taverns."
The evening went into late night as the peacekeepers scoured the taverns, leaving no room unearthed, no patron or staff member unquestioned. It came to a dead end, and angry and tired, Des met the men back at the Enforcer Building.
"Day shift can go home." She nodded at them. "Good work. The night shift---keep your ears and eyes open. Do regular but untimed patrols. Just watch ... well, I don't have to say, do I?"
"Go home and get some rest," Raf said. "We'll contact you if we come up with anything."
About to follow the men out of the door, Des saw Captain Gorman striding up the verandah. "Life just keeps getting better and better."
Gorman entered the Enforcer Building and said stiffly, "The box?"
"Nice to see you, too, Gorman." Not in the mood to waste time with the stiff-necked captain, Des led him into the communications room where the box was back in its position.
He walked around the table, studying it.
"Do you know what it is?" Des queried.
"No." Finally picking it up, he frowned. "You don't know what it is?"
"That's why it's labeled mysterious," Des replied dryly.
"Funny." He looked at her. "Any objections if I take it back for analysis?"
Des shrugged. "Not at all. We don't know what it is, and no one else seems to. So go for it. But, Captain, I expect a report once you've identified it."
"You'll have it. After all, it is your jurisdiction."
"I'm so pleased you realize that." Pompous jerk.
"And you have a prisoner in for questioning, I understand."
"We did. He blew up."
Gorman stared at her.
"Like the prisoners in Sharver."
Gorman slowly lowered the box. "Did you catch the one who did it?"
"We're onto it."
"Your competence, Peacekeeper, is questionable."
"So is your right to breathe, but you don't bloody find me complaining about it."
He glared at her and stalked from the Enforcer Building, nearly knocking his escort soldier over.
"Damn, he's such a dick." Des shook her head while her men laughed. "I'm going home."
"I'll drop you off," Raf offered.
Leaning against the ramp, the cool breeze ruffling his damp hair from a recent shower, Simon watched as the pursuit craft dropped Des off near her front door. It left almost immediately.
Should he go over? 'Twas late. Very late. The lass had been on the go since early morn, and it hadn't taken long for word to spread of the murder. Murders. One in the cells of the Enforcer Building, and the other behind her mother's tavern. His own friends had been questioned, and Torkra and Mikal hadn't been happy, being dragged from the beds of some pretty little tavern wenches.
He watched the light come on in the kitchen, and her silhouette as she paused in front of the window. Was she looking over towards the trade ship? His heart did a little leap, and disappointment filled him when the silhouette went from view.
She was either getting a drink or going for a shower.
A sudden stealthy movement caught Simon's attention, and he went still. A shadow was approaching her home, and not from the front. The shadow moved around the front, past the darkened porch, and around the back.
Every protective instinct sprang to the fore, and without a second though Simon ran across the distance separating the docking bay from the Head Peacekeeper's home. As he ran, thoughts filtered through his mind.
Was she in danger? Who else but an outlaw would go around the back? Who else but an outlaw would be so stealthy? A cold hand clutched his heart. Des might be in the shower, unaware that someone was trying to break in. Vulnerable.
Would the space shield keep her safe? It was a huge deterrent, but lately, with things going so wrong with the electronic equipment in what should have been a tamper-proof Enforcer system, mayhap someone had been bale to disable it.
Fear trickled through him as his long legs covered the distance. If someone broke in, took her unawares ... hurt her ... killed her. Des!
Not wasting time opening the gate, Simon leaped easily over the stone wall and ran around the back of the house. The door clicked shut, and even as he reached for the handle, he heard a yell and a curse.
Tearing open the door, not even hearing it slam shut behind him again, Simon burst through the corridor. Seeing the dark shape of a male figure pushing himself up off the floor in the entrance to the living area, he threw himself at the intruder.
Grabbing the back of his shirt, Simon spun him around and slammed him up against the nearest wall.
The man immediately pulled a laser and pressed it against his stomach.
"Don't you even bloody try!" Simon snarled, pressing his forearm against the man's throat. "I'll crush your windpipe!"
The man looked vicious, hard-eyed, and snarling just as much as Simon. "I'll shoot the hell out of you!"
"You come looking for trouble with Des, then you deal with me first!"
The man blinked, then suddenly started to grin. A gold tooth flashed in his mouth.
"What the hell is going on?" Des demanded from the living area. "Simon? Dad?"
Dad? Oh shit. Simon looked from the man's face to Des's irritated expression and dropped him like a hot cake. "Des, I---"
"There had better be a damned good explanation for this!" Clutching a towel around her, the laser in her hand now pointing towards the floor, Des glared from her father to Simon. "You dragged me out of the shower with the noise!"
"I think your lover got the wrong idea." The man laughed.
Faced with what was obviously Des's father, and her accusing eyes, Simon could feel the rush of heat in his cheeks.
He never blushed, but he sure as hell was blushing now. "Suns, Des, I swear, I didn't know. If I'd known, I wouldn't have attacked him and---"
"What were you attacking him for anyway?" she demanded hotly.
"I saw him sneaking around the back and thought you were in danger." He held his palms up. "Des, my apologies."
"Baby girl, the trader only had your best interests at heart." Grinning, the man brushed past her and headed for the kitchen. "Give him a break."
"I'll give both of you a break, all right."
Even though the situation was an uncomfortable one, Simon couldn't help but notice how luscious she looked standing there. Her beautiful eyes were almost yellow with anger, her wet hair tangled around her shoulders, and the towel barely covering her from breast to thighs. Water trickled down her legs and over her smooth shoulders.
"Stop staring," she said sharply.
"Sorry, lass. 'tis just you look so..." Stumbling to a halt at the sight of her father smiling widely in the kitchen, Simon swallowed. "Uh..."
"I'm going back to finish my shower." Des glared across at her father. "Be polite."
"I take my cue from you, baby girl," he replied cheerfully.
With an annoyed grunt, Des turned and stalked back down the corridor into the bathroom.
Slowly Simon walked over to the kitchen bench. Now that the presumed danger was over, he was stunned. This was Creed. He'd seen Creed several times, he was a friend of Sabra's. He'd visited her dwelling on Daamen in the company of Cormac's pack.
Des's father was Creed. Des's father was a bounty hunter.
"Hell of a thing, isn't it?" Creed said, his cheerful tone at total odds with his hard, ruthless features.
"Aye." Simon nodded. "I didn't know."
Creed's eyes narrowed, the smile disappearing quickly. "Would it have made a difference?" The menace was in his stance, his eyes. "If you'd known I was her dad, would you have ditched her in a flash? 'Cause I'm telling you, boy, you might be big enough to kill me with one blow from your fist, but I've got a laser and I'll use it."
Anger flickered through Simon. "I don't give a crap who Des's parents are. I love her for who she is, not her pedigree."
"You know her mother is a whore?"
Simon's eyes narrowed. "I don't care."
"Her mother's a whore, her father's a paid killer, and she's called The Demon for her bad temper and no-holds barred attitude." Creed sneered. "And you think you're man enough to handle her?"
Simon's hands fisted, his voice lowering to a deep, threatening rumble. "I don't handle Des, Creed. I respect her. I love her. And you may be her father, but if you think I'll let you get away with casting slurs upon her, you've another think coming."
"You hit me, boy, and you'll damage any chance of a relationship with my baby girl."
The muscle in Simon's jaw jumped when he clenched his teeth. "Then don't push me."
"Oh-ho! So you'd ignore Des's feelings and simply plough ahead and hit her old man, huh? That's how much you care?" He sneered even more. "She'd be better with one of the lowlifes around her who will do as they're told."
In a flash Simon was around the bench, one fist bunched in Creed's shirt front as he hoisted him easily up onto tiptoe. Leaning down to close the considerable gap between them, he grated out through clenched teeth, "You listen to me, Creed. You call me whatever the hell you please. You annoy me whenever you want to, I don't give a vagrat's arse. But don't think I would ever ignore what 'tis important to my lass. I'll tolerate you, put up with you, do whatever it takes to please her, but don't you even think of breaking us apart and letting some bastard make her miserable!"
"And just how are you going to prove that?" Creed asked scornfully. "Big words when she's not around to hear."
Furious, but more than aware that the savage bastard was Des's father, Simon set the man back on his feet with a thud and released him. "I don't have to prove anything to Des. The wench is canny enough to know that my word is true."
"And if she's not?"
"All I can do is be myself. I'll not hurt her for anything."
"Pretty words. Trying to win over the old man?"
Drawing in a deep breath, Simon forced his fury under control. "I don't have to prove anything to you, Creed. You're her father, and for that I'll stand back. Like I said, insult me all you want, but know this. I love Des. She means more to me than anything in the universe, and if that means putting up with her miserable bastard of a father, I will. For her."
Creed looked him up and down, then grinned. "Fine. Want a drink?"
It took several surprised seconds for Simon to realize that the bounty hunter had just tested him. Simon groaned inwardly.
"Normally, I wouldn't have time for you traders," Creed continued, pouring hot una into two mugs and handing one to Simon. "All noble and righteous and so protective of the fairer sex, even when they are murderous bitches. Too damned noble. But you know," he leaned forward conspiratorially, quickly glancing at the door to the little corridor that led to the bathroom and bedroom, "It's what I want for my baby girl. And I know you'll give it to her." He took a swig of the drink. "I've seen how Cam stands behind Sabra, how much he cares for her, and 'tis what I want for Desdemona. You'll be good for her."
Simon didn't know whether to laugh or frown, so he took refuge in silence and sat down on one of the sturdy stool at the bench.
"Your intentions are to make an honest woman of my baby, right?" Creed's eyes narrowed. "You're not just after a roll in the sack? Being one of the randy Daamen traders known far and wide as lovers of---what do you call them? Wenches?"
Simon's fingers tightened on the mug. "I love her."
"But will you make an honest woman of her?"
"If she'll have me, aye."
"Have you talked about it to her?"
"Not yet." It was the oddest thing, being questioned by a father about his intentions for the wench in question. The doting father figure didn't quite fit with Creed's hard-eyed appearance, and yet Simon could see the man was genuinely concerned about his daughter. "We haven't known each other very long."
"Ah, that means nothing. Look at me and Gracie..." Creed paused and took a thoughtful sip of the una. "Actually, don't. Poor example."
Sipping at the una, Simon watched him over the rim of the mug. And it hit him hard. This was his future father-in-law. God above. Undoubtedly the bounty hunter pack was like a second family to Des.
His home would be open to the hunters.
"Something wrong?" Creed asked sharply.
"Nay." Inwardly he shook his head. If it made Des happy, he'd put up with it. Him. Put up with Creed. The things I'll do for Des.
Des walked into the living area, and both men looked over at her. Dressed in a short, sleeveless blouse and a small skirt that skimmed her mid-thigh, it showed off her long legs perfectly. Her hair spilled in a damp, red wave around her shoulders.
She looked downright delicious to Simon.
She obviously didn't think the same of him. She eyed him and Creed, her anger of earlier having cooled, though a warning still lingered in her expression.
"No blood," she stated, crossing the room.
"Not at all," Creed said cheerfully.
"No bruises. No yelling."
He held his arms out and beamed.
Des looked at Simon.
"I'm fine, lass," he said softly, swiveling around on the stool so that he was side-on to the bench and facing her. "And I apologize. I had no idea 'twas your father."
Standing next to him, she studied him closely. Finally she nodded, and the softening in her eyes melted his heart.
"So, Dad." Des turned her head to look at Creed. "What were you doing sneaking around?"
"Just testing the space shield." He dug a small scanner from his pocket. "Did a scan of the outside to ensure it was holding well. A bit worried with the electronic problems you've had lately."
Simon looked sharply at her. "Electronic problems?"
"He means at the Enforcer Building," she replied.
Relieved that Creed didn't mean the house, Simon relaxed again.
"Anyway," Creed continued. "I tripped over Chels, and was picking myself up when your loverboy here ripped me up off the floor and threatened to crush my windpipe. Hell of a thing for a father to face, Des. You need to keep your toys under control."
Rather than be indignant, Simon was amused at the faint blush that bloomed in her cheeks.
"Thanks for that bit of advice, Dad."
"Anything for my baby girl." There was a wicked gleam in his eyes. "So, the Daamen comes around late at night often, huh?"
"You're outstaying your welcome."
"Now, baby, I'm just inquiring."
"No, you're nosey."
He winked, drained the mug of una and placed it in the sink. "Well, I'm going to wander off in search of an evening of entertainment. Maybe I'll go and visit Gracie's tavern."
"Gracie's a little annoyed with me, Dad. If the man she blames for me breathing appears right now, she's likely to shoot the crap out of him."
"Ah, yes, I'd heard you'd been busy shaking down the patrons and staff again." Reaching over, he chucked her under the chin. "You make me so proud."
"I'm sure." A small smile played around her lips.
"Anyway, I'll go and find a pretty lady for the night---"
"Bloody hell. Too much information, Dad."
With a laugh, he chucked her under the chin again and left.
The silence in the kitchen grew, but Simon was content to simply sit on the stool and wait for Des to speak. Standing so close beside him, her flowery scent seeped into his senses and he could swear he felt the warmth of her body.
Turning to face him she looked him directly in the eyes. "Well, you met my Dad, though not quite in the way I expected."
"Aye." He didn't feel the need to apologize again.
There was a hush in the room, a feeling of waiting. Wariness. Expectancy.
"So, my Dad is a bounty hunter, and my mother a madam and one-time whore. They never married."
He could see that she was searching for something in his eyes, his expression. "Aye."
"They hate each other's guts."
"Aye."
"And me ... well, you know a bit about me."
"Aye."
Her gaze didn't waver, and neither did her voice. "I'm their bastard child."
Compassion swept through Simon, as well as tenderness. Reaching out, he laid his hands each side of her waist and pulled her gently into the space between his spread thighs.
She didn't resist, but neither did she make any movement to encourage him. In the depths of her pale, beautiful eyes, he could see the wariness. The watchfulness.
"Des." He kept his voice low, trying to inflict how he felt into the tone. "I don't care about your background. I care about you. I love you. Stars know I'm not good at this sort of thing." He drew her a little closer. "I've never told a wench that I loved her before. I've never loved a wench before. But you, sweet lass, you I do love."
"How do you know, Simon?" she asked seriously. "We've known each other less than a week."
"I know as sure as I'm breathing. I know in here." He touched his chest in the vicinity of his heart before reaching out to gently push a lock of hair back over her shoulder. "And I'm willing to wait for you to recognize what 'tis between us."
"Simon, I feel something, but I don't know if it's..."
"I understand."
"And yet, knowing I'm uncertain, you don't get angry."
"Love comes at different times to us all." He shrugged. "I would never force you, nor lose patience with you on this matter. I'll wait for as long as it takes."
"It's easy to say when we're together, but what about later? When you go?"
Admonishingly, he smiled. "Lass, don't think 'twill be that easy to escape me. I'll be back to visit, to be with you, every chance I get. Until you know how you really feel."
"You're very sure of yourself, trader."
He drew her closer, sliding his hand up her back. "Aye. But then, I'm always sure when I know the truth."
Placing one hand on his chest to stop him when he started to lean down towards her, Des asked simply, "And how would you explain me to your family, Simon?"
"As my wife, the love of my life." He locked his gaze on hers. "I could never be anything but proud of you, Des."
"And what about my coarse ways and swearing? What about when I embarrass you?"
"You don't embarrass me, Des. I admit you infuriate me at times, but no doubt I do the same to you." He smiled. "Sweet lass, I love you. Every bit of you. I accept you for who and what you are, and I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks."
Finally he felt her start to relax.
Her fingers drifted over his chest and came to rest above his heart, and her eyes softened. "You're a sweet talker."
"Aye, that I am." He kissed her forehead caressingly. "And I mean every word, now and forever."
"So I can remind you of that whenever you have the urge to strangle me?"
"Feel free." He winked. "It won't stop the urge."
"So I'd have to find another way, hmm?" Her hand drifted higher, moved to the right, and her fingers brushed across his nipple.
Immediately a flare of heat went through Simon, and he took a deep breath as she continued to lightly rub his nipple with the tip of one finger. The simple motion seemed so ... erotic. Especially when her eyes held a wicked gleam, a mischievous light.
Leaning in closer, she brushed her lips lightly across his chin, bit gently and moved higher until she flicked her tongue across the seam of his lips. At the same time she brought her other hand up so that both her thumbs were flicking across his male nipples, making them bud and harden.
Snaking sensations pulled from his nipples down into the pit of his stomach, making his muscles tighten, and he made to kiss her
"Nuh-uh." She dodged his lips, moving her head around so that her breath, hot and moist, fanned his ear, making him shiver.
No wench had ever made him shiver. It was a new and titillating experience. His hands tightened on her waist.
"Des," he whispered huskily.
Leaning forward, she lowered one hand and placed it on the stool directly in front of the heat of his stiffening manhood. Her fingertips just brushed the material at the apex of his thighs, making his breath catch.
"Yes?" Her lips were now on his throat, her fragrant hair spilling over his broad shoulder as she moved slowly down, leaving a damp trail that only seemed to ignite little sparks under his skin.
Closing his eyes, he gave himself up to the sensation of her satin lips and silken hair against his skin.
Convulsively his hands jerked on her waist when one of her fingertips flicked against the front of his pants, and she laughed softly. Tauntingly.
"Des." Her name was a hoarse groan on his lips.
"Mm?" Her mouth was on the pulse in his throat when she hummed the query, making her tongue vibrate against the pulse that leaped more erratically.
"God above, you're a tormenting wench. We have to stop..." But he couldn't bring himself to push her away. Not yet.
"Why?" The word was almost purred.
"Your injuries."
"Bugger them. They're fine."
"I don't want to hurt you..." His breath caught again as her finger boldly stroked across the bulge growing in his pants. If she didn't stop...
"I'm tough, trader. I'm tougher than you give me credit for. Look at me."
Opening his eyes, Simon looked directly into brown eyes so pale they were almost yellow, a color that fascinated him. Those remarkable eyes were now filled with an inner fire, and determination.
"Des---"
"I want you, Simon. I want you in my bed, naked. Does that shock you?"
Hell, nay. It only made the fire in him flare brighter. But he had to try once more, at least. "Des, I can't just ignore what you've been through. You need rest, not rough sex."
"Oh." Those full lips titled in amusement. "Rough sex, trader? Is that what you have in mind?"
"God, Des---"
"Put it this way, Simon. Right now, I want hot sex. Wild sex. Rough." Thick lashes swept down to cover her eyes as she pressed a light kiss to his lips, drawing back when he would have deepened it. "Are you going to give it to me?"
Never before had he had a wench be so forthright, so carnally honest with him. Every word that fell from her full lips seared into his mind, eliciting sparks of lust inside him. Deep inside. Deep down inside.
"If you won't satisfy me, then I'll do it myself."
The words were a shock, hitting him with their raw earthiness. Her eyes held a primitive emotion.
Grabbing his wrists, she drew his hands from her waist. "Make up your mind, Simon. Do me, or I'll do myself."
Turning, she walked away towards the little corridor leading to the bedroom.
Stunned, his heart starting to pound, Simon stared after her. The short skirt swayed against her bottom with every sure step she took. Her back was straight, the dark red hair swirling down her back.
Make up your mind, Simon. Do me, or I'll do myself.
The words beat inside his brain with salacious challenge, and there was no way he could ignore that challenge, for her very words, her actions, her taunting, were calculated to strip the caution from him. He knew it even as he stood up.
"Stop right there, wench."
"You know what to do." The reply was offhandedly tossed over her shoulder as she continued walking.
By now she was halfway across the room.
An archaic emotion swept through him and he moved forward quickly, his steps light, predatory. Matched with a strong-willed wench, challenged so openly and hedonistically, the need to claim, to pursue, capture and master, ripped through him with a primal force.
She hadn't made it to the little corridor before he was upon her, his hand on her shoulder swinging her around.
The provocative quirk of her fine eyebrows and the dare in her eyes called to the male predator inside him. "Think you can handle me, trader?"
"You're about to get burned, wench."
"Is that right?" The words were low, mocking, her laugh openly goading.
He held on to the last thread of sanity, gave her one last chance. "Be sure 'tis what you want, Des. Be very, very sure."
"If you've got it, Simon, then give it to me." Her eyes gleamed dangerously, almost recklessly. "You've said before that you'll burn me. Well, I'm waiting."
The last thread of control snapped, and Simon welcomed the tide of concupiscence that, finally unleashed, tore through him. In a swift move he bent down and threw Des over his shoulder, straightening to carry her to the bedroom.
Her husky laugh merely stoked the flames hotter inside him, made the male beast roar for supremacy.
At the foot of the big bed, he set her on one foot, harder than he normally would have, but not hard enough to cause discomfort. Hard enough to cause a flash of surprise in her beautiful eyes, though, and it was his turn to laugh low and almost threatening.
Her leg with the injured calf he kept up, his hand under her thigh, fingers gripping as he held her leg up, held her open against him, keeping her off balance so that she had to cling to him.
Holding her prisoner by the simple act of supporting her leg, he tangled his fingers in her hair, tipping her head back and holding her for his pleasure.
Demanding entry, refusing to allow her to gain the upper hand, he ravished her mouth, claiming her essence and replacing it with his own, mingling their flavors so that it was hard to know where she began and he ended, and that was just what he wanted.
Feeling her hands smoothing up his chest, Simon released her leg, dragging his short nails lightly against the back of her thigh as he did so until her foot touched the floor and his hand cupped one firm, rounded buttock. He squeezed it lightly, tracing his finger in the dip of her underwear between the rounded cheeks before shifting his hand.
Her muffled moan gave way to a gasp of surprise when he reached up and captured her wrists, bringing them around behind her to hold in one big hand. As he held her wrists prisoner, so he held her mouth the same way by the simple act of continuing to kiss her, ravishing her, taking control.
He had other plans for this strong-willed wench.
Sliding his hand under her blouse, he cupped one breast, pleased to find that she wore no support garment, no bra. Her nipple was already hard, begging to be touched. Denying her that, he traced his fingertip around the edge of the areole instead, delighting in the silky skin.
Delighting even more in Des's throaty moan of arousal, of longing, as she strained towards him.
Releasing her mouth, he pressed his lips against her ear. "Do you feel hot, wench?"
"Simon---"
"Do you?" He squeezed her breast carefully but firmly.
"Yes."
He laughed quietly, tauntingly. "'Tis just the start."
"Please..."
"I like hearing that from your lips, Des. That little wispy cry."
"I don't beg." Turning her head a little, she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. "Ever."
"You just did."
"Slip of the tongue."
"I'll make you beg again, Des."
"Try it."
A darker lust swept through him, the predator rearing its head again at the challenge.
"Don't tell me you're going to give me yet another chance." Her smile was mocking.
The wench was getting control back, and there was no way Simon was going to allow that. No way in heaven or hell.
Using her captured hands behind her, Simon jerked her full length against him, capturing her mouth once more, his kiss hungrier, harder, more demanding than previously. Taking everything she had to give, mastering her when she tried to take control.
Grabbing the back of her skirt, he gave it one hard yank, feeling and hearing the fragile material rip. With one flick of the wrist, he tore it right off her and tossed it aside.
Des didn't even flinch in his arms.
The wench could take a lot, and that made him mentally roar with primal lust.
Spreading his palm across her bottom, he felt the lacey underwear, and the very femininity of it fed his male hunger. Hooking his fingers in the back of it, he ripped through the lace and tore it off as well, tossing it aside to join the torn skirt.
Skimming his fingers across her bottom, he found the dip that separated her rounded buttocks and with firm pressure traced the dip downwards. Thrusting his thigh between her own, he opened her up to his questing fingers as he continued downwards until he found the moist heat that coated his fingers almost immediately.
His own heat was filling him, fire torching through him, his staff stiff, hard, almost throbbing. His pants were suddenly tight, confining, and he ached to release himself.
Angling his hips back, he reached down between their bodies and pulled his pants down enough to release his staff, which immediately sprang up hard and hot, the tip almost searingly against his abdomen.
Feeling his manhood against the nakedness of her own stomach, Des arched forward, blindly seeking, even though he continued to plunder the depths of her mouth. She pulled at her wrists, but Simon wouldn't release her.
Laughing into her mouth, licking deep, he swallowed her moans and pleas, at the same time catching her behind one knee, unconsciously choosing the injured leg. Lifting it high against his hip, he opened her up even more.
Her eyes opened, hazy with desire, hot with passion. Lifting his head slightly, releasing her mouth, Simon locked their gazes.
There was one silent second, heavy with anticipation, and then he bent his knees, hoisted her thigh up just enough more to make her teeter, still keeping her off balance. The tip of his staff rode hard against his abdomen, and Simon released her wrists, pulling one of her arms up and around to encircle his neck, making her hold onto him or fall.
Grasping his thick phallus, he guided it quickly to the entrance waiting for it, deliberately sliding it between the tender folds protecting her vagina and exerting slight pressure over her clitoris, making Des whimper and tighten her hold on him, her other hand clutching his vest.
At the wet opening to her body he stopped, keeping his gaze locked on hers while nudging in just the tiniest bit.
"Do you want me, Des?"
She bit her lip, her breasts pushing against his chest with every fast breath.
He withdrew.
In reaction, her eyes darkened.
"Do you want me?" He demanded more forcefully, his words husky, laden with the same sexual arousal that beat inside him with every powerful thud of his heart.
There was nothing he wanted more right then than to sink inside her hot body, but her challenge rang in the back of his mind, and the need to make her plead for him, to make her acknowledge his mastery, gave him the almost superhuman strength to tightly leash his own rapaciousness.
When she still didn't answer but surged her hips forward, he nearly lost that tightly won control, especially when his tip slid back into her welcoming body.
Recognizing her strategy, the flare of satisfaction in her eyes, Simon quickly withdrew and grinned darkly. "Nice try, wench. But you will beg."
Opening her mouth to reply, her words were lost in a low moan as he guided the head of his phallus into a lazy circle around the opening of her vagina, rubbing the angry, swollen tip against her perineum, her position making the access easier.
The battle of wills in the midst of the prurience was erotic in itself.
They stared into each other's eyes, the grin fading from Simon's face while Des's teeth clenched.
"Give it up, lass," Simon ordered softly. "Give it up to me now."
"How far can I push you, Simon?"
The words again, the challenge. The spark in her eyes, the wickedness in the light, the heaviness of desire. She was a strong-willed wench, but Simon was stronger, more determined. More predatory.
Releasing her leg, sliding it down carefully until her foot was back on the floor, he reached up between them and hooked his hand in her blouse. The buttons down the front popped free as he slowly but relentlessly exerted pressure, until it hung open, barely covering her breasts.
Both of them were breathing hard, Simon's nostrils flaring as he sucked in a controlling breath, her breasts rising and falling with each panting breath.
"Will it always be a battle?" he asked.
Her teeth flashed in a mocking answer.
"I'll win this battle. I'll win this one and every battle you put up." The promise was a throaty rasp in the room.
"Win this battle, trader, and maybe it won't be such a battle next time."
"You just don't know when to submit, do you?"
Reaching down unexpectedly, she encircled his shaft and rubbed her thumb over the moist tip, making his muscles clench. "The man who makes me submit has never walked yet."
Well, she'd just met the one man who would do it.
Stepping back from her, Simon saw the flash of disappointment in her eyes, the brief hurt and uncertainty, and even in the heat of unfulfilled arousal, the tenderest of emotions gripped his heart and he reached out to gently run one finger over her lips.
There was one magical second when everything else was stripped away by that one gentle gesture. Heat, passion, carnality---all of it was pushed back by an emotion too deep, too sacred, to even have a name.
It lasted a heart beat before the heat flared back.
Slowly, Simon stripped his vest from his shoulders and tossed it aside. When Des made to step forward, he growled, "No." Stopping, she tilted her head to the side. Totally at ease with her own nakedness, her eyes were hot as she watched him toe off his boots and slowly slide his pants down his legs, stepping out of them and kicking them aside.
Standing before her, letting her look her fill of him, Simon contemplated her with a coolness that was an extension of his burning desire. This was the male beast, the one planning his moves. Hunting. How best to bring down the female and make her submit. Make her know who covered her, who claimed her, who had met and beaten her challenge.
Who made her beg for release.
"Nice." Her voice was husky. "Very nice."
Not answering, Simon stepped forward, anticipating her reaching for him, grabbing her arm when she did to spin her around so that he could jerk her back against him. His staff rode up between them, a hot brand that nestled against the small of her back. His arm was an iron band around the front of her shoulders, his other hand resting low on her abdomen.
"You push when you'd do well to leave alone," he breathed the warning in her ear.
"I like pushing." She wriggled against him, making him grit his teeth.
Now he didn't answer. Moving her one step forward, he slid his hands down her arms until he clasped her wrists, then using his own body, he bent her over at the waist until her arms were stretched out before her and he closed her fingers around the rail at the end of the bed.
"Kinky." The huskiness of her tone belied the laziness of her voice.
Remaining silent, he slid his hands back up her arms. The position she was in was erotic, for it left her open to his sight and touch, though that openness was hidden from view by his own body covering her. But not for long.
Using his knee, he spread her thighs until they were apart to his satisfaction.
Sliding his hands up to her shoulders, he kept his touch light, almost tickling her. Gathering up her hair, he slid it over one of her shoulders, baring her nape for his lips.
Slowly he moved down, his lips following the straight line of her spine, his fingers trailing lightly down her sides. Only once did he deviate, and that was to feather his hands around to glide over her breast. He both heard and felt her suck in her breath, and he smiled to himself.
Resting his hands on her hips, he kissed the small of her back, licked, nuzzled, and felt her move slightly.
"Nay." He growled out the order.
"You don't tell me what to do---" She broke off with a small gasp of surprise when she felt his palm slap lightly against one buttock. She frowned at him over one smooth shoulder. "I'm not into punishment."
"You don't know what I'm into." His teeth flashed in a feral grin.
That flash of uncertainty came into her eyes as she suddenly realized the full vulnerability of her position, combined with the fact that she didn't know his sexual preferences. She started to push upwards.
Simon moved fast. His hand on her back kept her bent over, and he moved aside enough to slip his hand between her thighs from behind. In one smooth stroke, he slid his finger along the seam of her body and onto her clitoris, pressing the little bud against her body.
Des gasped, her back arching down as she automatically pushed herself against his hand.
Lightening his touch, he feathered his finger along the seam of her body, playing it against her perineum, watching as she tipped her head back and moaned.
Hot moisture slicked his finger, and seeing she now held the rail of the bed with a white-knuckled grip, Simon knelt down.
The female body was, to him, a beautiful thing. So soft and curvy, with hidden treasures to be discovered and tended to, touched and worshipped.
Des's body was a miracle. Open to him, every lush valley and sheltering fold moist with her need.
Sliding his arms between her thighs, he gripped the lower rails of the bed, and moved forward to give her a long, slow lick along the seam of her body.
In shocked pleasure, she automatically went to close her legs, but his strong arms prevented it, holding her open. Forcing her open.
"Simon..."
He licked again, using the tip of his tongue, and when she moaned, he swirled his tongue against her perineum, knowing it was one of the most sensitive parts of a wench's hidden treasures. That and the clitoris he closed his lips around and sucked gently. Mercilessly.
Des was panting now, gasping, her back arching down as she clung to the bedrail for support. He felt her thighs tremble against his arms.
His own blood pounded hotly, sizzling through his veins, filling his staff to an almost unbearable fullness. Arched against his abdomen, the tip was red, a drop of seed sitting at the top of the slit.
His phallus was thick, heavy, long. Throbbing with the need for release.
But Simon wasn't finished yet, using all his inner strength to push himself above his own need.
And as he rose above his need, he pushed Des to the limit of hers.
Playing his tongue around the opening of her vagina, he flicked the tender rim. Her taste flooded him, and he reveled in it. Like the wench, it was a tart sweetness from which he would never tire.
Placing his lips against the entrance, he sucked strongly, and then blew gently.
Des stiffened, and when he slid his finger in deep, he felt her muscles clench hard around him. Her breaths came in panting gasps, and she pushed back against his finger desperately, seeking relief.
Keeping still inside her, he said softly, "Do you want me, Des?" When she didn't reply, he slowly drew his finger out, bending the tip so that it dragged across her muscles.
"Simon!"
"Say it." He lightly tapped the hard little bud no longer hidden by the folds of her labia.
She jerked in response, and he heard her shuddering breath.
In one smooth motion, he removed his hands from the rail and pushed upright, ensuring his hands slid up the inside of her thighs and around to her bottom on the way. Poised behind her, he trailed his fingertip across the small of her back, watching the moistness of her body gleam on it.
The sexual tension in the room was so thick. He could smell her scent, heavy and wholly female, and it spoke to the maleness in him. His staff was so engorged now, he knew it wouldn't take much for him to explode. His scrotum was tight, the pit of his stomach heavily coiled as it waited, burned, for release.
"Damn!" Des exploded, the word coming out in a rush, her voice still husky with sexual frustration. "Take me!"
"Take you?" His hand slid down along her bottom to cup her heat.
"I'm begging you!" She started to push upright.
Again Simon prevented her, using his hand on her back to hold her down. One step was all it took to move into position, to come right up behind her.
Still with iron control, he guided his staff to her vagina, sliding unerringly but with agonizing slowness into her tight sheath, feeling the muscles clamp around him as he slid right in to the hilt.
Des let out one shuddering breath and pushed back against him. Simon's iron control snapped as the first ripple went through her muscles and shuddered along the highly sensitized tip of his staff and down the shaft.
Griping her hips, he pulled out and slammed back in.
She cried out, and for a second he feared that he had hurt her, his concern coming through the blaze of erotic heat, and he held still, deep in her body.
"Please, Simon, don't stop. Please. Please!"
"Des---"
"Don't stop!" She looked back over her shoulder, and his breath caught at the sheer sexual voracity in her eyes. The yellow seemed to burn through the pale brown, her lips were full and red, color touching her high cheekbones.
The expression in her eyes fanned his own carnal craving, and without a second more hesitation, Simon drew out almost to the very tip before thrusting back in again.
His rhythm was hard and fast, pushing them both higher up the path towards a fulfillment he was determined they'd reach together. With every thrust he heard her moan, with every withdrawal he felt her muscles clamping around him, holding him in a tight, wet glove of pure eroticism.
Bent to his will, at his mercy, Des was his ultimate fantasy come to life. But he had other ways he wanted to take her.
Later.
Scrotum pulling up tight, splintering sparks searing through his veins, Simon felt the very gathering of his seed. Every thrust stoked the flames hotter, the wet friction of her hot, clasping sheath tearing at his desire.
He couldn't think of any time that had been so purely carnal, a fight to start, and a fantasy to finish.
Feeling the build-up, knowing he wasn't far now, Simon shortened his thrusts, made them harder, faster, pushing into her mercilessly, glorying in being able to possess and take a wench without fear of hurting someone smaller.
Releasing all restraint, all inhibitions and natural instinct to be more careful, he slammed deep, shoved, losing himself in the sounds of her voice crying out in pure, unadulterated ecstasy, the heat of her body, the hedonistic satisfaction of knowing his lass craved him as much as he craved her, that she welcomed him thrusting so hard and fast into her.
The primal male beast in him roared in satisfaction as the seed burst from his body, as he pumped inside her, branding her with his sperm, filling her with himself.
She cried out his name and he felt the walls of her vagina ripple, clamping down on his staff, milking him of his seed.
Still he pumped into her, fingers gripping her hips hard, holding her for his thrusts as he emptied himself inside her, the sensation of dragging through those tight, gripping muscles sending him over the edge so that he didn't want to stop.
Never wanted to stop.
Clasping her to him in one final thrust, his head thrown back, his hair spilling down his back in a sweat-drenched swathe, Simon strained into her, his hips giving one last jerk as they both climaxed, spilling over into the vortex of soul-shattering pleasure.
He couldn't think how long it lasted, how long he spun in a glittering array of intense feelings and emotions, but when he came to, he curved over her back and slid his arms around her waist.
"Let go of the rail," he rasped.
Spent, she obeyed, and he pulled her back, dropping to his knees with her before him. Sitting back on his heels, he held her limp body against his chest, the underside of her full breasts brushing his forearms with every shuddering breath she took
Resting his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her, Simon relaxed, almost wallowing in the aftermath of the prurient storm they'd just shared. Closing his eyes, he simply rested while his thundering heart slowed to a more normal beat, and his breathing became even.
"It's done?"
"Yes." Sulkily, she looked back at him from the viscomm.
Canute smiled. "Well done, m'dear."
"I'm not your lackey to order around!"
"You'll do as I say, when I say it, or you'll be just another missing woman, forgotten very quickly."
Anger flared in her eyes. "I'm not a whore!"
He ignored it, but noted with satisfaction the flash of fear in her eyes. "The bounty hunters are still around?"
"Yes."
"The military has left."
"Yes."
"Then it won't be much longer. Once the bounty hunters leave, it will be clear for us to move in."
Her eye softened. "Canute, you know I love you."
"As much as you love the idea of being rich."
"More." Her tone was wheedling, a touch of sultriness in it that was totally false.
Canute surveyed her with amusement. No, he didn't want this woman. The one he wanted was a force to be reckoned with. This woman was spineless, and only good enough to obey commands.
"Canute?"
"I'll be in touch." He flicked the viscomm off.
He really was tiring of all this waiting, but the time was almost upon them to move. Settling back in his chair, he watched the dust motes in the air. He'd waited a long time, what were a few days more?
Nestled back against Simon, the hard dips and swells of his muscles cushioning her back and head, Des felt like she could simply drift away in the rosy, contented afterglow of a most explosive lovemaking.
Simon had said he'd burn her, and by God, he hadn't lied. The man had more than lived up to his word.
"You begged." The words fanned warmly against her ear.
"Mmmm." Tilting her head back, she opened her eyes drowsily to see Simon looking down at her tenderly.
"Sleepy, lass?"
"Mmmm." She stretched leisurely and was more than ready to settle back against him, but his sudden movement had her jerking upright. "What the---"
Swept up in his arms while he pushed to his feet with ridiculous ease, Des gaped at him. Mostly because there was a wicked glint in his pale blue-green eyes.
"Did you think I was finished?" Tossing her into the middle of the big bed, Simon came up to easily straddle her body, his knees either side of her thighs, his hands braced either side of her shoulders.
Stunned, she could only stare up at him. Surely he couldn't be ready yet? So soon? A glance down saw him already most impressively half erect.
His grin was a flash of teeth, white and strong, and he bent his elbows so he could lean down and press a kiss to her lips, his tongue flicking out to demand entrance.
Instinctively she opened to him and his possession of her mouth was immediate. His flavor filled her again, and she could smell his scent---hot male, arousal, and that other scent that was so uniquely Simon.
Heart picking up pace, she slid her hands around his neck, tunneling her fingers into the thick spill of fair hair that tumbled about the broad shoulders and fell down the powerful chest and back of the Daamen trader.
My Daamen trader.
Even as the thought crossed her mind, she tried to pull him down to her.
Laughing softly, tauntingly, he disentangled her fingers from his hair and pressed her hands down either side of her head. "Stay right there."
Wanting the feel of him against her, Des started to push up on her elbows. "Simon---"
He pressed her hands back down again to the mattress. "Why, wicked little wench, I didn't know you wanted me to restrain you."
"What? I don't---"
"Then stay still unless I tell you otherwise." He winked. "Or do otherwise ... to you."
The determined lover of earlier, the one meeting her challenge was gone. Now he was more playful, almost mischievous, in a carnal fashion. It made her insides quiver, the familiar spiral of desire crawl through her belly to lodge heavily in her womanhood.
"Relax," he said huskily, trailing his hand down her stomach and running his fingertip around and into her belly button, laughing when she jumped. "Lass, you're coiled tighter than a spring. Now why is that, I wonder?"
"I have no idea." Was that slightly breathless voice coming from her?
Leisurely, he looked at her body as he moved back a little. His gaze seemed to stay on the curls covering her womanhood for a long time, and she could almost imagine she felt the heat of that gaze.
When he glanced up at her again, his eyes burned with an inner fire, his smile once again a flash of white teeth. "You tasted so good."
She smiled and quirked a brow.
"Another challenge, wench?"
"Just wondering what you have in mind, trader."
"I just bet you are." Lifting one leg, he slid it between her thighs and nudged her legs apart. "Spread them."
The earthiness of the words made her swallow, especially when accompanied by his hand spreading flat on her lower abdomen and rubbing slowly. She obeyed.
Simon shifted so that now both of his legs were between her thighs. He moved back a bit so he was level with her knees when he sat back on his heels. His gaze slid down to her womanhood, now partly exposed to him.
"Nice view." Trailing his hand down her abdomen, he scraped his fingers through the protective curls before feathering one finger over the folds still partially protecting her femininity. Lifting his head, he looked at her. "But partly hidden. Can't have that. Bend your knees."
Drawing out the moment, wanting to shake his assuredness, Des daringly did as bidden ... but slowly. So very slowly.
Pale fire lit his eyes, his nostrils flared slightly, and his tone, though still amused, was darker. "You can't help yourself, can you, wench?"
"I don't know what you mean," she replied innocently, even as her heart picked up pace and anticipation filled her.
"Oh, I think you do. Always pushing the boundaries, testing the limits." Resting his hands on her knees, Simon exerted gentle pressure and pushed her thighs back against her stomach, not too tightly, but enough to roll her hips up.
Calves on each side of his waist, her eyes widening in surprise, Des licked her lips. What did he have planned? She was completely open to him, vulnerable.
Reaching forward, he gripped her hips and pulled her straight towards him until the backs of her thighs, high up, rested against the inside of his, and she felt the strength in the powerful thighs each side of her.
She could also feel the heat from his loins against her exposed genitalia.
Going still, Simon simply looked down into her face before slowly skimming that hot look down her body until he stopped right where their bodies almost touched. Reaching down, he slid one long finger into her, making her gasp.
"Already so wet," he murmured. And slid in a second finger, twisting them gently once they were buried inside her. And thumbed the little bud higher up that was now so unprotected by her position
A jolt of red-hot desire tore through her, and she would have squirmed, except the position he'd pulled her into made it impossible. She was literally at his mercy.
"Damn!" she panted, reaching out to grab fistfuls of the bed covers.
The sound of Simon's low, throaty laugh resonated around the room. He was still grinning when he released one of her knees to take hold of his staff and place the tip at the entrance to her vagina. Returning his hand to her knee, he used her knees as a brace as he thrust into her.
Being so open to him, Des felt every inch of his staff spear into her. He filled her so completely, that even in her deliciously stunned mind, she wondered that he didn't hit her cervix. Then she felt it, the tip of him right at the entrance to her womb. At the unusual sensation, she sucked in a breath.
Immediately Simon went still, his hot eyes on her face, gauging her reaction. Watching intently.
She could almost swear she felt every throbbing vein in his phallus, the silken head so engorged, the tip just nudging her womb.
It was ... erotic.
"Des?" Simon's voice might have been strained, hoarse and full of need, but his eyes held a hint of concern.
"I'm ... fine."
"Are you sure?" Pulling back the tiniest bit, Simon gently pushed forward again.
The sensations rippling through her made her swallow. "Oh ... yes."
He started moving against her, more gently, watching for any signs of discomfort.
Heat spiraled through her, but Des didn't know from where it could possibly come. Every bit of her channel was full, the thick staff rubbing against the muscles, the tip bumping her cervix, causing her an almost pleasure-pain.
She felt impaled. Deliciously impaled. Hedonistically impaled.
Lifting her eyes, she locked her gaze with Simon's. "Faster."
"Des, are you sure---"
"Harder." She tried to arch up but couldn't because of her thighs against her stomach, her position not allowing for it. Twisting her hands in the cover, staring up at the dangerously handsome face of her lover, she moaned, "For the love of God, Simon, take me!"
The tight reign he was keeping on his own sexual desires showed in the tightness of his jaw line, the clenching of his teeth. Keeping his movements slow and careful at first, he watched her intently. Only when she started to moan his name, her fingers clawing into the covers, did he increase his pace and strengthen the thrusts.
But gradually. Each thrust a little harder, each push a little faster. Still being careful, gauging her reaction each time.
Des felt as though she was going to lose control. Sensations tore through her, filling her until not only her channel was full of male potency, but her whole body buzzed with sexual tension. It built up in her, and with no way to relieve it, not able to even writhe or arch or pull Simon to her, all she could do was push her head back onto the mattress and moan.
Each pump of his hips brought not only his phallus deep into her, but the power of the muscles in his thighs could be clearly felt as he moved and thrust.
Opening her eyes a little, she looked down her own body to see his big hands curled around her knees, the flex of hard muscles in his stomach, as he pumped into her, the bunching of the powerful muscles in his chest and arms.
A trickle of sweat slid down the ribbed muscles of his stomach.
Looking up further, she saw that Simon had his head back, his teeth clenched. With every movement, she caught glimpses of the thick, shaggy fair hair rippling down his powerful back.
He was pure male in full rut.
Her name escaped his lips in a guttural hiss, then as he pumped again into her, he growled her name louder.
Abruptly he tipped his head forward, and his eyes locked onto hers. "Mine." That one word came in a low growl, full of passion and promise and total ownership.
It should have annoyed her, but instead, she felt a primal answering of mate to mate, male to female, and as he pushed into her once more, she whispered back, "Mine."
Rising up slightly, Simon thrust hard. Once, twice, his hips slamming against her, pushing her ruthlessly over the edge, and she screamed his name as the rapture she felt, the intense feelings filling her, finally spilled out in a flaring climax.
This time she didn't even feel his seed pour forth into her. Her heart pounded, and stars shattered behind her eyelids as she spun away into a climax that was almost violent in its extremity. She went with it willingly.
Only when she finally floated down from the pinnacle did she become aware of Simon. Opening her eyes hazily, she found herself on her side and cradled in Simon's arms. Her head was under his chin, her breasts pressed against his chest.
"Simon?" she whispered.
Titling her head back by the simple process of lifting her chin with one finger, Simon looked down at her with the tenderest expression, gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead and tucked her head back beneath his chin.
"Go to sleep." His voice was a deep rumble in his chest.
A comforting rumble. Without a murmur, she nestled into his protective embrace and closed her eyes.
The last thing she felt was the covers being tugged up to her waist.
Fighting through the delicious layers of lethargy that wanted to pull him back into sleep, Simon opened his eyes. Des was still cuddled into him, her face in his neck, her warm body against his. Her long legs were entwined with his own.
Love went through him in a big, slow roll. So this is what 'tis like to wake up with the lass you love in your arms. No wonder his married friends were so content.
Shifting his head back enough to glance down, Simon couldn't stop the smile when Des frowned, murmured a protest, and nuzzled her face into his neck again. Content once more, she slipped back into deep sleep, the frown smoothing from her forehead.
Resting his chin on her head once again, he became aware of a heavy weight on his feet. Glancing down, he saw Chels sprawled out on the bottom of the bed, while Fuzz was fast asleep on her back on the thick carpet near the door.
It really did feel like home.
Closing his eyes, he whispered, "Lights off."
The room went dark and he went back to sleep.
The second time he woke up, the room was dimly lit by early dawn. Still cradled in his arms, Des had her back to him, and he was curled around her, his chin on her shoulder. Her bottom was snug against his groin, and when she moved in her sleep, the firm curves of her bottom nudged his staff.
Lust pooled immediately, and he had to fight the temptation to caress her so that she awoke in a state of arousal. It would be so easy to do, so easy to roll her onto her back, or simply slip into her from behind. Slow, leisurely loving.
Sighing, Simon firmly tamped down any thought of lovemaking. Her reactions of the night before had informed him that she'd been new to the position he'd put her in, the deep penetration. Mayhap not the penetration, he mentally corrected himself. More than likely the deep penetration combined with the length of him filling her to the very mouth of her womb.
That had felt erotic, being so deep inside her that he touched the internal mystery of womankind.
Oh suns, what if I've impregnated her? Suddenly alert, Simon glanced down at her. He could have done. He hadn't taken any of the sterility potion that made a man's seed sterile for twenty four hours. Hadn't taken it because he hadn't planned on making love to her.
Good intentions until she'd pushed him over the edge.
But still as much his fault. He should have thought before engaging his lust in full-steam mode.
It wasn't too late for her, though. If she took a swallow of the potion when she awoke, she wouldn't get pregnant. It would be prevented.
He felt a slight pang at the thought. How perverse. You worry if she is, and you feel sad if she isn't. Mentally shaking his head, he carefully disentangled himself from her warm body and slipped out of bed. Time enough to worry about that later, and whatever she decided, it wasn't too late.
A murmur of discontent had him smiling when he looked down to see Des snuggle down under the covers. Reaching over, he tucked her in securely before walking into the bathroom.
The bathroom was as everything in Des's home. Clean, soft pastel colors, restful. The shower glass was almost sparkling. The wench liked a clean house, he noted. An empty clothes basket stood in the corner.
The soap had a flowery scent, reminding him of Des. The water was pleasantly warm, and he lathered up, washing away all traces of sweat and lovemaking, feeling almost sorry, but at the same time fresher for it.
Ready for more. You horny hound.
Grinning, he dried himself and went back into the bedroom to find his clothes. A little wrinkled, but still clean.
He studied Des's sleeping form in the bed while he dressed.
The lass was a contradiction. So tough on the outside, so hot and passionate on the inside. The courage she displayed on the job was replaced with daring when faced with a fully aroused Daamen lover. She thrived on challenges.
And she was also a homebody, enjoying her time in her haven, away from everyone. Just the garden and her lycats.
She swore without regard to who was around, and could verbally tear strips off man or woman, but her sense of humor reared its head often, and she dealt fairly with all. He didn't fool himself, though. The wench could be ruthless when she chose, but he knew her enough to know 'twouldn't be without good cause.
Aye, she was a delightful bundle of contradiction. Even better, she was his delightful bundle of contradiction.
Bending over the bed, he dropped a kiss on her smooth cheek and went out into the living area and the kitchen. Chels and Fuzz were right behind him, and he fed them out in the enclosed garden, falling easily into the familiarity of it.
Ravenous, he raided the well-stocked cooler and found a container of some kind of meat and vegetable dish. Scooping out a generous portion, he heated it in the warmer and took it over to the table to eat.
He admitted to himself that he was reluctant to leave just yet. Didn't want to leave, actually. 'Twould be bad taste to indulge in head-spinning sex, sleep with the lass, then be gone when she awoke.
And he looked forward to her reaction to him today. Would she be shy? He doubted it. She was openly passionate. But still, 'twas the light of day now. Who knew?
He'd just finished eating when the lycats both ran in from the garden and down the little corridor to the bedroom. Des's voice sounded faintly, but when she didn't reappear, he figured she either had to be taking a shower, or gone back to sleep.
By the time he'd washed the bowl and fork and put them away again, poured a mug of hot una and settled himself on the sofa to wait, Des emerged from the corridor, yawning.
Sleepy-eyed still, she buttoned up her shirt. The scent of her soap drifted in the air, and her damp hair lay around her shoulders.
"'Morning, lass," he said cheerfully.
"Uh." With a grunt, she headed over to the kitchen.
Nay, the lass 'tisn't a morning person. With his mother of the same temperament, Simon settled back to wait until Des had woken properly and was more communicative.
He heard the cooler open and shut, then the sound of something being poured.
"You want something to eat?" Des mumbled.
"Already eaten, lass."
"Good." Walking back to the sofa, she set a glass of juice on the little table and sat down with a large bowl of cut-up fruit. Dropping down into the sofa beside him, she propped her own feet beside his on the ottoman. "What did you have?"
"Some sort of meat and veggie dish that was in the cooler."
"Damn. That was the lycats dinner they half ate."
"What?"
"Kidding." Laughing, she forked a piece of peach and chewed on it. "It was leftovers from me."
With a sigh of relief, Simon relaxed back again. "I thought you weren't a morning person? You're surprisingly good-humored this morn."
"I'm just sharpening my wits on you. Sort of a warm up before I start hassling the lowlifes on the streets."
"Oh, I'm at your service."
"Thanks."
They settled into a comfortable silence, but Simon knew that sooner or later he'd have to broach the troubling subject with her.
Once she'd finished eating and was sipping her drink, he said quietly, "Des, about last night..."
Immediately her eyes fixed on him. "Yes?"
"I didn't use protection." There was no way out of it. "You might be pregnant."
"I'm not."
"How do you know?"
She grinned. "I took the sterility potion for the last couple of nights. Just in case I managed to seduce you."
Relief went though him. "Thank God."
"What, you don't want kids?"
"Well, aye, but..." Caught by surprise, Simon floundered. "I just didn't think ... you know..."
"No, I don't." Gravely she watched him.
"Des, I want babes with you, but I don't think right now is a good time." Turning partly around, he started to settle in for a serious talk when he saw the faint curve in her lips. "Stars, you teasing little witch."
Laughing again, she took a sip of juice. "You are so gullible, Simon."
"And you're a tease."
"I teased you good last night." She winked. "But you rose to the challenge admirably."
Nay, the wench wasn't shy. And Simon wasn't surprised. Grinning, he placed one hand on her knee and squeezed lightly. "I made you beg."
"That you did."
"I won the battle."
"Such a man."
"Are you all right this morning?"
"I've worked up a hell of an appetite." Leaning forward, she pressed a light kiss to his lips.
He kissed her back, slipping his tongue between her already parted lips. She tasted of peaches, apricots, strawberries and apple. Sweet and fresh. Catching her chin within the curve of his hand, he angled her head to taste deeper.
"We could go back to the bedroom," she said when he lifted his head.
"Aye," he agreed huskily. "If you're not too sore."
"A little twinge that is deliciously naughty." She winked before swinging her feet off the ottoman. "But any ideas on going back to bed will have to wait until tonight. I have to go to work."
He caught her hand as she made to move past him. "We don't have to go to bed. There's a sofa here, the ottoman, the wall." He smiled slow and wicked. "The table."
"You're a bad trader, and a bad influence on a poor peacekeeper." Dipping her head down, she kissed him once more, and would have straightened except that he tugged her down to tumble into his lap.
He wanted to give her something to remember and think about for the rest of the day, and so he made the kiss slow and deep, hot and carnal. By the time he set her back on her feet, her cheeks were flushed and her breath quicker.
Fanning herself, she back stepped. "Yep, you're just bad, Simon."
"Bad lads are good fun." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
Rolling her eyes, she went back into the bedroom. Simon rinsed her plate and glass in the sink, and was waiting for her by the bench when she came back out, strapping her laser to her thigh.
Walking up to him, Des kissed him on the lips. "See you later."
"Aye." He reached around and gave her tight braid a gentle tug. "Take care."
It was a comfortable moment, intimate, and they smiled at each other before they both left to attend their own work.
When Simon neared the trade ship, he saw just about every member of his crew waiting for them. The fact that all were grinning wasn't a problem, but he rolled his eyes when he saw Aamun and Heddam sorting out the winning bets between the others.
"Bastards," he said.
"Now, Simon, 'tis something you've done in the past to our friends," Heddam replied cheerfully. "'Tis just your turn now."
"Aye." Shamon's eyes twinkled. "You look ... relaxed."
Mikal and Torkra nudged each other.
"I saw that." Simon gave his two youngest friends a narrow-eyed look. "And considering that you two haven't been out of a wench's bed for more than two hours at a time, I'd say you need some rest."
"Oh, my." Shamon fluttered his eyelashes. "I think mayhap someone else didn't get as much rest, after all."
Simon sent him a rude gesture.
"I am shocked."
Jarak and Kel sniggered, while Brekya, Findel and Etol tried to look shocked, but failed miserably.
"So." Heddam leaned against the ramp pole. "How goes the little peacekeeper?"
"Aye. Did she have to use the stunner on you?" Roaring with laughter, Shamon slapped his knee.
"Oh, very funny. Just you wait Shamon. Some little wench is going to grab you one day and turn your life upside down."
Shamon looked smug. "No wench has ever had that power over me."
"Just wait." Simon gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. "And I'll be the one doing the laughing."
"I'll be taking bets." Aamun held up his hand.
Etol rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You know, out of Darvk's original crew, the only ones who haven't yet got wed are Simon, Shamon and Heddam."
Both traders stopped laughing.
"Don't even joke about it." Heddam shuddered. "Forced to be with one wench, unable to spread my loving prowess around to other lucky wenches."
"'Twould take an exceptional wench to win my heart," Shamon stated bluntly.
Aamun smiled slightly but said nothing.
Simon raised one brow. "You never know when or where, friend. Just one day, you'll stumble across your lass, and that 'twill be that. You won't want another wench, just her. Forever."
Mikal made a gagging noise.
"Shock," Torkra explained gravely.
"Young blokes." Jarak shook his head. "They have no idea."
Simon looked around the cargo hold. "Everything packed and ready?"
"Aye." Kel nodded. "The last of everything was packed securely yesterday. The merchants await us on Kyros."
"Right. We leave the day after tomorrow as originally planned." Simon glanced back towards Des's home, already feeling a reluctance to leave.
Aamun's expression was understanding. "Simon, we can do this trip while you spend some more time with Des."
His friends nodded in agreement.
It was tempting, but Simon knew Des wouldn't be happy if he stayed. They both had jobs to do, and she would expect nothing less than that they did it. "Nay, 'tis fine." He smiled crookedly. "I'd better get used to being away from my lass now and again."
"'Tis early days," Etol said, sympathy in his eyes.
"Aye. No doubt I'll get used to it." Simon grinned. "Just think of the making-up for time when I get back!"
Mikal gagged again.
"Shock," Torkra said gravely.
"Pair of young bastards." Simon shook his head and laughed.
"Nothing on the murders?" Des shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on the peg on the wall behind the desk.
"Not a thing. No one is talking, no one saw anything." Huxley turned around in the chair. "Basically, no one cares about these missing women because they had no families, came from who-knew-where, and were whores. But they were still people, Des. They don't deserve to be treated like throwaways."
"I know." She started going through the files on the computer. "I totally agree. But on the other hand, they know what might happen to them on the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector. Women get raped, hurt, and disappear. So do men. Their profession doesn't make it easier for them." She glanced at Huxley's frowning face. "But it doesn't excuse what happens to them. No one needs to face being hurt. But it's a fact of life out here."
He sighed. "I know."
The door opened and Des rolled her eyes when Orde and Marcel walked in. "Stars above, look who Moresby finally tossed out of the Medical Clinic."
"Too much man to hold down for long." Marcel flexed his muscles.
"Good to see you up and about," Huxley greeted them.
Orde looked at Des. "Thought you could use some more hands on the street."
"I don't think so. You're going home to rest."
He smiled slightly. "You went back to work quick."
"That's because I'm the Boss."
Marcel huffed. "We're in better condition that you, considering we had more rest."
"I had rest."
"Anyway, we being back on board takes some of the pressure off the others."
"Wipe that smirk off your face, Marcel, before I put you back in the bloody medical clinic."
"Now, Boss, your uncle himself gave us a clearance for light duties." He waved a disc in the air. "It's all on here, legal and proper and everything."
"Oh, well, that makes all the difference, then, doesn't it?" She held out her hand. "Give it to me."
"You don't trust us," he said cheerfully.
Orde sat down in a chair and watched the byplay with his usual quiet amusement.
"Damn right." Taking the disc from Marcel, Des slid it into the computer and brought the document up. Just as she'd known, the document was a clearance for light duties. "That must have hurt."
"What?"
"Being truthful." Popping the disc out, she stored it in the disc files.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Leaning her arm on the desk, Des stabbed her finger in his direction. "Since you three have been in the clinic, my stash of lollies has remained untouched. Now that you're back, they'll start disappearing again."
"You have missed us!"
"Thieving bastards." She grinned. "All right, I'm glad you're all well again. Aiken?"
"Discharged home in the care of his lady friend." Marcel winked. "Probably started a little massage therapy, if you get what I mean."
"Obviously not going to get the same from your wife."
"She said she'd wait for tonight. The anticipation will be greater." He winked.
Des rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry I asked." Leaning back in the chair, she studied the men.
No longer were they pale, and they did seem to be in good health generally. Her uncle wouldn't lie nor stretch the truth. If he deemed them well enough to resume light duties, then they were recovered enough. But still...
"Tell you what." She tapped her fingers on the table. "Everything seems quiet at the moment, but the men have been doing long hours. Neither of you will be on night duty for at least another week, but you can come back this afternoon and relieve the day shift. They've had some long shifts and could do with some time off."
"Sure, Boss."
"I could stay this morning," Orde said.
"No. Afternoons to start with for a few days, whole days if we get busy. You get a bit more recuperation time, and the others get a break." She raised one brow at them. "That's the way it's going to be, so like it or lump it."
"Charming," Marcel said.
"I thought so. Now go home and get some rest."
"You, of course, won't be doing any such thing."
"She has other diversions," Huxley said.
"Ah, yes." Marcel's eyes gleamed. "The Daamen trader."
Orde continued to look mildly amused.
"Jealous?" Des drawled.
"Want to share some details?"
"Want to share some knuckles?" She pointed to the door. "Out."
Orde and Marcel left, grinning.
Des turned back to the computer. "And Huxley?"
"Yeah, Boss?"
"Next time you want to gossip, don't pick my love life to be the main topic."
"You've got a love life?"
"You're asking for it."
"Buttoning my lip now, Boss." Laughing, he turned back to the communications system.
The morning passed quietly. Creed met Des for lunch, along with some of his pack. They ate at one of the taverns, and Des was amused at how the room was severely lacking in the normal amount of patrons.
But the quiet was good, and she certainly didn't mind having a rest from the normal fights, shootings and brawls.
The Daamen traders waved cheerfully to her and called out greetings when she passed them on her way back to the Enforcer Building. She saw Simon across the street, and his warm smile went straight to her heart. She nodded to him, gave a brief smile, and continued on her way.
Showing public affection was something she certainly wasn't comfortable with, and not something she was about to take on board right now. If ever. She hoped Simon understood that.
Orde and Marcel came on just after lunch, and Emory and Huxley happily went home. Orde did fly-overs, but there was nothing to report. Marcel manned the scanners and communicators, eventually putting them into the micro headphones so that all could hear if anyone tried to communicate while he and Des did a tour of the settlement.
"It's only this quiet when military or hunters are around," he observed. "Maybe we should ask your Dad to make his main port here."
"Not bloody likely." Des laughed. "His ship is his port. Dad doesn't have a home as such."
"Except for yours."
"And then only if he's passing close enough to call in."
The rest of the day passed quietly. When Des left the Enforcer Building, it was late afternoon, the first time in a long time that she'd left with the sun still shining. Enjoying the uneasy peace, she refused a lift home and walked back, breathing in the clean air as she left the settlement.
Overhead flew a couple of space crafts and a late shuttle, but all was quiet. An uneasy peace and quiet as the outlaws kept a very low profile. It amused Des, because the outlaws that kept a low profile didn't warrant a second glance from the bounty hunters. They weren't interested in two-bit thieves and brawlers. They were after bigger game that brought in much more dinnos.
But it made the two-bit outlaws feel important anyway.
And it gave Des and her men a nice break, one she fully intended to enjoy.
Opening the door to her home, she was greeted by a delicious aroma.
"I'm home!" She shut the door behind her and ambled down the corridor and into the living area.
Simon looked up from where he was sprawled on the sofa reading a book, Chels lying across his lap and Fuzz beside him. "You're early."
"I'm sorry." She walked into the kitchen. "Am I interrupting something?" Opening the oven door, she peered in and took a deep breath. "Yummy."
"Well, Chels and Fuzz and I were having a quiet moment, a little heart-to-heart, but by all means, feel free to interrupt."
"Hey, if you cook like this all the time, you can come in and have little heart-to-hearts with them anytime." Crossing back to the sofa, she leaned on the back of it and looked down into his upturned face. "I didn't know you could cook."
His eyes gleamed. "Two things I do well. Cook and sex."
"And just my two favorite things." She dropped a laughing kiss onto his lips. "We're evenly matched."
Before she could draw back, he hooked his hand around her nape, holding her still for a longer, deeper kiss. When he finally released her, she was a little breathless. "Add kissing to your 'I Do Well' list."
"Why, thank you, lass." His grin was mischievous and a touch carnal. "I also have very talented hands."
"I discovered that last night." Straightening up, she headed for the corridor to the bedroom. "I'm going for a shower."
"I'd join you, lass, but I doubt your father would be happy."
"My father?"
Simon's face had a comical expression, half perturbed, half laughing. "He's coming to dinner."
Stunned, she looked at him. "What?"
"Invited himself. Dropped by earlier, smelled the food, and told me to put extra on because he was coming to dinner to check out his daughter's new man a little more thoroughly."
She didn't know whether to laugh or ... laugh. "That's so cute."
"You think?" Turning his head to frown at her, he added, "You're not the one about to get the third degree from a daddy."
Laughing, she went into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes. Just the thought of Creed and Simon tiptoeing around each other was hilarious.
She was still chuckling when she came back out, dressed in a light tunic that came down to her knees and had small, capped sleeves, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She was even more amused to see Simon and Creed sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table, Simon watchful and Creed with a glint in his eyes.
"C'mon, Dad." She poured herself a glass of cold drink and leaned back against the sink. "Give him a break."
"Don't know what you mean, baby girl," Creed replied cheerfully.
"Has he been hassling you, Simon?"
"Not at all, lass." Simon smiled at her, but his eyes remained wary.
"He's not running that honest woman crap, is he?"
"Did that last night."
"Dad!"
"What?" Creed spread his arms. "Baby girl, a father has a right to know."
"You never made an honest woman out of Gracie."
"Gracie was never an honest woman to start with!"
Simon frowned at this, his gaze changing to one of concern. "Des..."
"It's all right, Simon." Taking the chair next to him, Des patted his arm. "I know what Gracie is, and it's okay. Really."
It was more than obvious from his baffled expression that Simon was puzzled.
"You explain it to him," Des told Creed.
"What? Why?"
"You started the whole thing. Go on."
He rolled his eyes. "Simon, you have no idea how bossy Desdemona can be."
"'Tis all right. I like her bossiness."
Des smiled at him. "How sweet."
"Except in the be..." Simon's voice trailed off as he remembered who else was at the table with him.
Knowing he was going to say 'bedroom', Des raised her eyebrows at him. "Yes? You were saying?"
"Nothing." He took a hasty swallow of una, faint color in his cheeks.
Creed grinned widely, his gold tooth flashing in the light.
Des found Simon's disconcertion at being with her father, and having their relationship questioned by him, sweet. Normally so self-assured and confident, with no fear of anything, the big trader was completely thrown by Creed.
Slipping her hand beneath the table, she rested it on Simon's knee and squeezed.
Simon nearly choked on his una.
Tamping down the laughter that threatened to overcome her, Des looked at Creed. "Go on. Fill Simon in on our background, so he knows what he's getting himself into."
Recovering himself, Simon stated, "Your background doesn't bother me, Des. I've told you that."
"But it's good to know anyway." She shrugged. "No nasty surprises later."
"You don't think having a bounty hunter for a father isn't a nasty surprise?" Creed queried, amused.
"He's still sitting here, isn't he?"
Settling back in the chair, Creed said cheerfully, "Here it is in a nutshell, boy. I was a young gung-ho man, new to the bounty hunter business, and strutting my stuff. Gracie was a pretty, buxom piece, and I fell for her. Or fell onto her." His wink was lewd.
"Just the basics, Dad. We don't want to spoil our appetites."
"Right. Anyway, she got pregnant and was not happy. Wanted to get rid of Des, but I paid her a heap of dinnos to carry and birth my baby girl, and then I took over the care of my girl." Creed smiled lovingly at Des. "Brought her up with the help of my pack and my brother, Moresby, and his wife."
At the feel of Simon's hand covering hers under the table, Des glanced at him, surprised to see the compassion in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, lass."
"For Gracie not wanting me?" Des shrugged. "Its all right. I wasn't brought up believing in fairytales. I knew what she was, how she felt, but I also knew Dad wanted me." Des smiled at Creed. "Enough to part with a lot of dinnos."
"I was poor for a while." Creed sighed. "Very, very poor. I don't think you paid me back, did you?"
"Hell, Dad, I cooked you enough bloody meals."
Simon squeezed her hand gently. "If 'tis an issue, I can pay---"
Realizing that Simon wasn't really understanding, Des turned to him. "Simon, Dad's teasing. He loves me to pieces, and I knew he loved me. I never lacked for anything. I'm proud of my Dad, and I know he's always there for me. His pack are my friends. And Moresby loves me in his own strange way. Don't feel sorry for me, Simon. I'm happy."
The love reflected in his eyes made her catch her breath, made warmth trickle through her.
"And now you have me," Simon said softly. "Me and mine."
The silence was warm, the love almost tangible in the air. Des smiled back at him, and Simon started to lean down to kiss her.
Creed cleared his throat.
Simon jumped, a red tinge flashing through his cheeks as he straightened quickly.
Des laughed. "Dad!"
"Don't want him thinking he can do God-knows what with you when I'm around," Creed grinned, though his eyes now held a softer light when he looked at Simon. "I'm hungry."
The rest of the evening went better. They ate the delicious meal Simon had prepared, and Des, taking pity on him, kept Creed talking about general subjects, mainly about places he'd been, the outlaws he'd captured, old friends he'd visited along the way.
Creed helped her do the dishes, and Des smiled to herself when she saw Simon shake his head. Obviously he'd never seen a hard-eyed bounty hunter wash dishes and talk about the lycats like they were his own children.
Creed left soon after and they were alone.
Returning to the living area after seeing Creed off, Des found Simon leaning against the wall. Looping her arms around his waist, she leaned into him. "Are you all right?"
His big hands settled in the small of her back, and his eyes were grave as he looked down at her. "I find it hard to believe how well-adjusted you are, knowing Gracie..." He couldn't finish the sentence.
"Dad made sure I knew how much he loved me. Honestly, Simon, I had a good life. Yes, I'm a bit harder than some women you're used to, and I have a foul mouth and bad temper at times, I admit that. But I'm happy with who I am." A sudden though struck her. "Are you worried that if we had kids, I'd treat them like Gracie treated me?"
Simon's eyes met hers steadily. "Nay. We might not have known each other for a long time, Des, but I've seen you around children."
"You have?" Blankly, she looked at him, unable to remember an incident with children in the past week.
"I notice how the kids walk past you without flinching. You don't even know how the kids played tag around your legs the other day, when you were questioning some of the settlers. You don't yell at the children, you don't get annoyed with them."
"I didn't notice they were there."
"Des, you were stroking the hair of that little boy standing next to you."
"I was?" She blinked, trying to remember.
He laughed softly. "Aye, you were."
"I don't remember. Anyway, I want you to know that, to me, kids are important. They need to be loved and protected. I won't hide that I'd be a strict mother, but I'd be fair. No kid of mine would ever suffer from lack of love and care."
"I never doubted it for a second." Leaning down, Simon kissed her gently. "I would be honored for you to bear my babes and be my partner in rearing them."
"We couldn't hire a nanny to deal with them? Creed, perhaps? Moresby?"
"Wench, if you're going to tease me, you'll have to hide it better than that. I can see the devil in your eyes."
"Ohhh. Well, trader, guess you'll just have to punish me for being bad."
Reaching up, he gently tugged the ribbon from her hair. "I have something better in mind. Something I want to do for you."
"Can we do it together?" Sliding her hands into the waistband of his pants, she flexed her fingers against his buttocks, savoring the feel of silk skin over hard muscle. "Or do I just watch?"
Pale eyes holding a mixture of amusement and tenderness with a touch of heat, Simon caught her wrists to still her hands. "Just be good and see."
Never in her life had Des felt so at ease with any man. It felt like she'd known Simon for a lifetime. He infuriated her, made her laugh, made her aroused with just a wicked glint in his eyes, and he had the knack of making her relax.
He was special.
He was also making her walk backward.
Caught up in contemplating the man before her, she was totally unprepared when he suddenly swept her up into his arms, but she had to admit the power that resided in the bulging muscles of this man had the unheard effect of making her stare in awe.
No man had ever been able to simply sweep her up in his arms since she was thirteen years old, and that was a good fourteen years ago.
"You look surprised, lass." Simon's gaze was warm, his steps sure as he headed towards the bedroom.
"It's been awhile since anyone was able to carry me." She couldn't help but add anxiously, "Don't hurt your back. I'm too heavy."
His laugh was a genuine boom of amusement. "Lass, you weigh hardly anything!"
"Now I am in shock."
He grinned but said nothing further.
Once in the bedroom, he lowered her feet to the floor beside the bed, but kept his arm around her waist. His other hand slid into her hair, long fingers tunneling into the thick fall to hold her still for his kiss.
Unlike the kisses of the night before, these were unhurried. Long. Lazy, almost.
And yet it still set her on fire, only of a slower burn.
He allowed her to touch him, to smooth her hands up his chest, but when her moves got more urgent, he took his mouth from hers. "Slow down, sweet lass. Tonight we're going slow."
"We are?" She kissed the side of his neck. "Why?"
The deep rumble of amusement was so typically him. "Because I want to show you another side to making love."
"There's another side? All righty." She grinned up at him. "I'm game if you are."
"Naughty wench. Normally I'd take you up on that, but tonight..."
"Yes?"
His eyes became serious. Softer. "Tonight I want to make love to you. Slowly."
"I don't know if I can go slow," she replied candidly. "You have this way of making me go on fire."
"Just what a man wants to hear." He kissed her cheek. "Lass, tonight I'm going to show you some gentleness."
Gentleness? She couldn't honestly imagine a slow, gentle loving with this giant, not after tasting the hot burn of his passion the night before.
But he was gentle. Every touch, every caress, was light. His kisses were slow. Her clothes were slipped off her without a tear or a tug. When he lowered her onto the bed, it was done with a tenderness that made her feel cherished.
Following her down onto the bed, he braced his weight on his arms, settling himself into the cradle of her bent thighs with care.
Simon's foreplay might have been gentle, but every long, slow suck on her sensitive nipples had her gasping. Every lazy stroke of her tender flesh had her squirming. His calloused fingers smoothing over her skin left sputtering sparks of desire.
She was whimpering his name long before he'd finished tasting her.
And when finally he slid into her, his stroke long and deep, she nearly fell apart in his arms.
Kissing had never been so gentle, yet so hot. The gentlest movement so carnal in its thoughtfulness.
The muscles in his arms bunched and flexed as he supported his weight above her. A fine sheen of sweat was all that betrayed the intensity of the feelings burning inside Simon. She could see he was determined to give her nothing but pleasure, slow and sweet.
So she gave herself up to it, losing herself in the erotic laziness of the carefully measured thrust of his hips, the feel of his hard thighs between her own, his lean hips on hers, the full heat of him pressing on her, into her, his kisses becoming more carnal, his thrusts a little faster.
Des came apart in a shower of stars, slipping higher and higher before she came floating back to earth. It was so beautiful. So sweet.
Opening her eyes, she could see the strain in his beautiful, pale eyes. He had not yet climaxed, seeing first to her pleasure. And she smiled.
"Des..."
"Come with me."
With those few words, she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, opening herself more so that he slid home. As the base of him came to rest full against her own body, she rocked her hips.
And tipped him over the edge.
Throwing back his head, he hissed her name out between his teeth, and pumped faster. Harder. And she welcomed him into her body, wanting to give him what he'd given her.
Seeing the burst of ecstasy on his dangerously handsome face was amazing. The hot spurt of seed deep inside her, the straining of his body against hers, his hips still pumping as he emptied, was almost a gift on its own.
At that last second, he tipped his head forward, his eyes burning with a pale fire, and her name slipped past his lips once more.
She caught him when he fell, enclosing him in her embrace, feeling his heart thundering against her breasts, his hot, gasping breath against her ear. Holding Simon as he floated down from that same pinnacle he'd taken her to earlier, tenderness flooded her. Tenderness and love.
Love.
She loved Simon.
There was no shocking revelation, just a quiet contentedness.
Turning her head, she kissed his cheek.
With a groan he rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she lay half atop his chest.
Lifting her head, she watched his face as he slowly opened his eyes. Pushing back a lock of fair hair from his damp forehead, she smiled down at him. "Thank you."
His grin was crooked. "You're more than welcome, lass."
"Lights out," she said softly.
The room went dark, and Des rested her cheek on Simon's chest, feeling his arm slip around her waist to hold her close to him. The last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her was his other hand smoothing her own hair back.
Standing by the ramp pole in the cargo hold, Simon watched in surprise as Des strode directly up to him, her expression unreadable. They'd spent yesterday much was they had the previous days, separating in the morning to attend their own work, then meeting in the evening for a meal, a quiet evening, and a night of hot loving before falling asleep in each others arms.
When they'd parted this morning, he'd kissed her thoroughly, and she'd returned it with eagerness. He'd said his goodbye, both of them knowing 'twould be a week before they saw each other again.
So why was she coming over now?
Concerned, he straightened as she strode up the ramp, her quick gestures making his friends leave the cargo area with raised brows.
"Des, what---" his words were stopped in his throat by Des placing a hand on his chest and shoving him behind a large crate, effectively cutting them off from view. "Wait up, lass. What have I done wrong---"
His words were cut off by her going up on tiptoe and kissing him thoroughly. Carnally. The lick of her tongue in his mouth was rapacious, hungry, leaving her taste.
About to return the kiss enthusiastically, Simon was disappointed when she released him.
"Consider yourself branded." Patting his vest into place with an air of propriety, she stated, "You're mine."
Amusement and heat blossomed inside him. "Why, lass, I didn't realize how demanding you were going to be." He reached for her. "I find 'tis quite a turn on---"
With a taunting laugh she stepped back quickly. "Oh, no, trader. That's just a taste of what's waiting for you when you come back."
With one saucy wink, she swung around on her heels and strode back down the ramp, leaving him staring after her with his mouth open in astonishment and heat burning low in his groin.
"Wow!"
Looking around, Simon saw Mikal and Torkra standing in the doorway of the stairwell, their eyebrows raised high.
Feeling quite pleased, Simon grinned at them. "See, boys, I'm irresistible."
"Wow," Mikal mumbled again.
"I'd never have guessed what that peacekeeper was hiding beneath her tough façade," Torkra said.
"Hidden depths, lads. Hidden depths for me only."
"I don't think Simon's grin can get any wider, Mikal."
"He's starting to strut, too, Torkra."
"You damned well bet," Simon retorted.
The rest of the traders came up the ramp, their expressions serious, and Mikal and Torkra had a great time filling them in on what they'd inadvertently witnessed.
"Damn." Heddam whistled.
"I think I need to visit the tavern once more---" Torkra began.
Simon laughed. "I don't think so, you horny young hound. Get your arse topside, we're leaving."
Disappointed, Torkra went back up the stairwell.
Half an hour later, Simon sat in the Control Cabin beside Shamon. The planet was just a small dot on the radar screen, and already he felt a sense of loss.
It would be a week before he saw Des again. He wondered how Aamun managed without seeing his wife for several months at a time. He knew that most of his other friends took shorter trading trips once they wed, preferring to remain in the Lawful Sector where they could be home in a shorter time than if they traveled to the further reaches of the Lawful Sector and into the Outlaw Sector. Most of the traders who traveled so far were single, though a few, like Aamun, seemed quite content to travel the greater distance.
Turning his mind to other things, Simon concentrated on the upcoming trip. There was a heap of trade goods and sales items in the cargo hold, enough to keep them busy as they covered four planets and twenty different settlements. The week was going to be a busy one.
Canute studied the radar screen.
"Military are nowhere near," Zared reported. "The bounty hunters left a day ago."
"Good. Very good. Is there anyone scheduled to visit? Other hunters?"
"Bounty hunters don't go by a schedule," Zared stated.
Canute drew in a deep breath. "True. We'll have to take anything like that head-on when the time comes."
Waiting quietly in front of the desk, Zared watched Canute.
Bringing up the full image of the large, sprawling Tyron settlement on the big screen on the side wall, Canute folded his arms and studied it.
The Enforcer Building was more towards the middle of the settlement, right where the peacekeepers had a good range of the settlement in case of trouble. Their docking bay was behind the building. The Head peacekeeper's home was well away, opposite the major docking bay outside the settlement.
"We come in from the top," he stated. "The equipment is too heavy, too big, to hide. Loud. We're better off to drop it directly where we want it. My operators will go to work, and Ruan's men will cover them. Meanwhile, Tyson's men can cover the four sides of the settlement. Levi's men will be up in the fighters. Our own men will cover the main street."
"Ruan's men?"
"Back-up. They'll be in range in case the military, bounty hunters or law shows up unexpectedly."
"Scanners and communications in the settlement are ready to go down as soon as you say the word," Zared said.
Picking up the glass of wine, Canute took a mouthful, swirling the red liquid in his mouth appreciatively before swallowing. "I doubt the peacekeepers will go down quietly. I'm expecting a fight." His eyes gleamed. "A good fight."
"Yes, sir."
Draining the contents of the glass, he placed it on the table. "Call the outlaws for briefing, then the mission proceeds."
Missing Simon after such a brief time together should have surprised Des, but it didn't, she realized. In such a short time, he'd become a part of her life. There when she got home, sleeping beside her in the big bed, sitting on her sofa and raiding her cooler. Laughing with her, teasing, sitting in quiet contentment.
A part of her life.
And if she kept mooning around, she'd be the laughing stock of the settlement, all of whom no doubt knew of her liaison with the big trader.
Well, bugger them. She'd never been concerned about peoples' opinions of her, and she wasn't going to start now. And she had other things to do. Such as her job.
Frowning, she went through the current files again. Nothing new on the murders, and the killer of the janitor was still a mystery. The mystery ship was just that---a mystery and unseen. The mystery box was another bloody blight on her day, with no news from the military.
"Afternoon, Boss," Marcel said cheerfully.
"Is it?" She scowled at him. "Have you any news for me on these murders and disappearances?"
"No."
"Then it isn't a bloody good afternoon, is it?"
"I guess not." Unfazed, he poured himself a cup of hot una.
"Geez, you just got here and you're already guzzling drinks?"
"Boss, I'm preparing myself."
"For what? A toilet run?"
"The settlement is starting to move again." He gestured to the partially open front door. "With no hunters or military here, the self-important troublemakers are starting to rear their ugly little heads."
Clicking off the files screen, Des leaned back in her chair. "Oh, goody."
"And I wouldn't be surprised to see a bit of an influx of a little higher class of outlaws."
"Oh?"
"Back to normal."
"Yeah." Stretching in the chair, she smiled grimly. "Back to normal."
Normalcy was well and truly proven to be back after a brawl at her mother's tavern had Gracie shrieking about her furniture and cursing the peacekeepers roundly for not keeping the peace. One of the stores was robbed, and by nightfall, an uneasy peace had descended on the settlement.
Looking out the door into the night sky, Des rolled her shoulders. "You boys are going to have to be on your toes tonight."
Raf looked up from where he was checking his laser. "You're not kidding. The jerks are making up for lost time." Holstering the laser, he moved over to stand beside her and peer out into the night. "I think there's something brewing over at the Outlaw Tavern. I heard a few heated exchanges, but no actual blows. The bouncers were onto it pretty quick."
"Don't take crap from anyone," Des said. "The first sign of trouble, slam the troublemakers. I don't care if the cells are full to bursting. I don't want them thinking they can just break loose because they have lost time to make up for."
"No worries."
"And if there's a problem, contact me." She scowled. "I'll bust a few heads if they're going to insist on being jerks."
"No worries," Raf repeated.
Nodding, she walked out to the docking bay and got into her single-seater pilot vehicle. Cruising down the main street of the settlement, she saw that the taverns were full. Figures moved in the shadows. The outlaws were back on the streets, both the two-bits and the harder ones, not to mention the usual rabble mixed with the simpler settlers.
Walking into her home was a huge relief. Greeting the lycats, she fed them, had her usual shower and then pouring herself a drink, she did as she'd done for the last two nights and switched on the viscomm on the wall above the kitchen bench, keying in the link directly to Simon's trading spaceship.
His face appeared almost instantly, a smile of delight curving his masculine lips at the sight of her. "Lass!"
"Hey, loverboy," she purred. "Miss me still?"
"I've had a hard-on since I left."
"Charming," a deep voice said from the background.
Startled, Des blinked. "Who the hell is that?"
Simon glanced over his shoulder. "Shamon, go and take a walk. A very long walk."
"It was just getting interesting!"
"You tell your friend," Des said, "That if he doesn't shift his arse, I'll bust it for him when you all get back."
Laughing, Simon turned back to the screen. "He's left. You scared him."
She sighed. "What was just said is going to be repeated to your crew, isn't it?"
"'Fraid so, lass. 'Tis another thing for them to torment me with." Propping his chin on one big hand, Simon said, "I've really missed you."
"Same." She cleared her throat. "Only I'm not too good at this sloppy stuff."
His eyes twinkled. "I am."
"Practice makes perfect?"
"Des! How could you think such a thing?"
"You're a horny Daamen trader. What am I supposed to think?"
"I'm your horny trader now."
"How romantic." She couldn't help but laugh, feeling a little of her discomfort easing away. "So, how goes the trading?"
"Busy. The only free time we have is when we're flying. We're actually only about eight hours flight from you."
"What? How did you work that out?"
"We had to do a roundabout trip. One of the merchants on the next planet to you 'twasn't able to meet us until today."
"That would have been annoying."
"'Tis all right. We calculated that in our trip before we even started." His expression remained affectionate, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. "Is everything okay? I couldn't get through to you this morn. Some interference in the communications system?"
"There has been a bit of trouble, but we seem to be the only settlement affected. Yucel is trying figure out what is happening. There's a technician team checking the communications system in the area. Apart from that, same old, same old." She shrugged. "A brawl here, a robbery there. The usual."
"But 'tis been so quiet."
"Because of the bounty hunters and military. With them gone, well, the trouble makers are coming above ground again." She grinned, seeing the concern deepening in his eyes. "Makes life interesting."
"Des, I worry about you."
"Simon, I'm fine."
"If something happens---"
"Like you being attacked by a large group of pirates?"
"Less likely than you ending up hurt."
"It's a part of the job, Simon. We both run risks, you know that." Sobering, she looked at him. "Is this a problem?"
He sighed. "Nay, nay, 'tisn't. 'Tis just not something I'm used to in my culture."
"And I'm not used to having anyone---apart from my father---so worried about me."
"We have a lot of adjusting to do."
"You think we'll make it?"
His eyes warmed. "Lass, we're doing it right now."
She smiled back at him.
"Oh, by the way. I've heard from my sources about those two names you asked me to run."
"And?"
"Ruan is the name of an outlaw, and he runs quite a pack of murderers."
"Really."
"And this Canu bloke, there's no one by that name. There is, however, someone by the name of Canute. He's a bit of a mystery. Intelligent, apparently, but cold-blooded. He strikes when things are least expected."
"Really." Des stared thoughtfully out into the garden. "Ruan and Canute. Possible. But why would they be connected to anything happening here? Especially if, being such hardened outlaws, they're doing a possible strike on the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector."
"I don't know, but Des, promise me you'll take care."
She flashed him a smile. "Of course. After all, anything happens to me, you get Chels and Fuzz."
"Don't even joke about it." Simon's eyes were serious.
She shook her head. "It's a possibility at any time, Simon, you know that. But I need to know that if anything happens---"
"I'll take the lycats," Simon sighed. "You showed me the secret tunnel under the house where they'd be if something happens."
"If I have time."
Simon's face paled a little.
"I'm just being practical, Simon."
"Stars, I think I'm getting an ulcer."
Des laughed.
"'Tis no laughing matter, Des!"
"Relax, trader. Who'd come after the feared and loathed Demon anyway?"
"I would."
"For sex."
"You've a problem with that?"
"Not at all."
After a few more minutes chatting, Des and Simon broke off the communications link. But Des wasn't finished. Keying in several commands, she brought up any data she had on Ruan and Canute.
There was nothing.
Whoever Simon's sources were, they knew more than the law did. But there was one other lot who might be able to help her find out something more concrete ... one lot with a link to one of the least understood units in the Lawful Sector.
Linking onto a little known private band, Des waited several minutes until a hard-eyed bounty hunter with a Mohawk appeared on the viscomm. His face showed no surprise, and his greeting was terse. "Peacekeeper."
"Get that stick out of your arse, Abra, and stop being so uptight around me."
"You're a peacekeeper."
"Damn, you're right. When did that happen?"
A reluctant grin tugged at his tight lips. "What do you want?"
"I'll tell Dad you're being mean to me."
"Creed would say it was about time."
"You're charming bloody attitude hasn't changed, has it?"
His grin widened a little.
"I need to speak to Sabra," Des said.
His eyes flickered. "Why?"
"Personal business."
"The girl is somewhere doing something. What makes you think I can contact her?"
"Don't fart around, Abra. I know you can contact her. I need to speak to her."
"You presume a lot. If the Daamens can't get to her when she's on Security business, what makes you think I can ... Demon?"
Impatience flared through Des. "I'll personally come and tie you in knots if you don't let her know I need to speak to her. You can contact her. I know it, you know it. Get a message to her to get back to me as soon as possible."
He raised one brow. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Sabra is unreachable."
"Listen, you arrogant prick, this is not a bloody tea party I'm inviting you to. I'm telling you to get a message to Sabra now. Got that?"
Abra looked coolly at her, leaned forward and cut communications.
"Shit!" Cursing, Des tried to re-link but was denied access. "You bastard, Abra!"
Swearing, she grabbed her drink and flopped down onto the sofa. Being the daughter of a bounty hunter made the hunting packs tolerate her, but being a peacekeeper put her at slight odds with the hunters as well. Being her normal bad-tempered self bought her their respect, but there were times when that line between hunter and peacekeeper was drawn.
She'd obviously met that line.
"Bastard," she muttered again.
Leaning her head back against the back of the sofa, Des stared out into the dark garden. Unease niggled at her. Was it too much of a coincidence, Ruan and possibly this Canute being mentioned by a prisoner before he was so nicely blown apart? An intelligent but mysterious outlaw, a mystery ship faster than anything she'd ever seen, a box of unknown origins, the vicious murders and obvious attempt to make it look like it was far-spread, the attempt being bungled by a stuff-up of not following the usual pattern.
Communications and radar failing. Being attacked by an outlaw squad.
"Don't kill the Demon!" The exclamation came back to her. Why not kill me? What would it really matter? Here I am, coming down a hill in plain view, shooting and killing outlaws, but they don't want me dead. Any normal outlaw gang would have killed me and simply taken part of me as a trophy or something. Or left me. Why the order not to kill me?
Sipping from the glass, Des idly ruffled Chels's fur.
There were too many coincidences.
"Something's going to happen, Chels," she murmured quietly.
A beeping sound from the viscomm brought her to her feet. Moving around the bench, she found herself looking at the calm face of a brown-haired woman with a thick strip of blonde hair on the left side. Her cobalt blue eyes were unreadable.
"Desdemona," she said.
"Sabra." Des nodded, not bothering with idle chit-chat. "I need information."
"So I hear."
"So why haven't you got back to me?"
"Business."
Knowing Sabra from her hunting days, Des and she had had a friendship of sorts. Both from different backgrounds, both women in a man's harsh worlds. Friendship and respect, but not a normal friendship. It was just one of those unexplainable things that neither bothered to look at too closely.
"I need information on two names," Des stated. "Ruan and Canute."
Taking a bite from an apricot, Sabra chewed while she thought for a few seconds. "Ruan. Leader of a vicious outlaw gang, and he doesn't often venture out to the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector. Canute, an outlaw with aspirations no one is sure he can meet. Charismatic, he rules with a fist of iron. Not above killing his own to get what he wants."
"Would either of them have any need to be around my settlement area?"
"Not that I'd know of, but 'tis not saying nay."
"Great."
Sabra studied her intently. "You've had some trouble."
"And no doubt I don't need to tell you what it is."
"Tell me."
"You already know. The bloody Security always knows."
"Tell me anyway."
Briefly Des relayed what had happened, and Sabra's expression didn't change.
When Des finished, Sabra nodded. "'Tis what I've heard."
"No crap?"
A brief smile flickered on Sabra's lips. "No crap."
"So, can you help me with anything?"
"Probably not."
"Bloody charming."
"But you knew that already."
Des nodded, not at all surprised. "So tell me what you can."
"The mystery box you gave to the military is a geological scanner equipped to pick up elements of some kind."
"What elements, exactly?"
"Some kind of energy, but what exactly hasn't been discovered."
"So how did you come by this info?"
Sabra just smiled.
"Stupid question." Again Des stared thoughtfully out into the garden. "So why was it in that trade warehouse? How did it make it collapse?"
"Did the warehouse collapse because of it?" Sabra rubbed an apple on her shirt front and bit into it. "Or because the warehouse was a wreck anyway?"
"Who knows? Sol stole it somehow from the Enforcer Building and hid it in his other warehouse. Simon says the warehouse was an accident waiting to happen, and he wasn't surprised that it had collapsed."
"And then Sol blew the hell up and you lost your answers."
"News travels fast."
A twinkle appeared in Sabra's eyes. "It just annoys the hell out of you when I know more, doesn't it?"
Des pounced on the words immediately. "You know more?"
"Mayhaps. Or not."
"Bloody Security. You were always closed-mouthed, Sabra."
"So were you. And bad-tempered."
"Nothing's changed."
"Glad to see it." Sabra eyed her closely, but again, nothing she thought was revealed in her expression. "Anything else?"
"Just want to pick your brains a bit longer, run a few things by you."
"Go for it."
"If Canute and Ruan are after something in this section of the Outlaw Sector, what would it be?"
"'Tis the main question. I don't know. But I would bet it has something to do with the geological scanner. Which, by the way, is nothing like any scanner ever seen."
"Is it made by the normal companies?"
"No."
"So these two outlaws could be scanning for something. What? And what does it have to do with the mystery ship?"
Sabra shrugged.
"And my settlement?"
"Are you so sure 'tis your settlement?"
"No. I'm just wondering because the box was here."
"Sol could have been in the act of transporting it elsewhere."
"There's nothing in his files to say so."
"'Twouldn't be."
"Is there anything at else you can tell me? The mystery ship?"
"Nay."
"The breakdown of my communications and scanners?"
Sabra's expression became more serious. "'Tis a worry. Have you double-checked everything?"
"Technicians are out there now, checking for problems."
"You've had a few problems recently, 'tis why your peacekeeper lost you on the scanners."
"It got a bit hairy there. Yeah, the scanners and communications went out. We're having a few problems now and again, but we're on the air now with no problems, so the technicians must have fixed things."
"Get a report from them, study it well." Cobalt blue eyes sharpened. "Or you could have trouble closer to home."
"One of my men? I've thought of that, but the electronics showed some interference from possibly outside. Whether it was by hand or other equipment, we don't know. But considering there was no evidence found that it was tampered with on the premises, outside influence is the most logical direction for me to look at."
"Hack-proof the equipment is supposed to be, but not impossible..." Voice trailing off, Sabra looked away from the viscomm for a few seconds, before murmuring, "Jamming devices..." She bit into a grape.
Patiently Des waited for Sabra to think through whatever she was pondering, but when Sabra finally returned her gaze to her, the only thing she said was, "I'll look into it."
Knowing she had to be content with that, Des nodded. "If you hear anything more, let me know."
"Mmmm." Sabra smiled. "So, I hear you and Simon are having it off."
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Oh, I know." The smile turned into a full-on grin. "I know."
"Let me guess. You heard from the traders."
"You'd be surprised who I hear things from."
Des had no doubt that Sabra had contacts she could only dream about. "If you're simply going to smirk, we're finished."
Sabra laughed. "I have to go anyway. You take care."
The communication link stopped and Des sipped slowly from the glass. So the box was a geological scanner of some kind, but what was it scanning? Something from her settlement? Something outside? Was that what the outlaw fighters and the mystery ship were doing when the peacekeepers had stumbled across them and got attacked?
It just might be worth another fly-over that area at night. But first, she wanted to know what the technicians had come up with in their investigations of the communication failures earlier. They'd obviously fixed the problem otherwise she wouldn't have been able to contact Simon and Sabra.
Mind buzzing with possibilities, Des was about to contact Raf at the Enforcer Building, but changed her mind. She wanted to talk to the technicians herself, as well as have another walk around the old warehouse site, just once more, in case she'd missed anything. Who knew, maybe the shadows of the night and lights might help her notice something not visible in the daylight.
And she felt like a fly-over of the attack area.
Changing clothes back into her peacekeeper's uniform, she patted the lycats and headed outside. A prickle went down her spine as she looked out at the darkness beyond. Something was making her uneasy, her gut feeling that something was wrong.
Creed had taught her to trust those gut feelings.
Going back inside, she pushed the sofa aside and kicked the rug aside. Placing her hand on the floor, she waited for an internal scanner beneath to register her handprint, and once it slid open, she went down to check the food and water supply. Fresh air came from filtered pipes.
Plenty of dried food and waters in the big bowls. The place was clean and tidy, an old sofa and armchair against the stone walls. Plants that only grew under the ground made a small garden of sorts in another corner. They provided on-going oxygen as well.
Creed had talked her into building an underground shelter in case anything happened, and she'd had cause many times to be glad of it. Knowing her lycats were safe if her home was destroyed was a comfort, as was the fact that when she closed the door in the floor above, a signal would be sent to Creed's ship that she'd had cause to use the shelter. If anything happened to her and she didn't contact him, he'd know the lycats were in the shelter and come for them.
The signal was also sent to a couple of other packs her father considered close friends. Just in case anything happened to him. All bases covered, just as he'd taught her.
If no one heard from them within twenty four hours, someone would come for her lycats.
Of course, the shelter was supposed to be for her in time of danger as well, but being the Head Peacekeeper meant she had to be in the middle of the danger. Des laughed softly.
The lycats happily went down into the roomy shelter, well used to being down there at different times when Des thought there might be trouble.
Once the room looked normal again, Des went into the holding bay and got into single-seater pilot vehicle, she pulled out of the holding bay adjoining the house and flew back to the Enforcer Building.
Yucel and Raf looked up in surprise when she walked in through the back entrance.
"What's wrong?" Raf got up from his desk.
At a glance Des could see that he had the murder files open and was running a listing yet again against known outlaws, as well as having a program running with statements gathered from the tavern workers and patrons.
"I have a bit of info. The mystery box is geological scanner of some kind, and before you ask, I don't know why it was here or what elements it was scanning," she replied. "Come with me back to where we found it, I want to see if I can notice anything we might have missed during the daylight hours."
"Geological scanner?" Yucel scratched his head. "Never seen one like that."
"Yeah, well surprises happen every day. Where's Chas?"
"Doing a fly-over on the north side."
"Tell him to do a fly-over on the same area we were attacked."
Surprised, Yucel looked at her, but at her scowl, he blinked and contacted Chas, giving him the directions. Once it was done, he turned around to look at her. "Boss, what's happening? Have you got news of some kind?"
"Not really. Just a gut-feeling. Stay on alert, scan the skies. It may be nothing. Raf, come on."
Leaving the Building, they strode through the lit streets, traversing through the night life that also walked the street, coming in and out of the taverns and businesses.
The cleared area where the warehouse stood was barren. Walking around it, Des instructed Raf to walk in the opposite direction. They circled, passing each other, studying the ground. Making the circles smaller, they eventually met in the middle.
"Nothing," Raf announced.
"Hell. I was hoping for something." Rolling her shoulders, Des stared up at the night sky. One ship flew overhead, and she recognized it as a settler's craft.
Chas's voice came through the communication receiver in her ear. "Nothing out here, Boss. All's quiet."
"Righto. Guess it's better than hell exploding in the area, but..."
"Something would be better than nothing?"
"Probably not. Better for nothing at all to happen. Maybe whatever was happening is already over."
"You don't sound so sure."
Without commenting on it, Des said, "Come on back home. Continue the fly-overs." She turned to Raf. "I want to speak to the technicians. Let's go."
Raf touched the communication receiver in his ear. "Yucel, could you save those files for me? I don't want to lose the data, and I may not get back for a little while."
Silence greeted him, and Des frowned.
"Yucel?" Raf queried.
A crackle came through. "Not picking ... you're fading..." The crackle stopped and silence came from the head microphones.
"Uh-oh," Raf said.
"Not again." Des touched the communication receiver in her own ear. "Chas? You reading me?"
"Not ... Coming in..." A last crackle and silence.
Annoyed, Des lengthened her stride. "The communications is bloody gone again! Not a good time."
"Is anytime a good time?" Raf asked wryly.
She glared at him, and he shrugged, but his grin was unapologetic.
Together they went to the big building that housed the communications systems for the whole settlement and beyond to the far reaches, where the communications systems for the next settlement boundaries took over.
The main office was quiet, which wasn't unusual. It was late, just striking midnight.
"Hello?" Raf called.
When no one answered, he went through the door in the back of the room.
Des looked around at all the paraphernalia in the big office. Most of it was beyond her. Several big screens showed, depicting communications systems of some kind.
"Des?"
"Yeah?" She swung around.
Raf looked grim. "The technicians are dead."
"What?" Quickly she strode past him to stare into the room beyond.
The technicians were lying on the floor and in their chairs, wherever they'd been when someone had come in and shot them in cold blood. Surprise was still evident on a couple of the faces, while one looked horrified.
Squatting down beside the closest body, Des felt his arm. Cool, but not cold. Still flexible, though starting to stiffen. They hadn't been dead for long, maybe twenty or thirty minutes.
Moving fast, she gestured to Raf to circle around the front of the building, while she moved through to the back. He obeyed, moving with fast, quiet efficiency.
The main communications room was smashed, the graphs and main scanners broken, smoke drifting from the ruined consoles. The emergency systems were destroyed. Another technician was lying dead in front of a console, a broken mug near her hand. She'd been shot in the back.
And scalped. The skin along her back was slit open, exposing her spine.
The killer or killers were in the settlement, and possibly still here.
Meeting Raf at the back, Des filled him in on what she'd found while they returned to the Enforcer Building.
Yucel turned around from the communications system he was fiddling with. "What's going on? I thought the technicians had this fixed?" Catching the expressions on Des and Raf's faces, he stopped. "What's wrong?"
"The technicians are dead." Grimly Des moved to look over his shoulder at the scanner. "Where's Chas's pursuit craft?"
"Scanners are all out. The technicians are dead? Who---"
"Our scalper is back," she replied. "Can you contact anyone on the emergency scanner?"
"No. Just like what happened when you were attacked out there by the outlaw fighters, everything is dead. Jammed, I think, by something. I can't find a fault here, and the emergency scanners and communications should have kicked in."
"They won't work." Crossing to the weapons cabinet, Des unlocked it with her hand print and drew out a manblaster. "Everything is smashed in there." She turned to the two men who were watching her. "Grab weapons. Yucel, put the communications system on an alert to the Enforcer Buildings in Sharver, Calton and Merder. They're our nearest contacts."
"But you just said our communications were down---" Yucel began.
"Protocol. Regardless, the signal must be on-going in case by some miracle, communications are somehow re-established. Do it."
Quickly Yucel keyed in the message, one that would repeat over and over, but even as Des turned away to slip an extra stungun into her jacket pocket, she knew it would be useless. No one knew what was happening, no one would suspect anything was wrong in Tyron. Peacekeepers didn't contact other settlements unless it was warranted. Tyron and its settlers were on their own, with no communications to the outside world.
But there were other ways. They weren't completely isolated. All they had to do was get someone in a spaceship to travel to one of the other settlements. She didn't want to send any of her own men, not when she might need them, but a settler was out of the question, too.
"Raf, I need you to go to Emory and get him to head for Sharver in his pursuit craft. Tell him to inform them of what has happened, and to scan our settlement and surrounding areas."
Raf left at a run, but no sooner had the front door slammed behind him than a whining noise, followed by a roaring, sounded.
Manblaster in hand, Des wrenched open the door to see Raf staring towards the end of the settlement. Following his gaze, she saw that the docking bay was a burning inferno. The space crafts exploded, bits of metal flying through the air.
Five fighters streaked overhead, one of them sending a rain of laser bursts at a craft that was soaring just ahead of it.
"Chas!" Raf yelled. "They're after him!"
Scanning the street quickly, Des flicked a glance back up to see the pursuit craft explode in flames. Her heart clenched.
"They got him!" Raf fisted his hands. "They killed him!"
Yucel stepped out behind them, but they didn't have time to do anything but duck as another fighter came down, soaring through the streets at full speed, making the peacekeepers cover their eyes to avoid the dirt kicked up in the wake of it.
Des pushed the sick feeling inside her at Chas's death aside. Now wasn't the time.
A heavy noise vibrated through the air, and they looked up to as a huge craft, slow and ponderous, flew overhead.
Crouching down in the shadows, Des watched as it headed towards the area where the warehouse had been.
"Damn," she whispered. "I knew there was something about that bloody place!"
People were spilling out of the taverns, some pointing to the burning ships in the docking bay, others staring at the heavy machinery ponderously flying towards the other end of the settlement.
"Get those bloody people back inside!" Des ordered Raf. "Yucel, go and get Emory, Marcel and Orde, though no doubt they're on their way."
A loud explosion shook the night, and Des saw a settler's spaceship blast apart as two outlaw fighters swooped down upon it, all lasers firing.
Another five fighters swooped though the night sky, laser fire sending the settlers scattering amid screams and curses.
Very much in danger now of being trampled, the peacekeepers stood back against the wall as people ran past them.
"Do something, you useless bastards!" One man shouted as he ran past them. "You're the law!"
Ignoring him, Des looked from the fighters to the heavy machinery. "Change of plan. Raf, go and round up the others, send them out to foot scout the area. Meet me back here in twenty minutes. Yucel, get inside and secure everything. Delete all files to the backup system for security. Stay around here if you can, and we'll all meet back. Now go!"
Raf and Yucel ran in opposite directions, while Des hurried down the darkened verandah. The street lights had been shot out by the fighter crafts, giving her some cover. Keeping her eyes on the machinery, she nevertheless noticed that the fighters had veered off and were circling the skies.
No communications with the outside areas, and no way to get into the skies without being shot down. The settlement was under siege.
Simon awoke with a jolt. Blinking up at the dark cabin ceiling, he wondered what had disturbed him. The corridor was quiet, the only sounds that of his friends sleeping---the odd snore, a cough, someone murmuring briefly in their sleep.
His bunk felt empty. In such a short time he'd gotten used to sleeping with Des, her warm, soft body snuggled up to him. 'Twas probably what had woken him from such a sound sleep.
Turning over in the bunk, he was just drifting off to sleep when his private viscomm on the desk let out a quiet beeping.
Wondering who could possibly be trying to contact him, he got out of bed and padded across to the desk. Sitting down to hide his nakedness from view, he flicked the switch and was surprised to see Creed's grim face.
Immediately the disquiet he felt intensified. "Des is all right?"
"I was hoping you could tell me," Creed replied tersely. "I didn't know you'd left the settlement as well."
"I left not long after you. And what do you mean, you were hoping I could tell you? I spoke to Des several hours ago."
"She was okay?"
"Aye. Why, what 'tis wrong?" A cold chill went through Simon. "Have you heard something?"
"I wish. I got the signal that comes to me whenever she puts her lycats into the shelter beneath her home. I can't contact her, or the Enforcer Building." Creed's face grew darker. "Not even my own brother, Moresby, is contactable."
"Communications are down again?" Simon's mind worked fast. "Des said they'd had trouble with the communications systems. Have you contacted the Sharver settlement?"
"They tried to raise the Enforcer Building with no success."
"Hell! You don't think 'tis something to do with this mystery ship and the murders, do you?"
"I don't know." Creed's mouth thinned. "I'm waiting to hear back from Adin in Sharver. He's sent a pursuit craft out to scout around and find out what's happening."
"I'll see if I can raise her," Simon said.
Creed looked at him for a few seconds, then said, "This is my private contact line. No one but Des and other hunters know it. Use it if you hear anything."
"Aye." In a hurry to find out more, Simon quickly traced the link and added it to the internal list. "Thanks."
"Remember, whoever hears anything first contacts the other."
"I hear you, Creed."
"Good." Creed nodded tersely and cut the link.
Unable to establish a link with the Tyron Enforcer Building, Simon yanked on a pair of pants and ran down the corridor to the platform lift. The disquiet inside him was escalating, worry gnawing at him.
There was one way he could find out what was happening. Hopefully 'twas just simply that the communications system was down again, but remembering what had happened last time the systems went, he feared the worst.
In the control cabin, he linked onto the peacekeepers private frequency. Immediately he recognized Adin's voice talking to Benel, the peacekeeper obviously on his way to Tryon in a pursuit craft.
Leaning back in the chair, Simon listened. At first they were discussing the trouble with the communications system in Tyron, but when they mentioned that the radar screening of the surrounding area of the settlement was also cut, he heard the sudden tension in Benel's voice.
"You're sure you can't pick up any crafts around the settlement?" Adin cursed. "It's like what happened when Aiken and then the others were attacked!"
"I'm flying in now. I see the settlement and---shit!"
Simon snapped upright in the chair.
"What is it?" Adin asked sharply.
"There's a huge bloody machine of some kind at one end, and some of the settlement is on fire!"
A chill went down Simon's spine.
"The docking bay is on fire, all the warehouses are destroyed!" Benel continued. "There're some craft in the sky and---" He cursed suddenly. "They're shooting at me! Damn it! Tyron's under attack and now so am I!"
"Pull out of there!" Adin ordered sharply. "Get back to a safe distance! Once you lose the fighters, try and find out what you can and feed the information back to us!"
The rest of the next few minutes was filled with the curses of Benel as he dodged the firing of the fighters, then he yelled, "I'm hit! I'm going dow---"
A crackling filled the air, the sudden hiss of air, a whine and then a roaring sound as the pursuit crafty exploded.
"Benel!" Adin yelled sharply.
Silence for a few minutes as all waited tensely, and then Benel's said shakily, "I bailed. I'm hiding near the caves fifteen miles out of Tyron."
"Stay low. I'll try and get help to you. Are the fighters still around?"
"They've circled my craft and are now heading back."
"Hold tight. Damn, if only I could contact Des and find out what the hell is happening!"
That's exactly what Simon intended on doing, before he started channeling and alerting the peacekeepers to the fact that he was on their frequency, when by all rights he should have erased it, he set the scanners onto Tyron and narrowed the channeling field.
"Des. Des, can you hear me?" Fear churning inside him, he tried again. "Lass! Can you hear me?"
Carefully he channeled the communications, and on the scanner he picked up Tyron. Whatever Sonja, his friend Red's wife, had put into his controls, it certainly gave him access to areas easily, enabling him to bypass most blockers. He silently blessed the ex-pirate when Tyron came onto the scanner as a red blip, and he could see smaller blue dots moving around it. Fighter crafts.
Now if he could only contact her.
What if the lass is dead? Oh God, mayhap she's not answering because she's dead! Heart beating an erratic tattoo, Simon desperately narrowed the channeling down until he suddenly heard heavy breathing, the dull roaring of something on fire.
And voices.
"Raf, did you get Orde?" Des demanded.
"He wasn't there, but I saw his figure disappear into the smoke from the store across the road from him. He's alive in there somewhere. I couldn't find him." Raf's voice was rasping.
She's alive. Closing his eyes, Simon took a deep breath of relief.
"Marcel and Emory?"
"The Enforcer Building is half destroyed. They're near the back entrance, ready to run at the first sign of danger."
"Good. Let's go and make plans."
Fists clenched, Simon waited, knowing wherever Des was, 'twasn't safe. Was anywhere safe? Probably not, but he had to wait until she was with her men in some semblance of safety. Then he could talk to her.
Laser fire sounded, Des swore, and something exploded in the background. The breathing of Des and Raf sounded choppy as they ducked and possibly swerved, Simon couldn't be sure. Then he heard the blessed sound of the other peacekeepers.
"Thank goodness!" Emory said. "I wondered if you'd gotten away safely."
"Those bastards bombed my house?" Des snarled. "My lycats---"
"No. Your place is untouched. I just saw the fires and knew you'd gone in that direction."
"Speaking of fires, it's getting hot out there," she said. "We need to make plans. Communications are down, the technicians dead. We're on our own---"
"Nay," Simon said abruptly. "Des, I've got you on scanner and communications."
There was a stunned silence and then Des said softly, "Simon?"
"Aye. I'm going to hook you up with the Sharver peacekeepers and let you talk to them."
"I'd kiss you if you were here, trader, then I'd kick your arse for still having this frequency."
He gave a small, worried laugh. "Later, lass, my backside is all yours. For now, you just keep your own pretty bum safe. You listening?"
"You're so damned romantic. So---Bloody hell! Incoming!"
Flinching, Simon nearly swallowed his tongue when the sound of the explosion roared through the viscomm, the sound reverberating through the cabin. Panic pulled at him when he couldn't hear any voices at all.
The roar was followed by another, and dimly he heard swearing, but he couldn't tell from whom it was coming.
"Des! Des, speak to me!"
A third roar tore through the communication system, and then the static sound of lasers firing rapidly.
"To the right!" Orde yelled. "Outlaws to the right!"
Heart thundering, Simon could only listen helplessly as words were shouted out, and only when he faintly heard a feminine voice yelling orders did he relax---but not much, because right in the middle of the hell exploding around and in the settlement was his lass.
And he was helpless, thousands of miles and six hours flight away.
Quickly he channeled the communications through to the Sharver peacekeepers, announcing only his name and reason before connecting them directly to the head microphones used by the peacekeepers.
Almost immediately he heard Adin asking questions, and knew by his curse that he couldn't hear clearly what was happening, either.
A boom sounded, and then other voices, a pounding of what could only have been people running on a wooden sidewalk.
"Don't kill the Demon!" A male shouted in the background. "Canute wants her alive!"
"He can bugger off, too," Des said clearly.
Holding anxiously onto the armrest of the chair, Simon nearly snapped it in two at the relief of hearing her. He had to go back to her. Had to help. Had to try. Reaching for the controls, he was startled when Aamun slipped into the chair beside him and also reached for the controls.
"We're going back, right?" Aamun demanded.
"Aye. We have to." He caught himself. "I have to."
"Nay, we have to." Aamun gave him a steady look. "No arguing, no thanks, no nothing. We heard what was happening through the intercom."
Simon nodded slowly. "Aye. I'm not leaving her."
"We never thought you would."
Straightening in the chair, Simon flicked the intercom to the engine rooms on. "Are you in the engine cabin yet, Torkra?"
"Aye," Torkra's reply was grim.
"Full power. We need to get back as fast as we can." He thrust one had agitatedly through his hair. "'Twill take us at least six hours. She could be dead by then. Damn it!"
"Mayhap a bit sooner, Cap'n," Torkra said.
"We can't go faster, Torkra."
"Sonja was fiddling around in the engines with me before we left. Added a little something in case we needed it. A booster, she said."
"She what?" Aamun demanded.
"Sonja said you'd react like that about your 'precious engine', as she called it." Torkra sounded amused. "Made me promise not to tell you unless it was an emergency."
"What about telling me?" Simon shook his head. "Never mind! Whatever she stuck in the engines, use it!"
"Test time coming up," Torkra said.
"Test time?" Aamun looked at the speed clocking up and his eyes widened. "Hells bells!"
"'Tis good?" Torkra asked eagerly.
Simon could have kissed both Torkra and the ex-pirate wench. Quickly working it out, he grinned in relief. "We'll be there in three hours, thank God!"
Shamon stuck his head around the door. "What the hell did the wench put in the engines?"
"I don't know and I could care less," Simon retorted. "I just want to get back to my lass." There was one more thing he had to do. Call Creed.
Standing by the window of his ship as it hovered on the outskirts of the settlement, Canute watched the destruction. The outlaws were ruthless, methodical, obeying orders, and until the job was done, that was what he expected. Once he had what he'd come for, well then ... they could party all they wanted.
Somewhere down there in the middle of the fight was Desdemona. That concerned him. He'd thought she'd be in her home, but she'd been spotted by Levi. Canute had sent one of his own men to her home, but the smart woman had a safety shield surrounding it. There was no way anyone could enter unless she allowed it. The only other thing was blowing it up, but he was loath to do that.
He wanted to see how she lived. Her possessions. Her style. Once he had her in his grasp, then he could get an invite into her home. But first he had to get her alive.
"The one to capture The Demon alive and unharmed gets a substantial reward," he murmured. "As they all know."
The night sky was red and yellow with flames that soared up into the air from the exploded ships in the docking bay. The huge geological digging machinery hovered over the area where the warehouse had collapsed.
Sol was such a stupid bastard. He should have taken better care of things, but what could one expect from a crawler such as that merchant?
The flare of laser fire showered the night sky, peppered through the alleys of the settlement and seared through the streets.
"What's happening, Ruan?" Canute drawled.
"Peacekeepers are holed up near the Enforcer Building. They're fighting."
"The Demon?"
"She's there."
"I want her."
"We know."
The sound of laser fire sounded in the cabin. Hands behind his back, Canute rocked lazily back and forth on his heels. His time of having to be in the middle of battle was over. Like a conqueror, he walked in once the fight was over.
He wondered how long this fight would be.
Confident, he waited and watched and listened as several buildings flared up. The sound of people screaming came to him, and with mild interest he had Zared flick on the visual screen so he could get a closer view of what was happening in Tyron.
Several dead bodies littered the street. Smoke obscured most of docking bay. Fire burned. Several people were desperately putting out the fire in one tavern as others tried to scramble clear from the second floor. His men shot the settlers who came running out waving weapons.
Most entertaining. Picking up the wine glass, Canute took a sip.
Skidding to a halt, Des dropped to one knee and peered through the dust being kicked up by the huge machine.
Orde came to a crouching halt behind her.
The peacekeepers had split up, Des sending Raf and Huxley in one direction to see if they could spot the ringleader of the outlaws. Emory and Marcel went in another direction, and Yucel was given the job of checking Aiken and making sure he didn't try anything stupid---such as hobbling out on crutches with a laser in his back pocket.
Adin, now in contact thanks to the Daamen trading ship, was on his way with help, while the Tyron peacekeepers were trying to target the ringleaders of the outlaws, trying to find a weak spot.
Knowing it had something to do with this machine, Des headed for it, keeping to cover as she did so. Several skirmishes later and she and Orde were crouched down watching it.
"What the hell is it doing?" Des watched as a long, thick metal tube vibrated against the dirt, then slowly started turning, screwing itself into the ground.
"Drilling," Orde replied. "It's drilling for something."
"Drilling?" Des scowled. "Of course. The geological scanner. I guess we've found out what that box was doing here. The outlaws are after something buried down there."
"Something worth a lot of money," Orde added.
"Buggered if I know what, though." Des stared at the pole.
It was huge, and she could feel the vibration of the powerful drill even from where she crouched.
"Think the outlaw leader is in there?" She queried.
"Doubt it," Orde answered. "Leaders don't usually run smack into the thick of the fight."
A muffled snort was heard, a very deep, muffled snort. Simon. Des ignored him. "We could take this big bastard down," she stated.
"How?" Adin asked promptly, his voice crackling over the communication receiver in her ear.
"Explosives are back in the Enforcer Building."
"The Building is half destroyed. It's not safe."
"No, really? And it's such a picnic on the street."
"Des, this is no time to get smart!"
"No time to be dumb, either. Get rid of this thing and the outlaws might leave. No need for them to hang around."
"You don't know what 'tis drilling. You could explode the whole settlement," Simon said tightly.
He was right, of course. Des rubbed her forehead and scowled. "Fine. I can try and get into it."
"Into it? Des, I have that monster on a visual now. The only way up is on the drill, and you'll be shaken to pieces if you even attempt it."
Plan two down. Des glanced at Orde, but he shrugged, also at a loss.
"Fine. Adin, how far away are you?"
"Twenty miles and closing fast. I'm expecting fighters anytime soon."
"How many pursuit crafts have you got with you?"
"Four of my own, two from Bryce at Calton. I've left two pursuit crafts back home to patrol our skies, Bryce left most of his to do the same and Magus is trying to split his force between the settlements."
"I've a feeling we might be the hot spot, Adin." Des looked around the corner of the building to see another fire flare up in a store. "Literally."
"Estimation of number of outlaws now?"
"Hard to say. They seem to be everywhere. Raf and Emory reckon they're on all sides of the settlement, and Huxley reports at least ten fighters in the skies."
"So we're looking at several outlaw groups, you think?"
"More than likely."
"And one of them belongs to this Canute," Simon stated tightly.
Des touched the communication receiver in her ear. "I caught that name, too."
"Des, for some reason he wants you alive."
"How do you know?"
"I heard someone yell it when you were fighting."
"I guess that's a good thing, then." Des raised one brow at Orde. "For me, anyway."
"'Tis no time for jokes," Simon growled. "You need to find cover."
"No, I need to fight," she replied.
There was a heartbeat of silence that was heavily laden with unspoken tension, and then she heard a deep sigh. "Be careful, lass."
"Always." Des cleared her throat, not really comfortable with everyone hearing the conversation, so she changed it to the familiar and necessary topic. "We're going to keep searching, see if we can spot a ringleader somewhere. Maybe catch us an outlaw or two and torture the bastard until he tells us something."
"One look at your face and he might tell us straight away," Orde remarked.
"Yeah, but I want to torture him for the fun of it." Des peered around the corner of the building. "We're making a run for it. I'll talk to you later, Adin."
"I'll let you know when we're closer," he said.
The head microphones went silent, and Des looked out into the dark streets. A lot of the lights had been shot out, but the fires at the other end cast a red glow in the sky, and a fair bit of light on the other side of the settlement.
Keeping to the shadows, they slipped along the alleys. Several times they nearly got spotted by outlaws, but their advantage was in knowing the settlement better than the outlaws did. Loose planks in fences, gaps in walls, doorways with deep overhangs.
It wasn't long before Adin's voice came through the head microphone, but it wasn't comforting. He started barking orders, and the sound of laser guns firing echoed in the head microphones.
A flurry of voices shattered the previous silence.
"Fighters in the air!"
"Move! Move!"
"Adin, watch your right!"
"Coming over!"
"Got him!"
"Two moving in from the left!"
One pursuit craft was destroyed, the pilot killed. Two of the outlaw fighters went down.
"They're fleeing!" One peacekeeper announced. "Back towards Tyron!"
"Follow them in," Adin ordered. "While we've got them on the run!"
"Be careful," Simon warned. "'Tis too easy."
"I know. They're up to something."
Des had no doubt of it. Watching the skies from the shelter of the alley, she and Orde saw a glimpse of the fighters in the distance, their lights brightly announcing their presence.
Then she saw it. Above her house lights flared and outlined the black mystery ship. It had been hovering above her home, but now it took off suddenly, veering away into the sky at an incredible speed---and heading right for the fighters.
"Adin!" she said sharply. "That fast ship is heading for you! Knowing what it did to us, it's going to do the same thing to you. It'll confuse you, make you more vulnerable to the outlaw fighters. You have to pull back!"
"We're not leaving you, Des!"
"You'll be dead if you don't!"
"We're giving it a go, see if some of us can't come down close and at least get a couple of the fighters off our backs."
"Adin, you don't understand how fast that thing goes!"
But it was too late. The mystery ship was amongst them already, and Des could only watch as the lights in the sky suddenly seemed to fly out of control, firing at each other, veering away with other lights behind them.
"That ship is doing what it done to us," Orde stated. "Confusing them, splitting them up and almost making them crash into each other."
His words were verified by the flurry of voices on the communication receiver.
"Adin, get out of there!" Des ordered. "Pull back!"
An explosion flared, followed by another, and two of the lights fell. Whether they were outlaw or law, she had no idea, until one of each was verified by the peacekeepers.
"Adin!" she snarled.
"Listen to her," Simon finally barked out. "The lass has been in the middle of this already! Move!"
For once Des was glad of his support, his deep voice grating over the air authoritatively. Whether it was his warning or the effects of the mystery ship, she didn't know, but when some of the lights suddenly spun and flew away on Adin's orders, with others in pursuit, she knew Adin had finally listened.
The lights vanished in the distance.
"Looks like we're playing alone again," Raf remarked behind her.
Startled, Des spun around, "You idiot! I could have shot you!"
"Sorry."
"Did you find anything out?"
"Yeah. It seems that Gracie's tavern is one of the center points of the activity."
She frowned. "Really?"
"Yeah."
"Did you see her?"
"No. The top floor is in darkness. I think she's actually away, so I heard earlier this evening."
"Drumming up new girls for business, no doubt." Des nodded to him. "All right, if that seems to be one of the main areas of activity, I want to check it out."
"Be careful," Simon warned.
"Stop fretting. It's my job."
"I know. But I still want you to be careful."
"Remind me to personally erase the private peacekeepers frequency off your viscomm, trader."
"Lass, do I need to remind you that you have to be grateful to me for establishing communications?" His laugh was strained, full of worry. "I intend to collect later."
Des could feel the heat in her cheeks when Raf grinned at her. "What are you grinning at?"
"Nothing," Raf said. "Oh, very well. It's just so romantic."
"And you look so cute with red cheeks," Orde added.
"I'd rip your heads off right now if I didn't need you to back me up," she retorted. "Now come on!"
Simon said nothing more, but Des had no doubt he was listening and wondering. And worrying. She could only thank the stars that he was too far away to be in danger.
"Des," Adin said over the communication receiver. "The outlaw fighters have abandoned pursuit and are heading back to your settlement. That bloody fast ship is nowhere in sight. I don't know where it's gone."
Des glanced towards her home, but the ship wasn't there. "I don't know where it is. But meanwhile, we're heading for Gracie's tavern. Raf thinks some of the central activity is coming from there. If we can get in, I might be able to trap the leader, or one of the higher-up outlaws."
"If this is indeed Canute's mob, you're amongst some of the worst of the outlaws. Utterly ruthless. Take care. While you're doing that, we're regrouping and planning. I'm also contacting any military personnel in the area."
"Good. We're moving out."
Stealthily Des, Raf, Orde and Huxley moved along the alleys, only to get spotted halfway to their destination.
Laser fire sizzled into the boards under their feet, sending them stumbling backwards and into the dubious shelter of the rear of a store.
"We see you, Demon!" an outlaw shouted. "Come out with your hands up!"
"Sure," Des said. "Why not?" And sent a burst of laser fire in the direction of the voice.
She was rewarded by a cry of pain.
A man laughed mockingly. "You dumb bastard! Yell and run, don't wait for her to pinpoint your position!"
Almost immediately Orde and Huxley fired in the direction of the second voice, but only mocking laughter, further back, greeted them.
A hail of laser fire behind them had the peacekeepers scrambling to the side.
"Hells bells!" Raf yelped when a laser blast seared through a flap of his coat.
Another hail of laser fire pinned them down from the front, joining the hail from the back.
"Shit," Huxley swore. "We're trapped!"
Glancing around, Des saw the door of the store rear entrance, and taking aim at the lock, she blew it apart. "Move it!" The door hadn't stopped swinging in before she was on her feet and running.
Laughter sounded again, followed by more laser fire, and the peacekeepers practically fell onto each other as they hurtled through the door into the safety of the store.
Shoving Raf off her, Des kicked at the door, slamming it back against the frame, but with the lock broken it started to swing back in again.
Orde shoved a crate against it to keep it shut.
The sound of breaking glass at the front had Des looking around alertly. "Bastards are coming in the front! We can pick them off---"
"Incoming!" Huxley yelled.
They dived for cover, arms over their heads, but when the small object didn't go off, they glanced up cautiously. A slow, steady stream of smoke was coming from it. Two more small objects were flung in, both smoking.
"Smokies," Huxley said. "They're going to try and smoke us out."
No sooner had he said the words than with small pops the objects exploded and smoke filled the air, fast and thick and white.
"Cut The Demon from the rest!" A man ordered. "Take her alive!"
The crash of something tipping sounded loud, and there was another spatter of laser fire overhead.
"Demon! Stand up and announce your position."
Fat chance. On hands and knees Des crawled across the floor, her eyes stinging. Keeping low, she headed for the door, only to hear someone crashing against it from the other side. How many? She had no idea how many outlaws were at the front or the back of the store.
"Raf?" she whispered quietly.
"Here," he whispered back. "Near the far wall."
"I'm crawling for the stairs. The rest of you hearing me?"
Huxley and Orde gave terse confirmations, though neither could tell her where they were, having dived for cover as soon as the laser fire started again.
"If we get separated, we'll meet at the back of Moresby's," she whispered.
They gave confirmation again that they understood.
Keeping low, Des crawled across the floor, keeping close to the wall. Finding the stairs, she started to creep quietly up them when the back door burst open.
Not able to see where the men were, Des sprinted up the stairs. At the top, knowing that they were still down there somewhere, she sought to distract the outlaws by firing aimlessly at a wall.
As she hoped, she drew their attention and they started towards the stairs, cursing the smoke as they did so.
Her plan backfired, however, when she had no idea where her men were down below, and so she couldn't fire down the stairs at the outlaws.
"Shit," she muttered, and ran.
"Des?" Simon demanded quietly. "Be careful."
"I'm trying!" She ducked into the nearest room and shut the door, sliding the bolt home. Backing across the room, she trained the laser on it. "I'm a little busy right now, Simon."
"Find a place to hide. I'm com---" His voice crackled and stopped abruptly.
"What the hell..." Des tapped the communication receiver. "Orde? Huxley? Simon?"
Silence greeted her, a faint crackling. Somehow, someone had jammed the signal that Simon had channeled.
She truly was alone now, not knowing where her men were, if they were all right, or what the outside areas were doing.
"Bloody great!" She swore and fired off a laser shot at the door when the knob rattled. "I have no idea if anyone can hear me through this communication receiver, but I'm keeping it in as I'm getting faint crackles through. I can't hear anyone apart from that. You all heard us before when communications went down, so hopefully you still can, even if it is one-sided." She fired another shot at the door and heard someone curse. More boots pounded up the stairs from below.
If she didn't move, she was going to be trapped.
Going to the window, she peered out cautiously from the side. The streets were dark, only the fires casting ominous light, but it was enough for her to see men and a few women running. Most had lasers, and even as she watched, two women were cut down with laser fire.
"Surround the store!" Someone ordered from the other side of the door. "We can trap her!"
"Time to leave." Taking one last glance out the window, she slid it open and crawled out onto the verandah roof. Crouching down, she peered around. A faint humming had her glancing up, and she couldn't help but swallow as she saw the black underside of the mystery ship slowly fly over her. If she stood and stretched, she could touch the metal.
A sheet of metal started to slide back, and she caught a glimpse of a face.
They were coming for her.
Scowling, Des started to back away, glanced over her shoulder and saw one of the outlaws coming through the window after her.
One burst of her laser blew a hole between the eyes of the outlaw, and no with no time to lose Des sprang up and ran across the verandah roof. Judging the distance, she leaped through the air and landed on the verandah roof of a burning tavern.
"The bitch is over there!" someone shouted.
A thud behind her made her glance over her shoulder even as she raced for the row of windows leading into the bedrooms of the whores and guests.
From the black ship had dropped three men onto the roof of the store. All three were hard-eyed, nothing unusual in that, but their faces were almost expressionless. They moved with a lethal grace, their gazes fixed on her.
Kicking in a window with one boot, Des shot her laser at the approaching men on the other verandah roof. They rolled, dodging the laser fire, and Des ducked through the broken glass, not even noticing the cut to her thigh.
Landing awkwardly, she felt the burn in her healing calf and cursed. Looking back through the window, she fired off more laser fire towards the roof where the three men had disappeared, then ran across the room.
Opening the door, she could hear the outlaws yelling below. The roar of distant flames could be heard, and she felt the heat coming through the floor.
"This may not have been your best move, Des," she muttered. "Burning or shooting---hell of a choice."
A fleeting image of Simon flicked through her mind, but she had no time to think, to wonder what might happen if she died this night, because ... well, she had work to do.
"Get up those stairs!" A man shouted. "Never mind the goddamned flames! If The Demon dies, there's no telling what Canute will do!"
Down the other end of the corridor was a door, and in that door Des knew were stairs leading down to the ground floor and out the kitchen. The man who had once owned the tavern had weird ideas about the serving people using back entrances, or so he'd told Des when she'd hunted him down and found him trying to escape via those same stairs. She'd no doubt he'd planned it for escape purposes, but she'd been too quick for him.
He'd hung the next day for murdering two of his whores.
But those same stairs would now come in handy.
Without wasting anymore time, Des sprinted for the end of the corridor. As she passed the staircase, she heard someone bellow her nickname. It wasn't a friendly voice, either.
Almost thumping into the door, she wrenched it open, yanked it shut behind her and tore down the stairs as fast as she could. At the bottom, she peered into the kitchen to find it a mess, but unoccupied.
Undoubtedly they still thought she was upstairs in one of the rooms, hiding.
Smoke billowed in the side alley, and she crouched down and made her way to the loose plank in the fence. Lifting it carefully, she ducked beneath and let it fall quickly back into place.
The smoke cleared slightly at a small breeze, and she looked up to see the gleaming underside of the mystery ship still hovering above the tavern and store. In the light of the fire and the fogginess of the smoke, it looked mystical and menacing.
Was Canute in there?
Whoever was in there, he or she had to be one of the main leaders. The ship was fast. A leader would travel in a ship that could get away fast if necessary.
The ship had to be destroyed, or at least disabled.
She knew just how to do it, too, if luck was on her side.
A lot of the outlaws had gathered near the burning tavern, and Des smiled grimly. That just made it easier for her.
The night outside the settlement was dark, but there were fighter craft patrolling the night sky. As the tavern behind her started to collapse, she saw several of the outlaws posted in various areas of the street turn and watch.
And that was the break for which she'd been looking.
Moving quietly, keeping close to the ground and the shadows, she moved stealthily.
The Enforcer Building was a deserted smoldering ruin, but half of the docking bay behind it was still intact. One of the pursuit crafts was half buried under rubble, but she had no doubt it was still useable. They'd been made to take a fairly tough knocking. Or she hoped so.
The glass on the pilots' shield was broken, and Des carefully slipped through it to land on the driver's seat in a crouch. Carefully sweeping the broken glass away, she sat down and checked the controls. It was all in working order, but she held her breath until she heard the engines whine faintly before settling silently. The power surged through the pursuit craft, making it shake a little which was definitely not normal, but as long as it flew, Des had no complaints.
Taking a deep breath, Des said quietly, "In case anyone hears me out there, this is my plan. I've got hold of a pursuit craft and I'm about to attack the mystery ship. I believe the leader---or one of them---is in it. I'm going to try and bring it down. It may or may not work." She paused then continued. "A lot of people are dying out there, and we can't help them all. The streets are now full of outlaws. This might be the only way to cripple them enough to allow the law in. If it doesn't work and all goes wrong, well ... Dad, I love you. Simon, you know where my lycats are for later pick-up." She rubbed her thumb along the console. "It's been a pleasure working with you people. All of you." Licking her lips, she stared at the smoldering ruin of the Enforcer Building. What she wanted to say aloud wasn't easy, not knowing so many people could be listening. Not when she wasn't used to being so...
"What the hell. Simon, I love you. I just thought you should know." Shaking her head, she sighed. "I'm no good at this. You probably won't hear it anyway. I just thought ... you know ... that you should know ... yeah." Bugger. Taking a deep breath, Des focused on the task ahead. "Here goes."
"Des, nay!" Hearing her words, Simon grabbed the armrests. "Lass, I'm nearly there! Don't!"
But she couldn't hear him. Cursing, Simon stared at the scanner. He could hear everything she said, everything around her, just as he could hear the other peacekeepers, but none of them could hear anything said to them.
"We're landing," Aamun informed Simon tersely.
Simon was already running down the corridor. The platform lift clanked as it descended, and by the time he leaped out into the cargo hold, he saw his friends there. They were all carrying lasers, all cloaked. All grimfaced.
All with the air of danger around them. Nothing of the laughing, good-natured Daamens showed.
His own laser was holstered at his side, and Simon flung his cloak over his shoulders. Running down the ramp, he met Adin and his peacekeepers. Their pursuit crafts were docked nearby.
"What's the plan?" Simon asked tersely.
"That civilians stay here," Adin replied.
"Nay. We're going in."
"You'll be slaughtered."
Simon's face hardened. "My lass is in there, and right now she's on a possible suicide mission. 'Tis no way in hell I'm staying behind."
Adin swallowed, tilting back his head to look up at the giant towering over him. "You're a civilian---"
"I'm a Daamen, and a Daamen doesn't leave his lass in danger. With or without you, we go in."
Shamon came to stand beside Simon. "Better with us than without, don't you think?"
Benel, his arm bandaged and face smoke-smudged, but otherwise unscathed, stepped forward. "Adin, these Daamens are no fools. They've been in the middle of battles before. We're outnumbered now, but with these traders our odds are evened a lot."
"They walk in there and they'll be shot without hesitation," Adin growled.
"We don't intend to simply walk in unless 'tis warranted," Simon replied.
"You have a plan?"
"Do you?"
Adin frowned. "The military won't arrive until tomorrow night at the earliest. With the threat in the area, the peacekeepers of the three closest settlements are spread thin, and those three include us. More are coming, but it'll be at least two hours until the closest arrive."
"Four hours too late," Simon stated. "Des is making her move now."
Adin stared towards the bright glow on the horizon.
"When she makes her move, 'twill cause chaos. We should make our move then," Simon said.
"And what are you going to do? Fly in on your trade ship? They'll shoot you out of the sky."
"We know where the fighters are. Aamun can guide you to them. You take those out, and then come in with lasers firing."
"And where will you be?"
Simon smiled coldly. "Don't worry about us. We're good at surprising the enemy."
"I didn't think you had any," Adin said bluntly.
"We do now. Those bastards are after Des, and that makes them our enemies."
Adin sighed. "You think any of you will get away alive? Those outlaws down there will kill you!"
"Don't worry about us," Simon said again.
Adin shook his head. "I don't have the manpower to stop you."
"Nay, you don't," Simon replied quietly. Swinging around on his heel, he nodded to the five traders waiting for him. "Get ready."
Coming down the ramp, they stepped onto travel discs, the fast mode of transport that wouldn't be picked up by radar, and enabling them to get close to the settlement under cover.
Plus they had the trade ship as a surprise tactic if necessary. And another ace up their sleeve if all went well.
A very big ace.
Looking up at the sky, Simon smiled grimly. The ace was coming now.
The peacekeepers gaped upwards in shocked surprise.
Canute frowned as he watched the tavern collapse in a shower of sparks. "She's not in there."
"How can you be sure?" Zared asked.
"Desdemona is no fool. She's cunning." Canute drained the glass of wine and set it on the bench with a sharp snap. "She's gotten out of there."
"The men are still searching. They haven't found her, only a couple of injured peacekeepers."
"She's out there somewhere." Canute nodded at the visual screen. "I have three of my very best assassins searching for her. Three of my personal guards. They'll find her."
Broodingly, he watched the scene unfolding before him. A lot of the settlers were holed up in their homes, which was right where he wanted them. They'd bring good prices on the slave markets back in the inner sanctum of the Outlaw Sector.
But not Desdemona. She belonged to him.
The loud pealing of an alarm broke the peace inside the ship, and he jerked his head up, frowning, his eyes scanning the radar for a sign of the intruder.
"Pursuit craft closing in," one of the pilots stated. "Request fighter assistance now."
Narrowing his eyes, Canute studied the approaching pursuit craft. Battered for certain, but being piloted with grim determination. It was heading for his ship.
And then he recognized the pilot of the pursuit craft. "Why, Desdemona. Do you really think your little lasers can do much damage? Foolish woman, I'd given you more credit than that."
"Closing in!" the pilot yelled. She's not firing her lasers, I think they're jammed, but Sir---" His eyes widened. "She's going to fly right into us!"
The woman wasn't so foolish---or was she? Disturbed for the first time, Canute grabbed the backrest of the seat. "Move! Move us up!"
He felt the ship start to lift, but a jolt on top made it lurch. Coming down in answer to the order for assistance, the outlaw fighter had obviously hit the top of the suddenly moving ship, and it careened out of control and smashed into the opposite side of the street, the explosion rocking Canute's ship, throwing it momentarily off-course.
Through the visual screen he saw Des's face. Her eyes were intent, fearless ... and she was getting out of the pilot seat, standing up---and then jumping.
"She's going to crash into us!" The pilot yelled.
There was no time to move before the pursuit craft smashed into the side of Canute's ship, the resulting explosion rocking the ship, making it shudder and sending everyone not belted into a chair flying across the cabins to crash painfully into the walls.
Over the explosion Canute heard the groaning of metal, the popping and giving of the outside of the ship as the force of the explosion and the blow of the pursuit craft crashing into it caused extensive damage.
If they'd moved faster, the pursuit craft would have flown right past under them, but the fighter pilot, ironically, had been obeying and unwittingly stopped their getaway.
Now his precious ship was damaged.
Picking himself up off the floor, he saw his pilot try to regain control of the console, but it sparked and smoked, and the ship tilted. Almost in slow motion it started to right itself, but smashed into the two story stone building. Canute felt the ship drop, tilt once more and then crash to the ground, throwing him once more to the floor to roll helplessly across it, crashing into other bodies as he did so.
The creaking of tortured metal grated loudly, and there was a buzzing in his ears. Shaking his head, he looked up to see the pilots frantically pushing at the controls.
"Engineer!" Canute roared. "Report!"
It took several seconds before there was an answer. "Sir, the pursuit craft damaged part of the wall, causing it to push into the engine. I think I can fix it, but not immediately. It'll take me several hours---"
"We don't have several hours," Canute snarled. "Fix it now or you'll be hung from the front of the ship for all to see!"
"Yes, Sir!"
Enraged, he allowed his temper to blow. Swearing and letting out almost animal grunts of and howls of fury, he grabbed one of the hapless cabin crew and pounded his head against the wall until the blood flowed. He shot the man who attempted to help his fallen friend, and then he slithered over to the quaking pilot and shot him between the eyes.
Still shaking with rage, his anger not nearly appeased, Canute pointed the laser at the second pilot, a hard-eyed outlaw who was watching him warily.
"Get this ship flying within the hour or I'll kill you," Canute hissed.
"Yes, Sir." The pilot inclined his head.
Staying inside the ship wasn't an option now. If it couldn't fly, it was useless. But there were fighter crafts outside, and they could be used if necessary.
Meanwhile, the settlement was still his, and he intended to make sure none forgot him.
Once the outside door slid open, he stepped outside to find his three personal guards, one of them Zared, waiting for him, their faces impassive.
Without saying a word, Canute pointed to the tavern across the street.
Falling in around him, they followed him to the tavern. When he stepped inside, he saw the woman waiting for him, sitting in the chair in the corner of the room.
Getting up, she smiled. "Hello, Canute. Finally we meet."
The fires burned hot, bright, destroying all in its path. The outlaws laughed, firing their lasers in the air, shooting any settler stupid enough to try and leave their homes or the doomed settlement.
When the pursuit craft crashed into the Canute's ship, it shocked the outlaws.
"Hell!" one of them whispered in awe.
His friend could only stare at the big ship as it crashed to the ground and settled with sparks and damaged metal creaking.
When they saw Canute emerge from the ship, they moved back into the shadows, not wanting him to spot them and maybe take some of his anger out on them. Canute wasn't the most even-tempered of men.
Turning to face the fires again, the first outlaw started. From behind the flames of the fire and the billowing smoke strode giants, seeming to come out of the very smoke itself. Hooded, cloaked, long swaths of cloth wrapped around the lower parts of their faces, they were menacing. Brooding. Dangerous. As though Heaven itself had sent its own warriors to wreak vengeance.
Fire flickered in front of them and smoke obscured them from sight again.
"What the hell..." Unnerved, he clutched his laser.
"What's wrong?" Also jumpy now that the attack had brought down Canute's ship, his friend looked around.
"I thought I saw some ... things."
"Things?"
"Giants."
Frowning, his friend shook his head. "Idiot. Who would be dumb enough to walk right into the settlement?"
"We would," a deep voice rumbled behind them.
Before either could turn around, big hands grabbed their heads and smashed them together with a sickening thud.
They fell unconscious to the ground. No one saw them being dragged back into the smoke.
Like giant wraiths the strangers came through the smoke, appearing and disappearing, yet not seen. Melting into the background, leaving vengeance in their wake.
Her calf was killing her. Wishing desperately for the bottle of analgesia, Des knew her old injuries would be felt even more if it weren't for the adrenaline pumping through her.
The outlaws were scouring the settlement for her, but only near the wrecked ship. She'd seen Canute come from the ship, seen the three hard-eyed men who'd come after her surround him and take him to the tavern.
Gracie's tavern. The only place that could be a safe haven for her to plot. The only place where she had a chance of killing him and breaking the leadership up. Without a leader, some of the outlaws might run, be more careless. They feared him, she could tell by the way some of them shrank from him.
From what they said.
Shifting slightly on the rooftop of Gracie's tavern, Des winced. Her landing hadn't been an easy one. The resulting blast of the pursuit craft crashing into the ship had sent her flying, but she'd survived, mainly because she'd landed on the roof and had rolled partway down the back of it, partly away from the worst of the blast. She'd had some protection.
That she knew of, no one had seen where she'd landed, for all eyes would have been on the ship.
She hoped.
Crawling over to the back of the tavern, she peered down. There were a couple of outlaws down below, but they went around the side of the tavern and out of sight.
As quietly as she could, she slid down the roof on her stomach, caught hold of the storm pipe and slid down to the verandah, half expecting a shout or laser burn any second. Relief filled her when she reached the verandah roof undetected.
In a crouch, she moved to the window and peered around for anyone watching before peeking inside to see the room empty. Sliding open the window, she slipped into the room and slid it shut behind her again.
This was Gracie's room. It smelled of perfume and make-up, and her rich gowns were draped over chairs and the end of the bed, awaiting the maid to clean it up come morning. Gracie had obviously left in a hurry, from the looks of it.
Moving across the room, she halted when the sound of voices sounded down the corridor, coming closer. There were two male voices and one female, and the female was shrieking.
Gracie was still here, and she was not happy.
Quickly Des lay down and rolled beneath the bed, pulling the satin coverlet partly down so that it covered where she lay.
The door crashed open and Gracie came in, still shrieking. "How dare he! How dare he hit me!"
"Be grateful he didn't do worse, bitch," a man snarled.
"He has no right! I haven't done anything to him!"
"Just shut your trap, and maybe he'll let you live." The door crashed shut.
The only sound in the room was Gracie swearing, and then she started crying.
That was all Des needed, and in no mood for her mother's histrionics, she was half tempted to stay hidden under the bed. However, Gracie could help her. No one knew her tavern better than the owner.
"Psst!" Des hissed at her.
"Wha..."
"I'm under your bed!" Pushing aside the coverlet, Des poked her head out.
Getting to her feet, Gracie stared at her. "Desdemona!"
"Not so loud!" Pulling herself out from under the bed, Des got to her feet. Seeing the red hand mark on Gracie's cheek, and the slight swelling of her lip, she grimaced. "I see the outlaws got to you."
Gracie swallowed. "Yes. They slapped me around a bit." Her gaze darted around the room. "How did you get in?"
"Through the window." Walking to the door, Des pressed her ear against it. "How many outlaws downstairs?"
"Um..." Gracie blinked. "About fifteen or so."
"Is there a man named Canute down there?"
"I do believe that's what they called him." Gracie frowned. "Des, what are you planning?"
"On going out there and shooting the shit out of him and as many of his cronies as I can." Des reached for the doorknob. "How many in the hall?"
Recovering herself, Gracie rushed forward. "Desdemona! Stop!" Even hushed, her voice had the ability to sound like nails on a board.
Des winced. Facing the outlaws just had to be better than hearing Gracie.
Placing her hand on the door, Gracie said fiercely, "There's a guard at the head of the stairs, and another at the other end of the corridor. Several more at the other end. You can't get them all."
"I can get some." She palmed both lasers. "Most if I'm lucky."
"Put those away!" Gracie snapped. "Have you no sense?"
Tempted to tell her mother where any bad genes could have come from, Des resisted. "I'm the law here, Mother. Those are outlaws. What does that tell you?"
"You always were a smart mouth." Gracie glared at her. "I can create a diversion."
"Diversion? You? How?"
"Don't be so shocked. That bastard slapped me around, and suns knows what he has planned next for me. I'm saving my hide. Yours, too," Gracie thought to add.
"I'm so pleased you care, Mother. That touches my heart."
"I can tell them I have information about you or something."
"Something? You better come up with something better than that."
"Leave it to me." Tossing her head, Gracie straightened her shoulders and grabbed the doorknob.
"They might shoot you," Des stated bluntly.
"They know I'm a lady, Desdemona."
Personally, Des thought her mother was as far from a lady as a greedy cow could get, but in this instance she kept her mouth shut.
From the expression on her mother's face, however, Gracie had a pretty good idea what Des's thoughts were, and she glared. "Just be prepared."
Des looked at her for several long seconds. She couldn't outright lie and say she loved her mother, or even had any affection for her. Gracie had knocked that out of her a long time ago. But still, she was risking her life to help. "Be careful."
Gracie smiled suddenly, then yanked the door open and stepped outside.
Quickly Des stepped behind the door and listened. There was a low murmur of voices, then someone shouted. Footsteps rattled on the roof, another landed on the verandah outside.
"Bloody hell!" Dropping to the floor, Des rolled under the bed again.
The door crashed open, and Gracie rushed in followed by several men. Unable to see the outlaws, Des listened, her laser in her hand.
"I'm telling you, I heard her outside, not in here!" Gracie shrieked.
"Outside where?" one outlaw demanded.
"Out there! Damn it, out there!" Gracie screeched. "Out the front!" Des saw her backing up to the bed, and she sat down suddenly, obstructing her view. "I'm telling you she's out there! I feel sick..."
Mentally rolling her eyes, Des looked around, but the coverlet covered all the other sides of the big bed. Thanks to Gracie's movements, she couldn't see a thing.
"You're sure?" The outlaw snarled.
"Of course I'm sure!"
"All right, everyone out! Search the grounds! Now!"
The door crashed shut, and Gracie let out a sigh of relief. "That was close."
"Close? Crap, what are you trying to do?" Des started to pull her self out from under the bed, her hands holding the lasers going up to shift the coverlet. "Get me ki---"
Her words were stopped when the lasers were yanked from her grasp, hard hands wrapped around her wrists and at the same time she was dragged out from under the bed.
Realizing what was happening, she was too far out to go back under the bed, and too far under to twist and fight.
A hand knotted in the back of her jacket, another clamped on her other arm, and she was dragged completely out from under the bed.
Reacting quickly, she went completely limp, catching her captors by surprise.
"Shit, she's fainted or something!"
"Canute won't be happy."
They dropped her arms and Gracie shrieked, "Idiots! Desdemona doesn't faint! She's tricking---"
Even as her mother's words registered in her brain, Des was acting. Spinning around on the spot, she slammed her foot behind the first outlaw's knees, tipping him off balance. At the same time she grabbed a fistful of the shirt of the outlaw still leaning down and brought him down on her other fist, which she slammed up into his nose.
Blood sprayed and he dropped like a brick. Unfortunately right onto her. By the time she'd shoved him off and jumped to her feet, one of the hard-eyed outlaws who'd come from the ship dove through the window, and while she wheeled around to face this new threat, Gracie grabbed the laser and held it up.
"I'll shoot you, Desdemona, I swear! Give up!"
Ignoring her, ignoring everything but the threat at the window, Des drew the daggers from her boot tops.
The door slammed open behind her, and she half spun around, balancing on the balls of her feet, the daggers held to either side. The two men who entered through the door were the ones who'd also accompanied Canute.
"Come on in, boys," she said evenly, her breath only coming slightly faster. "Join the party."
"Canute doesn't want her hurt, Zared!" Gracie shrieked.
"Canute's not very happy with her right now." Zared's gaze never strayed from Des.
"Then get her!"
"Thanks, Mother." Des kept the men in sight at all times, but when the man at the window started moving out of line of vision, as did the other two, she knew there would be trouble. Especially when two more outlaws came through the window, and another through the door. "Seven men to take me on? Aren't you all feeling a bit ashamed?"
"Not at all," Zared replied coolly. "Now!"
They charged her.
Using the daggers with deadly intensity, Des managed to keep them at bay, but not for long, not when they surrounded her and came at her at once. She slashed, kicked and fought her way out of the first two tackles, the men getting entangled as there were so many. But realizing it, they changed their tactics.
One at a time they charged her, but quickly, in succession so that no sooner was she turning to one than another was charging from the other side.
They hadn't gotten off lightly, either. One had a cut lip, another had a swollen eye. Two were dead. A couple had blood on their clothes.
Gracie screamed encouragement, alternating between cursing and cheering.
Des didn't have time to even feel sick at her mother's treachery.
The outlaw coming from her left narrowly missed having his neck sliced from ear to ear, and another charged from her right. Then three sides charged at once, and another caught her from behind, his arm around her neck.
She swung around, crashing him into the side and front man, but he didn't let go. A dagger was knocked from her hand, the burn of the laser fire making her involuntarily let go.
The man on her back swung off and she spun around without enough time to stop Zared charging her.
He slammed into her, arms going around her waist, and they barreled backward out of the door with such force that they crashed through the rail and fell to the floor below.
The table crashed beneath their combined weight. Glass splintered, drinks flew, and Des was momentarily stunned, her breath taken away.
Blinking rapidly, she didn't know how long it was before she regained her full senses, but she started to roll to her feet, got as far as in a crouch, when a laser pressed under her chin, and the holder exerted enough force to make her tilt her head up until she was looking up at the holder of the laser.
His face wavered, but when she blinked again, he came into focus. A lean man with a dark, brooding face, about forty years old. His eyes were hard, his mouth twisted in a half smile.
"Desdemona," he drawled. "Finally, I have the pleasure."
"All mine," she rasped, and lunged, making a grab for the laser as she did so.
The stun hit her from behind, not enough to make her black out, but enough to shock her. Dimly she felt something snap around her wrists, but she couldn't make sense of it. Feeling herself dragged over to something, rough hands hoisting her up, she tried desperately to regain her full senses.
By the time she did, she felt herself being lifted, her arms stretching above her head, her shoulders taking her full weight, muscles straining.
Shaking her head, she focused, and gradually Canute's face came into focus again, as did her situation.
Her boots were swinging off the floor, her cuffed wrists raised high and a knotted rope going around the chain. Looking up, she saw that the rope was being held by several men on the floor above, the rope looped through one of the rails.
"I didn't know you cared." Tipping her head forward again, she looked down at Canute.
Shorter than her by a good foot already, she was above him by many inches more as the men stopped pulling her up.
His face was level with her breasts, which she inwardly cringed at, especially when he reached out and cupped them under her jacket.
"So strong," he murmured. "So incredibly strong, both in body and mind."
Glancing over his head, Des looked directly at her mother. Gracie was sitting at one of the tables, a smirk on her face.
"Not so smart-mouthed now, sweetie, are you?" Lifting a glass of wine, she saluted Des mockingly.
"You never disappoint me, Mother," Des said. "A bitch from start to finish."
Gracie flushed and Canute laughed, the gathered outlaws laughing with him.
Looking around as much as she could, Des said loudly, "My, my. How many outlaws in here, Canute? A good fifteen? Twenty? And how many outside?" At least if any of the law hears me, they'll have an idea what they're facing in here.
"Enough to take you on, m'dear," he replied. "Worried?"
"Not at all," she drawled. "I could take you on with one hand behind my back."
"What about with two hands in the air?" His eyes gleamed.
"I tell you what, arsehole, you tell me what the hell is going on here, and I'll show you what I can do with two hands in the air," she replied conversationally.
His thumbs rubbed against her nipples. "Oh, m'dear. Not even a little bit excited to see me?"
Coarse amusement sounded around the room.
Des stared down at him boldly.
"Not even scared are you, Desdemona?" Canute ran his hands down to her taut stomach, rubbed lightly.
"I'm feeling nauseous, if that's what you mean," she replied. "Going to tell me anything, or just bore me to death by mauling me?"
"She's a gutsy one," an outlaw remarked.
"I want her scalp," another said.
Quickly, Des glanced over her shoulder, the movement accomplished with difficulty, but she saw him sneering at her. Knew it was him because of the scalps sewn onto his coat.
"Well, well. If it isn't the little man stalking the settlements, scalping and opening the girls up to show off their spines. Did it make you feel big?"
"It gave me a hard-on." He laughed, though his eyes remained cruel. Dead.
"I'm so pleased for you. Which of your mates here gave you the hand job, or..." She raised one brow, "Did he give you a blowjob?"
The outlaw flushed when his friends jeered.
"Come on, arsehole," she goaded. "You had a friend or two to help you set a pattern, but you blew it, didn't you?"
"I never blew anything, bitch."
"Maybe not you, but your friend did." Abruptly Des turned her head around to look directly down at Canute. "Your little friend stuffed up big time, Canute. They broke the pattern, killed a man."
He merely looked amused. "You're clever, Desdemona. That's what I like about you. Strong. Clever."
"Clever, huh?" Her flesh shrank from his caresses, but she refused to show it.
"Trying to delay the inevitable, Desdemona?"
"Can you blame me? It's not as if you turn me on, you gutless wonder. Now are you going to tell me or not? Or maybe there's nothing to tell, and it was all pure luck?"
"Not even you believe that, Desdemona."
How she hated him saying her name each time he addressed her. Her gaze flicked over his head to Gracie, who raised one brow mockingly.
I know you don't like me, Gracie, and the feeling is mutual---but to betray your own daughter like this? What kind of a person are you?
Gracie scowled at the intensity in Des's gaze and took another sip of wine.
"Why, Gracie, I do believe your daughter is disappointed in her mother," Canute said mildly. "Do you think we should tell her anything?"
"Don't," Gracie snapped. "Desdemona always has an ulterior motive for anything."
"Like you, Gracie?" he asked silkily. "Des, your mother works for me, giving my men sanctuary here while they scouted out the areas. She provided me with the girls, and she knifed that good ol' janitor in the heart. Isn't she an adorable mother?"
The outlaws laughed again, and Gracie cursed them roundly.
Stepping back, Canute eyed Des musingly. "But you're right, Gracie. Desdemona isn't asking for her own curiosity. She has a reason. Maybe she thinks someone will hear, that communications will return, but m'dear, I'm here to tell you no one can talk to you again, not even your loverboy."
The outlaws parted and Yucel strode into view. "Definitely not your loverboy, Boss. I finally managed to cut even his communications and scanners. Took a bit of doing, but I managed it finally. Tricky. I'd like to know who fitted out his communications system."
She should have known. She suspected a traitor, but to find out it was really true ... Des clenched her teeth. "You."
"Me." He grinned. "Good to see you just hanging around and relaxing, Boss."
She jerked on the rope. "I'll bloody kill you, you traitorous bastard!"
"Hoo boy!" He fanned himself. "I sure am scared, Boss."
"Dear me." Picking up a glass of chilled water, Canute sipped at it, his gaze never leaving Des. "Two traitors, and both so close to home, as it were. One your mother, the other a peacekeeper. Will wonders never cease?"
"Let me loose and I'll rip his bloody throat out!" Des glared at Yucel. "Come nearer, arsehole!"
"I'm no fool, Dessie." Yucel sat down beside Gracie and filled up a glass with wine. "You might want to harm me."
Laughter rippled around the room.
"Well, Desdemona." Canute leaned back against the table, a smile hovering around his mouth. "Now the whole family's here, I'll going to tell you why I'm here."
"Don't," Gracie said sharply.
Canute didn't look at her. "One more word from you, Gracie, and I'll have you shot."
Angry, but with a glint of fear in her eyes, Gracie subsided, her color high. Yes, Des could see she hated being embarrassed in front of everyone, but she feared Canute more.
Tamping down her emotions in regards to her treacherous mother, Des looked down at Canute and raised one brow.
"I'm going to tell you," he continued conversationally, "then you're going to have to pay for destroying my plans a little."
Anticipation swept through the room, but none of the outlaws shifted.
Des kept her gaze steady on Canute. Her wrists hurt where the cuffs were digging in, but she blocked it from her mind. There would undoubtedly be worse to come later. Right now, she wanted to hear the whole story.
Canute took a sip of water and wiped the corners of his mouth delicately with his fingertip. "Well, Desdemona, it all began when I heard about this energy that apparently can make a ship go fast. Really fast, faster than peacekeepers and bounty hunter ships. Faster than anything around, in fact. I thought that could come quite in handy for little sojourns into the Lawful Sector, but I wanted a bit more proof.
That proof came to me in the form of that ship you tried to destroy with your rather reckless flying." He tsked at her. "You're so temperamental, m'dear."
"Please don't tell me I get it from Gracie, or I'll vomit."
Gracie looked up angrily but kept her mouth shut.
"Such a quick, sarcastic tongue. I'll enjoy sucking on it later."
"Get me a bowl, quick." And she wasn't really joking. Just the thought of him taking liberties with her body was enough to make her flesh crawl.
I'm Simon's. Only Simon's. I don't want anyone to touch me but Simon. But she couldn't afford to think like that, not here, not now. Now she had to think of the job, the lives at stake.
Canute laughed, though his eyes had hardened a little. "Give it time, you'll come to like it." Taking another sip of water, he rolled it around his mouth while his gaze drifted over her body, before he looked back up at her face. "A friend gave me a ride in this ship, said he'd discovered a little piece of energy quartz that resided in a little settlement known as Tyron, just on the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector. He only knew what it was because his old uncle had heard stories of some kind of energy quartz, once used hundreds of years ago, but no one knew much about it. Old tales. But there was a picture, you see, and this piece of quartz looked just like that. So he took it to a geological technician, who identified some unknown energy. That as enough for my friend. He killed the technician, put the energy into the ship's energy core, and what do you know? The ship traveled faster than he'd ever had it travel before. Of course, once he told me, I had to find this energy myself."
"Of course," Des said sarcastically.
"I tracked down a man in the inner sanctum of the Outlaw Sector who got a trace of the energy elements on a scanner, and transformed it into the geological scanner to track down the source from where the quartz had come. It took me a long time, but finally I found it. Here in Tyron. Your little settlement. Right under Sol's warehouse.
Well, Sol was a greedy bastard, it didn't take much to bribe him into holding the geological scanner in his warehouse to measure the depth of the energy core."
"You could have petitioned the military to dig for it," Des said. "Why the big contingency of outlaws and attack?"
"Come, m'dear, even you know the military would have taken over the whole energy core. Me, an outlaw, petition for the dig? Even through someone else? No, they wouldn't have allowed anyone that, and besides, I wanted it for myself. To get riches and run." He winked. "No, not to take over the Lawful Sector. The pirate, Darcus, tried that already several years ago with disastrous results. I wouldn't be a fool and follow in his footsteps. No, this was by far the safer way for me."
"If you say so."
"Believe me, I know so." Canute places the glass down on the table. "I knew the energy was in one of the four settlements---Tyron, Sharver, Calton or Merder. The other geological scanners were better hidden and retrieved when it was found that none of the other three settlements had the energy. The energy is under the ground in Tyron, right here. Enough energy to source a hundred ships or more. But of course, I had to wait until I was sure where it was, the precise location for my drilling rig outside, which even now is mining the energy core from the ground. I had to ensure I had enough men to keep watch for trouble, to hold the settlement prisoner until I'd finished. I had to hit hard and fast, which, as you can see, I have done."
"You must be so proud of yourself." Des sneered. Hell's bells, my wrists bloody hurt!
"Oh, I am."
"Let me see if I've got this right," Des said. "While you were trying to find out where the energy core was, some of your boys got a little out of hand, raped and killed a few women, scalped a couple?"
"Yes."
"And the missing women?"
"They provided me with some entertainment, kept me company while I was lonely. Kept my boys occupied."
Whoops and howls met this statement, reminding Des of the howls and whoops when she and her men had been trapped in the caves. I sure wish I could shoot someone's Goddamned leg off now.
She focused back on the immediate subject. "And Yucel here was your inside man?"
"This plan has been a long time in the planning. It didn't take much to plant him in the system. He's worked here for the last six months." Canute smiled broadly. "My brother makes me proud."
"Bloody families." Des looked again at her mother.
Yucel waved cheerfully at Des.
"He's a genius when it comes to communications and scanner systems. Using equipment he had at home, he was able to interfere with your security cameras and steal the geological scanner without being identified on the film. He also managed to block you and your men when you regrettably stumbled upon some training exercise, until Huxley came into the Building and the panic to find you was on. He had to back off then." Canute sighed. "You did give me a little start when you stumbled into the midst of the outlaws, Desdemona."
"If you want an apology, come and get it," she invited.
Genuinely amused, he laughed. "Not right now, m'dear. Now, where was I?"
"Being a prick?"
He gestured to someone behind her and Des bit her lip against the sudden pain in her shoulders when she was jerked another good foot into the air.
"Now," he continued. "Let me see ... ah yes! Yucel came in handy when the search for the janitor's killer was on the go. He wasn't about to announce Gracie's little knifing episode, and he personally searched her room. But while Yucel operated efficiently, not everyone else did. I had to have a few men killed before they could talk. Dumb enough to get caught..." He sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. Then the military came and were hanging around, and then came the bounty hunters. I must say, Desdemona, I do think you sound more like your father than your mother."
"Miracles still happen," she said snidely.
He laughed again. "True. Anyway, once they'd gone, I gave them a couple of days to clear away, checked no one was near the vicinity, and in we came. And the rest, you know."
Getting up, he walked over to her. Des felt every hot-eyed, lecherous gaze on her as Canute put his hand up to rest on her stomach.
"Don't you want to know, Desdemona?"
"Know what?"
"Why I desire you so much? Why I wouldn't let my men hurt you?"
"Odd, I have some aches and pains."
"That's because you're so resistant." He shrugged, then flexed his fingers against her stomach. "You're strong, not a whiner. I haven't seen you shed a tear, even when your dear mother betrayed you into my hands. She really doesn't like you, you know."
"Surprise me some more." I just now realized how much.
"But I, m'dear, well, I find you desirable. I want to break you. I want to break your intelligence, your strength, your loyalty and honor and pride. You're a challenge." His hand went lower, fingers scraping down the front of her pants. "I want to take you here in front of everyone, so all can see the mighty Demon brought to her knees by me, Canute. Then I'm going to take you back into the Outlaw Sector and show you off as my sex slave. How do you like that, Desdemona?" He slid his hand between her thighs. "How---"
It was all she'd been waiting for her. Jerking up her knee, she slammed it into his jaw, sending him flying backwards to crash into the table.
There was a horrified silence as he lay, stunned, amongst the broken wreckage of wood. A pin dropping could have been heard as every eye turned to the fallen man, then switched to the woman hanging from the rope.
Things could go very bad now. Des's muscles tensed.
Tyson, Ruan and Zared hurried forward to help Canute, and they supported him as he stood shakily on his feet. Wiping the blood from his chin, his lip split, he raised watering eyes to look at Des.
The seconds stretched into minutes, the tension thick in the air.
"Kill her!" Gracie screeched. "She's made a fool of you---"
He made a sharp gesture, a laser flared somewhere from behind him and a hole exploded out where her left eye used to be. She dropped to the floor, a smoking hole in the back of her head from the laser blast.
Everything happened so fast, yet Des couldn't feel anything for her mother as she stared down at her body. The woman had lived and died hating her. Shouldn't I feel something? She is my mother. Her mother had betrayed her to the outlaws, left her to whatever fate and degradation they had planned for her. No, I feel nothing. Mentally she shrugged. She was no hypocrite.
Lifting her gaze, she looked at Canute. Now the shit's going to hit the fan.
Whatever he had been about to say or do was halted by a sudden explosion from outside. Laser fire sounded, voices yelled.
"Attack!" An outlaw shouted from near the door. "The peacekeepers are coming in again!"
"Get the fighters up!" Canute ordered.
"There's another ship coming in! Big one and fast!"
"Fast?" Canute looked puzzled. "What the---" Abruptly, he gestured to someone on the floor above and swinging around, he made for the door.
Clenching her teeth around the groan of pain that threatened to slip past her lips, Des suffered silently as the rope holding her wrists was jerked and pulled, yanking her higher and higher into the air, until she dangled halfway between the landing above and the floor below. Looking up, she saw the outlaws fasten the rope to the rail, then they left.
The room below was a moving mass of men as outlaws grabbed weapons and moved to doors and windows, looking out.
Another explosion sounded. Canute turned and stormed across the room, Tyson and Ruan following him while Zared barked orders.
Des had been effectively dismissed and left to hang around. She almost smiled at the thought, but it really wasn't that funny.
Pain burned in her shoulders, and her arms were feeling numb, the pins and needles sensation having come and gone awhile ago. Looking up, she tried to get her fingers to grab the rope so she could pull herself up, but her position and the rope pulling the between her cuffed wrists up made it impossible.
Swearing to herself, she looked down again.
Seconds later, she felt the rope start moving again, only smoother, the motion pulling her higher and higher. The outlaws obviously had decided against leaving her hanging from the balcony, unless they just wanted her higher up out of the way.
Looking up, she froze. Her heart thudded and she couldn't believe her eyes.
Two cloaked and hooded giants knelt above her on the balcony. Two other giants were standing each side, lasers in their massive fists. A fifth giant was in the doorway to Gracie's room, talking into a communicator that consisted of a microphone in his ear with a wire attached to a small pin on his cloak.
One of the kneeling giants had hold of the rope and was pulling her up seemingly without effort. The other giant pushed his hood back, and Des found herself staring up into familiar pale blue/green eyes. Eyes that burned with a mixture of worry and fury.
Simon! She couldn't quite make out the other traders, but she didn't care who they were. They were a welcome sight, and Simon ... well Simon ... God, I'm going to kill him for coming into this hell hole! Then I'm going to kiss him! And kill him again!
As soon as her hands touched the edge of the balcony, Simon and the other trader she now recognized as Shamon leaned over and grabbed her arms, pulling her up with a speed that nearly made her senses swim. Simon put one arm around her waist and the other under her knees, lifting her over the rails and swiftly back into the shelter of the room behind him, the other traders following, providing a shield.
"How did you get here?" she demanded. "Goddman it, Simon, you could get killed!"
"I wasn't going to leave you, Des," he said fiercely. "Never!"
Standing in the dubious safety of the room, still cradled in his arms, she stared up at him, then leaned up and kissed him. Hard.
He returned it, but it was too brief, the danger too real around them to linger. Pulling back, she said huskily, "We're going to talk about civilians and private frequencies later, trader."
Simon squeezed her gently. "Looking forward to it. But right now, we have to get you out of here."
"I'm not leaving without Canute---"
"This whole tavern is going up very soon. We're getting out now."
"Going up?" She looked down to see a dagger cut through the rope around the chains. Glancing up, she met Shamon's warm gaze.
"All right, lass?" He touched her wrists. "You've been bleeding."
"I'm fine. Simon, you can put me down---"
Ignoring her, Simon strode over to the window and handed her through to the fifth giant, who was now standing out on the verandah. Heddam took her carefully, handing her back to Simon like a child once he was out on the verandah.
"I can walk!" She struggled. "I don't need to be carried!"
"Just hang on, lass. Things are going to get very rough in a few minutes." Simon eased her down to stand on her own feet, but he kept his arm around her waist, holding her close.
Looking down, Des saw the outlaw fighters soaring through the dawn sky, the peacekeepers close on their tails. Without the mystery ship with its incredible speed, the fighters were at a disadvantage.
Then she saw the ships not far away. Her gaze dropped down to the scene below, and she saw the outlaws fighting. And heard whips cracking, the sound of manblasters.
Bounty hunters crept down alleys, dropped low, fought with grim determination. Bounty hunters, scores of them, cold-bloodedly hunting the outlaws with deadly accuracy.
Hunting outlaws, high-priced outlaws. Prime meat. And she understood. "Dad?"
"He wishes," Simon said. "He couldn't get here on time, but he sent some of his friends who were looking for some big dinnos."
"He'll be here by midday," Heddam told her. "Simon!"
Des looked at Simon then followed his gaze upward. Her eyes widened. Coming down towards them at incredible speed was the trading ship.
The ramp was half lowered, making it an even shelf, and braced dangerously against the ramp hoists were another five traders. Five ropes hung down, and each trader had the rope around the ramp hoists.
"They're going to crash into us!" She began, horrified.
"Nay, Aamun's flying, and he's an excellent pilot." Simon tightened his hold on her waist and lifted one hand.
Oh crap! Now she understood the purpose of the ropes. Setting her jaw, she also reached up her cuffed hands, swearing at the confinement.
"Don't worry, lass," Simon said, "I won't let you go."
"I trust you, Simon, but I intend to help where I can."
"Stubborn wench."
Then there was no time to think anymore. The trade ship swooped down dangerously low, and the five traders grabbed hold of the dangling ropes. Simon did it one-handed, and Des bit her lip hard when she saw the bulge of muscle in his arm as he took both their weights on one arm. His knuckles were white, and his arm around her waist was like a band of iron.
She had just enough time to grab the rope as well before the ship swept them off the verandah roof, and she had to bite her lip against the roil of nausea that went through her unexpectedly when the wind caught at them and the rooftops flashed beneath them. They swayed dangerously in the air.
Laser fire peppered the air around them, and a pursuit craft flew around to spray the ground below with laser gunfire, making the outlaws run for cover.
While that happened, Des realized that the traders on the ramp were pulling up their friends. Looking up into the determined faces, she found Kel's hands grabbing her under the arms and pulling her from Simon's grasp, and she quickly released the rope and was pulled up onto the ramp. Almost immediately another trader came up behind her as the wind buffeted her, and she found an arm banding around her waist and a hard body at her back. Lifted easily off her feet, she was carried into the refuge of the cargo hold.
Coming out of the wind into stillness, every trader stumbled a little, but the trader holding her didn't let go until Simon's voice spoke behind her, then she found herself relinquished into his embrace.
She went willingly, shaking inwardly from the effects of the fast, dangerous trip, the whirlwind rescue, but the hell if she was going to admit it to anyone.
"Sweet lass." He cradled her to him fiercely. "'Tis all right. You're safe." He kissed her forehead.
"All in?" Aamun's voice came over the intercom.
"Aye," Mikal replied. "All in and safe."
"Wait!" Des pushed back. "Canute---"
"I see him!" Torkra shouted from where he knelt on the ramp. "The bastard's going to get away down there!"
"Aamun!" Simon shouted.
"I'm on it!"
Simon strode over to the ramp, grabbing a manblaster on his way. Des followed him, Kel's hands on her shoulders steadying her against the buffeting wind.
The wind tugged at Simon's cloak, blowing it back, and it tugged at his hair. The thick tresses were confined at his nape, but the loose strands that trailed over his shoulders blew back.
In that moment, as he looked down towards the ground while Aamun swung the ship around, Des saw the dangerous side to him. To all the traders.
She'd heard stories of how dangerous they could be when crossed. Now she saw it. Gone were the laughing faces, the roguish twinkle in their eyes. Oh, they still looked too handsome to be real, but there was a ruthless edge to them now, a menace in their stance, protectiveness towards her in the way several hovered around her.
"Simon, get back," Des called. "It's too dangerous."
His head whipped around and he looked back at her. His gaze dropped to her bloodied wrists, still cuffed, and the fury in his eyes would have made a lesser person tremble. When he lifted his gaze, he looked directly at her.
"No one," he said, his voice a menacing rumble, "Threatens and hurts my lass and gets away with it. No one."
There was a rumble of agreement from the other traders.
Looking back towards the ground, Simon placed the manblaster to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel.
Through the gap between ramp and hoist, she saw a fighter craft. Canute was getting into it, she easily recognized him from the dangerously low level the trade ship was flying.
Reaching around suddenly, she yanked Kel's laser from the holster at his thigh. Swinging back around, she lifted the laser over Simon's head and aimed.
Canute looked up, then gestured frantically.
Simon fired, and the fighter craft exploded as the huge blast hit the fuel tank with deadly force. Canute died instantly, the inferno eating at his body.
Des sprayed laser fire at Tyson and Zared as they shot up towards the trade ship, and had the satisfaction of watching them both drop to the ground and lie still. Within seconds bounty hunters had grabbed the bodies and were dragging them away.
Dead or alive, they were worth a lot of dinnos.
"The tavern's going to blow!" Aamun warned. "We're getting out of here now!"
The trade ship soared away, and Simon stood up and turned to Des, wrapping his arm around her waist and using his body to force her back into the shelter of the cargo hold.
A roar sounded, and the tavern exploded. She saw the fire lick high in the sky just before the trade ship turned and the sight was cut off, but she could now see four bounty hunter ships circling and landing, spilling out more hunters, all eager for the rich pickings to be had.
And some because of their loyalty to another pack, to Creed. They'd heeded his call for help and come.
The trade ship circled and landed next to a couple of bounty hunter ships and one of the peacekeeper pursuit crafts.
The ramp lowered and Des could now see that Adin was talking into a communication receiver, directing the operation from where he stood.
Striding down the ramp with Simon behind her, she crossed to Adin, who looked up at her with relief.
"Des! Thank the stars!"
"Thank the traders, more like." She looked towards the settlement, the smoke and flames that filled the air, the sound of laser fire and the crack of bull whips loud in the morning. The screams and shouts. "My men? Have you heard?"
"Aiken is safe, his lady love hid him in a secret tunnel her father had beneath his house. I didn't ask questions. He's swearing a blue streak, but with that broken leg, there's not much he can do. I don't know about the others, I'm sorry." He looked at her hands "You're cuffed?"
She held them out to him. "You got keys?"
With a wry grin, he unsnapped the cuffs and took them off, while she gingerly rubbed her bruised and scraped wrists.
Big fingers wrapped around her own, and Simon lifted her wrists to inspect them. "These need attention. Come into the ship and I'll see to it."
"I'm fine." She looked at him. "You?"
"A few scratches but nothing major."
"The others?"
"Aamun is seeing to Heddam's arm and a laser burn to Shamon's leg."
"Damn! I knew you should have stayed away!"
Lifting her hand, Simon pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. "Nothing in heaven or hell will keep me from your side when you're in danger, lass."
Warmth swept through her, but aware of the turmoil going on around her, she could only smile slightly. "Later, trader."
"'Tis a promise, lass."
Des turned back to Adin, who was speaking tersely into the communication receiver. Looking back at the settlement, she saw men starting to gather in little pockets, men with their hands in the air. Others gathered around them.
The bounty hunters were rounding up the surviving outlaws, and she wondered how many of the hunters had died as well. But nothing would have kept the packs away from such rich pickings.
Helping her had been a favor to Creed, but the rich rewards would have been a huge bonus. That and the love of the hunt. This particular hunt would be remembered for a long time.
"I have to go in and find the others," Des stated. "Give me a manblaster."
"I don't think so, lass," Simon growled.
"They're my men, Simon. My responsibility. I know a couple have been wounded, I overheard it. They'd have come for me, just as you did." She looked up at him. "You understand, Simon, I know you do."
His nostrils flared as he looked from her to the burning settlement, where the odd sound of laser fire still seared the air.
"And tough if you don't, because it's my job," she added.
Simon's gaze snapped back to her, and for a second she really thought he was simply going to grab her and drag her aboard the ship, there was such a primal glint in his eyes when he took that one ominous step toward her.
Closing his eyes briefly, Simon took a deep breath, and when he looked at her again, the gleam was gone. No, not gone. Held in check. She could still see that possessive gleam deep within his pale eyes.
"We're going with you."
"No. You're civilians."
Ignoring her, he hefted the manblaster he still carried and started forward.
Swearing, Des grabbed both of Adin's lasers and shoved them into the empty holsters on her thighs, then fell into step beside Simon. The other six traders fell in around them.
Instinctively she knew if trouble started, these giants were going to grab for her first. She growled a warning over her shoulder, but they simply met it with innocent looks, none of which fooled her.
Bloody Daamen traders.
Unused to being the least strongest in a group, and having her orders blatantly ignored if chosen, Des strode in their midst.
Simon's hand brushed against her arm as they walked, and she glanced up at him. Her annoyance faded when she saw the warmth in his eyes, the love and caring, and she knew he did what he did because he loved her.
It didn't make it easier, but she could understand. Now he'd rescued her from danger, he wasn't about to allow her to go back in alone.
Damn it.
They were met by a hulking bounty hunter at the edge of the settlement. Hulking to many, but still not as big as the Daamen traders that flanked Des so protectively.
"Falyon," Des greeted him.
"Glad to see you made it in one piece, girl." He grinned at her, which only made his scar-ridden features pull tighter.
"Glad to see you all here. Thanks."
"Ah, well, can't let Creed's baby girl have all the fun." Reaching out, he tousled her hair. "And we've earned a fortune today."
"Good pickings, huh?"
"Des, most of these outlaws we'd not be able to find. They're usually skulking in the inner sanctum. Yeah, huge pickings. Very huge."
"I'm looking for my men."
"Your uncle has a couple in his medical clinic."
"Moresby's place wasn't destroyed?"
"Seems the outlaws knew they might need him, so they left him alone. He found a couple of your men and got them back to his clinic."
"Thanks."
The laser fire had stopped, and as Des and the traders moved through the destroyed streets, they saw that what outlaws weren't dead were on their knees, cuffed to each other and guarded by packs of bounty hunters.
The siege, it appeared, was over.
Several packs and some peacekeepers still went methodically through the buildings, searching for hiding and dead outlaws.
Surviving settlers were amassed on the other side of the settlement which still stood. They huddled together, some gawking, some crying, depending on their losses or good fortune.
Amongst the bodies dragged out was Yucel's. His body was dumped alongside that of the burned corpse of Canute and the dead bodies of Zared and Tyson. Further along, Des noted Ruan and Levi in a pile of bodies being readied to load aboard a bounty hunters ship for reward collection.
Dead or alive, the outlaws were worth dinnos.
Finally reaching Moresby's clinic, Des and the traders went inside.
Seeing her, Moresby's relief was evident, and he did something he rarely did. Rushing over to her, he hugged her hard.
"Damn it all to hell, girl! I thought you were a goner!"
Awkwardly, she patted his back. "I'm not easy to kill."
"I'll say!" Stepping back, he cleared his throat, his eyes wet. He looked at Simon. "I hear I have you and your crew to thank for saving her."
"No need," Simon replied uncomfortably. "The wench was just hanging around doing nothing anyway."
Laughter came from the traders behind them, and Des mentally rolled her eyes.
"You have my gratitude." Moresby gestured around him. "If any of you need treatment, I'm not like some of the butchers you find out here."
"I can vouch for that," Des said.
"Then mayhap, if Aamun thinks Shamon and Heddam's injuries are too bad, you could come and check them," Simon replied. "I'll let you know."
Moresby's gaze dropped down to Des's wrists, and then the dried blood on her thigh. "You've been injured"
"It's nothing. My men?"
"Damn it, Desdemona!"
"My men?"
"You should let him look at you," Simon said.
She glared at him. "Moresby, Simon and the others here have a few scratches, too. See to them while I check my men."
Having neatly turned the tables, she slipped through into the ward room, leaving Simon protesting and Moresby adamant.
Orde and Marcel were lying in the beds, faces pale. Orde had a bandage wrapped around the top of his head, and his arm was in a sling. Marcel's cheek was swollen from a burn, and one eye was shut and bruised. His leg was in plaster.
They both looked at her and grinned in delight, exclaiming at the same time, "Boss!
"Bloody hell," she returned. "Look at you two. As soon as my back is turned, you come crawling to Moresby for sympathy and get put to bed."
"I was a little tired," Orde protested.
"And you seemed to have the situation under control all by yourself," Marcel added. "We didn't want to show you up or get in the way."
"Heaven forbid." Coming to stand at the foot of the beds, situating herself between the two, she glanced from one to the other. "How bad?"
"You want a report?"
"On yourselves, hell yes."
Marcel smiled a little. "Got hit by burning debris, then punched around a little by some outlaws out for a bit of exercise. I fought back, slipped on a pipe, fell through a roof and broke my leg."
"You were on a roof?"
"I went up there for some scenery. It's great scenery up there, Boss. Oh wait, you know that, because I spotted you going through a window in a tavern. I saw you break his window, Boss, don't deny that vandalism."
"I deny everything. You're okay apart from that? No internal injuries?"
"Nothing. Moresby says I'll be fit for duty again in no time as soon as the leg is healed."
Des looked at Orde.
He shrugged. "An outlaw tried to split my skull open, but you know me, hardheaded. A bit of blood, some stitches, and Moresby said I'm fine. No concussion that he can tell. Broken collarbone. But I'm fine otherwise."
"Good. Very good." She hesitated. "The others?"
"Apparently Aiken's lady love kept him safe, much to his annoyance."
"I heard." She grinned fleetingly. "A blow to his manly pride."
The men grinned.
"We lost Chas," Des stated. "Anyone heard from Emory and Huxley?"
"They dragged us here. Last I saw, they were heading out into the settlement with a bounty hunter pack."
Not long after, Des left the clinic with the traders. Simon was growling about being patched up like a baby, and she glimpsed the self adhesive patches under his vest and on his upper arm. He'd left his cloak back at the clinic to be collected later, as had the other traders.
Now she saw that most of them sported a bandage or self adhesive patch of some kind.
They all looked hard at her, daring her to say something, but seeing as how Moresby had cornered her while she was seeing Orde and Marcel, and had dressed her wrists and the cut on her thigh, she simply eyed the traders back with one brow coolly raised.
Now it remained for her to find her remaining two men.
She heard them before she saw them. Following their voices, she found them standing at the bottom of the huge drilling machinery. It had collapsed to the ground, the drill bent. Smoke trialed up from the engine inside, coming out of the open hatch, but no one seemed concerned.
As she neared the machine, several men came out of the hatch, their faces grimy and sweaty. Bounty hunters came up behind them, while several waited on the ground. More prisoners.
"Morning, boys," she said pleasantly, coming to a standstill behind Emory and Huxley, who were watching the scene with amusement.
They turned and looked at her, relief on their faces. "Boss!"
"You're all right?" Emory's gaze went to the giants behind her. "Silly question."
Relieved to find her men unharmed, apart from a rough bandage tied around Emory's arm and dried blood on Huxley's temple from a cut, Des pointed at the drill machinery. "Did you break it?"
"Would we do that?" Huxley grinned.
"Actually, we sort of did," Emory confessed.
"Don't tell her that," Huxley objected. "She'll start yelling."
"I'll yell if you don't," Des warned him.
"Well, I sort of took aim at a fighter with a manblaster. It was coming down the street, and you know we don't allow that kind of hooning in our settlement. So I gave him a warning, but the manblaster somehow went wild and shot the shit out of him. And he crashed into the legs holding that monster up, and it collapsed and..." Emory shook his head in mock sadness. "I hate to tell you this, but the outlaw is as flat as a pancake under that, Boss."
"I just can't leave you blokes alone, can I?" She grinned.
"Even better, now comes the entertainment," Huxley informed her.
"What's that?"
"Two packs are claiming the crew of the drilling machinery. We're wondering how they're going to divvy them up."
Des shrugged. "They'll split them down the middle."
"But it's an odd number." Emory laughed.
Shaking her head, Des gave them both a friendly punch in the shoulder, which made them stagger, and left them to it.
She continued around the settlement, checking who of the settlers had lived and who had died. The survivors were shocked and angry, but she managed to sort out temporary places for them to live in until clearing and rebuilding could start in the settlement.
Many survivors also came out of the homes in which they'd been hiding, and Des was relieved to see that a lot more settlers had survived than she'd first believed.
With the danger over, the traders went to help start the clearing of rubble, and only Simon stayed by her side, reluctant to leave her.
By the midday, everything was under control. The outlaws had been taken away by bounty hunters, and a couple of extra peacekeepers on loan from Merder had arrived to help out until the Tyron peacekeepers were recovered. Falyon's pack stayed behind as well, to await Creed's arrival the next day.
A makeshift office was set up in a store that had still managed to remain undamaged apart from shattered windows.
Simon eventually left Des when he was called away to speak to the Daamen trade base, who had heard the news of the fight and the traders' involvement. When he returned, he found Des in conversation with Adin and the relief peacekeepers from Merder, so he left again. She noticed him helping clear away rubble.
The day passed quickly, and it was with huge relief that Des finally went home. The sun was setting when she wearily passed the trade ship. Seeing Shamon and Heddam sitting on the ramp, she stopped.
"I hear you were both injured."
"'Twas naught but a scratch, lass," Shamon said cheerfully.
"I heard it was laser burn."
"'Tis just another scar to match my other manly one."
"His other scar," Heddam informed her seriously, "'Tis in an embarrassing place. 'Tis on his arse."
"I got it in battle," Shamon immediately interjected.
"He fell on a dagger during a fight," Heddam added quickly.
"Hell, Shamon, have you no class?" Laughing, Des shook her head.
"The lasses love it," he informed her. "It adds to my handsomeness."
"Who the hell looks at your arse, Shamon?" Heddam demanded.
"Well, I'm just wondering, because you seem pretty fond of reminding me where I have the scar!"
"Only because you brag about it constantly to the wenches!"
Laughing, Des held up her hand. "Boys, please!"
They stopped, eyes twinkling at her. These were the traders she was used to---teasing, laughing, good-hearted. But she'd never underestimate them again, not after she'd seen the deadly turn they'd taken today for her.
Laughter fading, she said quietly, "Thank you all for everything."
"Ahh..." Uncomfortable, Shamon looked away.
"No need, lass," Heddam said. "'Twas our pleasure."
"You could have gotten seriously hurt, or died---"
Reaching out, Heddam tousled her hair as though she were a child. "Lass, we care for our own. Speaking of which, I do believe Simon is waiting for you in there." He gestured to her home not far away.
"Speaking of which," she replied, "You are all welcome inside. My home is your home now. I'll adjust the print settings to take your body prints. Anytime, you're welcome."
"Well, that's really sweet, lass." Shamon grinned widely. "However, I don't think Simon would be pleased if we did that tonight."
Des felt a red blush creep up her cheeks as he eyed her teasingly.
"Oh, nay," Heddam agreed. "I think he has plans."
"I get the idea," she muttered.
"Of course, you are most welcome to take refuge here," Shamon added.
"I'm going to bust you in a minute." Des swung on her heel and headed for home, grinning even though she was blushing.
Laughter, deep and teasing, followed her. The Daamens were shocking teasers she'd realized that awhile ago. And it seemed she was now included in that teasing, which warmed her inside.
What an idiot.
She was still chuckling softly when she entered her home. The delicious smell of food hit her first, and she inhaled deeply, the rumbling of her stomach a sudden reminder that she hadn't eaten all day. "I'm home!"
Chels and Fuzz ran up to her, purring happily. Going down on one knee, she hugged them to her, swallowing the lump in her throat at how close she could have come to losing them.
Getting to her feet, she found Simon leaning against the corner of the wall at the end of the corridor. He had a tea towel slung over one broad shoulder and a smile of welcome on his face.
Des walked right up to him and hugged him tight, burying her face in his neck and inhaling deeply. He smelt wonderful and so familiar---clean, masculine, and fresh. Strong arms cradled her to him gently and when she tipped her head back to gaze up at him, she saw that the fury had gone from his eyes to be replaced with warmth and love.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"'Twas my pleasure," he said simply, and kissed her gently.
It wasn't a kiss full of lust and hunger, but a gentle reminder of what they meant to each other, and it had her blinking tears from her eyes when he finally released her.
Pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, Simon said quietly, "Dinner is nearly ready. I know you're hungry. You haven't stopped all day."
"Nor have you." She pulled away reluctantly. "You're all nice and clean while I'm such a grot. I'm going to have a quick shower."
Giving her messy braid a gentle tug, Simon released her.
The shower was blissful, the water warm and the soap fragrant. Reluctant to leave the shower, she leaned against the wall as the water rinsed the dirt and soap from her.
She was still leaning against the wall with her eyes closed when the glass door slid open and she felt a big, hard body move in against her. The door slid shut.
Keeping her eyes closed, she smiled. "And which lover is gracing my presence?"
"The only lover you'll ever have from now on," Simon's deep voice rumbled.
Opening her eyes, she looked up at him.
His long fair hair was still confined at the nape, but wet strands hung over his broad shoulders. One forearm was braced against the wall up near her head, enabling him to lean down to her and use his other hand to catch her chin in a firm but gentle hold, holding her still for his kiss.
The heat of his naked body, so hard, silken skin over muscular swells, seeped into her, and with an enthusiastic sigh, she looped her arms around his neck and pressed against him.
His bigger, broader body protected her from most of the water. Simon kissed her gently at first, then a little harder, a little deeper.
Almost desperate.
She felt the same, seeking his every breath, a reassurance that both of them were alive, that they'd survived.
Desperate, yet their lovemaking remained tender, passionate, a worshipping of each other.
When his big hands at her waist lifted her back against the wall, she automatically wrapped her legs around his waist, opening herself to him, and when he sank his hot, hard length inside her, she moaned in pure ecstasy.
Pressing her back against the wall, Simon cupped her cheek tenderly in one hand. Looking deep into her eyes, he said, "I love you, Des."
"I love you, too," she whispered.
Then they moved together, their mouths meeting, breaths merging, as he thrust into her, his movements steady, controlled, designed to bring her pleasure, as much pleasure as he got from being inside her.
They came together in an almost gentle tide of passion that left them breathless but at peace. Enjoying the intimacy, they stayed in the shower for several more minutes, the water beating down upon them while Simon bent over her, his forehead resting against hers, leaning against her as she pressed back against the wall.
Finally he reached over and turned the water off, stepping out of the shower with her hand in his.
In an easy intimacy, content and quiet, they dried themselves off and padded into the bedroom, where Des slipped on a nightgown and Simon pulled on his pants.
Taking her hand again, Simon led her into the kitchen and sat her down at the table. Taking the food from the warmer he set the plates on the table, then sat down opposite her.
They smiled at each other.
"So," Simon said, picking up the fork. "Tell me about your day."
It was as simple and beautiful as that.
Sedam and Carlow completed Simon's trading trip that he'd abandoned to come to Des's aid. While they completed the nearby planets, Simon and his crew assisted in clearing the settlement for the builders to come in and rebuild the stores, taverns and homes.
He spent his nights loving Des and holding her in his arms afterwards, sleeping with her curled into his protective embrace. The days he helped while she oversaw the settlement and relief peacekeepers---and dealt with her father.
Creed came to the settlement breathing fire, but he could only bluster because everything was over. So he hugged his 'baby girl' several times and stomped around.
He also came and saw Simon privately. Simon watched him approach the trade ship from the shelter of the ramp, where he was sitting alone, enjoying the cool afternoon air laden with the scent of rain.
Creed came to a halt before him. His hard eyes were direct. "I'm not bullshitting around here. Thanks for all you did for my daughter, Simon. She means the world to me. I'd have killed her bitch mother myself if I'd known what she was planning." His fist went white-knuckled. "The only good Gracie ever did was gift me with my baby girl." His hand relaxed a little. "I know you love Des, and she feels the same. I'd be proud to have you for a son-by-marriage."
Unprepared for such an impassioned speech by a hard-eyed bounty hunter, Simon was a little stunned. "Ah ... thanks."
"I know you'll do well by her." A warning flickered in Creed's eyes. "You ever hurt my baby girl, trader, and I'll come for you. I may be smaller and not as strong, but I won't come alone. You got that?"
Placing his feet on the ground, Simon looked down at Creed. "You have my word I'd never hurt Des, Creed. She's my lass, and I care for my own."
"Be sure you do."
Simon couldn't help it. His inner devil poked at him. "And being my future father-by-marriage, I guess that makes you part of my family, too."
Creed looked stunned, then downright embarrassed. "Right." He shuffled his feet, glanced around. "Right then. I'm going into the settlement now."
Amused to see the bounty hunter so uncomfortable, Simon said, "Have a good night."
"Yeah." Turning around, Creed started rapidly for the settlement.
"Oh, and take care ... Dad."
It took all Simon's composure not to laugh outright when Creed tripped over his own feet then swung around to glare at him. Cheerfully Simon waved at him. Creed glared again then stalked off into the night.
"Aw, that's so sweet." Des came around the side of the ship to stand beside Simon and watch her father. Laughter danced in her eyes when she looked up at Simon.
"'Tis what we call our fathers-by-marriage," Simon said cheerfully.
"Is that what he's going to be?" Des raised one brow.
Simon looked down at her. "You needn't think you're getting away from me, lass."
"You know, I don't believe you ever asked me outright to wed you. What if I choose not to?"
Caging her back against the ramp by the simple process of putting his hands on it either side of her shoulders, Simon leaned down to look into her teasing eyes. "Wench, you are going to wed me."
"You're such a romantic," she cooed.
Shaking his head, Simon kissed that cooing mouth, plundering the depths with no mercy until she was panting and gripping his vest in both vests. Lifting his head, he grinned. "Aye, I'm such a romantic. Want to have some rough sex?"
"Down and dirty. Love to. But I don't suggest we do it in full sight of everyone."
He laughed, heat already coursing through him as it always did when she teased him. He knew he'd never have enough of her.
She grew serious. "Simon, about this marriage thing..."
"Aye?" Sensitive to her change of mood, he met her gaze steadily.
"Where will we live?"
He'd thought about that. Thought long and hard. "Des, you love your job. I'd never take it away from you. I'm a trader."
"And I wouldn't take that from you."
He shrugged. "So we live here, you work as a peacekeeper and I'll continue trading."
"Away from your home? From Daamen?"
"My heart is with you, Des, and where you are is home. I'll establish a base here, and trade for my people from here."
Looking over his shoulder to the lights of the settlement beyond, Des murmured, "You've thought this through, haven't you?"
"Aye."
"So have I."
Curious, he studied her. "And what did you come up with?"
Des looked back at him, her own gaze as steady as his. "I'll go back with you to Daamen, to the Lawful Sector, and get a job as a peacekeeper there. Or some kind of job."
Her announcement stunned him. "But Des, your home here, your job---"
"It's a job, Simon. You're my heart." She smiled up at him. "If I'm going to wed you, then I think I need a job that's a little safer."
"Safer? You?" He raised his brows laughingly.
"Yes. You will let me take my lycats, won't you, because I'm telling you now, where I go, they go. We three come as a package."
"'Twas never in question, lass."
"Unless, of course, you've changed your mind about introducing me to your family."
Dropping one hand to cup her firm buttock, Simon squeezed warningly. "Never say that, wench."
The thought of introducing her to his family filled him with pride. The thought of her living with him on Daamen made him happy. Added to it, he corrected himself. He loved his home world, but anywhere with Des would make him happy.
But he had a few misgivings. "What about your friends here?"
Des shrugged. "I'll miss them, but they can visit, just as I fully intend to come back and visit." She raised one brow at him. "Got a problem with that?"
"Cheeky wench. Why would I?"
"Because you'd be providing the transport here. Though, of course, I could fly myself here."
"Not bloody likely."
"I hope you're not going to swear like that in front of your family," she reproved. "They'll think I taught you."
"What on earth would make them think that?" Amused, he dropped a kiss on her lips. "I expect your father and his pack want to visit us?"
"They're staying with us, too, when they visit. Got a problem with that?" Looping her hands around his waist, she tugged him closer while looking sultrily up at him. "We wouldn't be able to fool around, of course, when they come to visit. You're too loud."
"Don't worry, I'll find a way for us to have loud sex without them hearing. And wench, I beg to differ; you're the one who is loud."
"I say you're wrong. Want to prove it?"
"Here?" He waggled his brows.
"Pervert. No, in my bed."
"I do believe you made me howl on the table once." Bending down, he threw her over his shoulder and strode towards her house.
"Hey!" She slapped his bottom. "You can't cart the Head Peacekeeper around like this!"
"Wait until I handcuff her to the bed. Or table. Mayhaps both." Grinning, he strode up the steps of her house.
Finding Des, loving Des, just made his life so ... whole.
And when she patted his backside like that, it just made him ... hot.
Simon grinned. "Get ready to burn, baby."
Leaning against the wall in the small alcove, Simon listened to the voices coming down the corridor of the Intergalactic Peace Ship.
"Damn it, Des, I told you to keep your mouth shut in that meeting!"
"I made no promises, Uleah. Bugger me, those bastards are as blind as bats and deaf as door nails!"
"She has a point, Uleah," Sabra said. "They can be thick."
"You stay out of it, Sabra. You did nothing but encourage her in there."
"But they took notice, right? That's what we wanted. Uleah, you're too soft."
"Too soft?" Uleah was outraged. "You women dare to tell me I'm too soft?"
"It's why you take us into the meetings with you," Des pointed out.
"I don't take you two, you just barrel in!"
"So don't hold the meetings when you know we're around."
"This meeting, Desdemona, was made when you two were supposed to be away on that mission!"
"So we finished early."
"You came home faster than any normal ship could have. How did you do that? No, wait, I don't want to know. Just as I don't want to know what made you think threatening to kick a council member's arse was going to win them over."
"We got what we wanted, so what's the problem?"
Uleah groaned.
Cam grinned as he and Simon watched the three Security officers come around the corner. Uleah walked between the wenches, Des towering over him while Sabra stood a few inches shorter than the man.
The look on his face was one of long-suffering, but there was an undeniable twinkle in his eyes.
"He loves 'em," Simon drawled.
"They boss him around shockingly, but he loves 'em," Cam agreed.
"They boss us around, too."
"And we love 'em."
"How mad are we?"
"Incredibly."
When Des had stated she'd look for another job, they'd both thought a peacekeeper. He hadn't expected Uleah to approach her with a position in the Security. He also hadn't expected her to talk with him about it long into the night, wanting his opinion.
But he knew how much she loved action, how much she thrived on challenges. There was no way he could deny her, though he knew, even if she hadn't told him so seriously, that she'd knock the offer back if he wasn't happy. She'd take a peacekeepers job instead.
He'd simply kissed her and told her that if she wanted the job, she could have it, but if she ever got herself seriously hurt, he'd come after her hide.
Which, of course, had prompted a smart-arsed reply and from there the ensuing wrestling match had turned to hot loving. Nothing unusual.
It was what he planned now. Des had been gone for two weeks on some secret mission with Sabra, while Cam and Simon had gone about their trading trips in the Lawful Sector. Apart from the odd communication with their wives, neither really knew much of what happened. They never commented on the healing wounds the wenches sometimes came back bearing.
He feared for her life, but Simon knew she was able to care for herself. Life wasn't a certainty, but they could be happy.
He was deliriously happy, even though the lycats sprawled across his bed when Des wasn't there and woke him up with enthusiastic licks and purring.
Stepping out into the corridor, Cam swung Sabra up into his arms, catching her unawares. Or so he thought.
"We saw you," she smirked.
Cam rolled his eyes.
Slipping his arm around Des's waist, Simon kissed the top of her head. "How goes it, lass?"
"Fine. Mission completed, meeting dealt with, silly bastards sorted out in both areas." She grinned widely, her hand on the back of his waist.
"Uleah, 'tis a brave man you are, putting up with these wenches," Simon said.
Des's hand slipped to down to cup one of his buttocks, and he glanced down sideways at her. With their backs to the wall, no one could see what she was doing. The bold wench was squeezing his buttock, then her hand slipped lower.
He nearly swallowed his tongue when her hand sipped into the small gap between his thighs at the back. Too late to bring his legs together, all he could do was keep a straight face while his libido surged.
"You can say that again," Uleah said.
"What?" Trying to get his thoughts together, Simon brought his face back into focus.
"Being brave to have these women in my employ." Uleah shook his head. "The things they get up to ... well, let's just say I get a break when they go home. Now they're both your problems until next month."
"A month off?" Cam grinned down at his wife, who he had set on her feet beside him.
"Aye." She winked up at him.
Simon bit the inside of his cheek when Des's hand behind him caressed between his thighs then pressed gently upward, not quite near his perineum.
Looking down, he saw her smiling calmly at Uleah. "Well, I guess we'll see you in a month's time, then."
"I should have my ulcer under control by then." He waved to Simon and Cam. "Good luck."
"So." Des grinned widely up at Simon. "Are we leaving right away?"
"We need to talk about something first. In your room."
Still hidden by the wall behind them, Des's fingers rubbed boldly, nearly making him go on fire. "I can't wait to get home and see the Chels and Fuzz. Has your mother been feeding them?"
"They're getting fat and have been sleeping on her bed, much to my father's disgust." God above, he was going to go on fire any minute.
"Really?" Partly turning, she pressed her breast against his arm, the action innocent to all but the knowing, laughing Cam and Sabra. And Simon.
"Stars..." he managed. "Des..."
"Are you all right?" Mock concern in her eyes, Des pressed her hand to his brow. "No temperature, but you're looking a little flushed. Poor baby." She kissed him lightly. Then deeply.
Really deeply.
Throwing caution to the wind, not to mention self-respect, Simon grabbed for the teasing wench, but she'd quickly stepped back to wave to Cam and Sabra, who were laughing as they walked away.
"I'll see you back on Daamen," Cam called back to Simon.
Trying to concentrate on anything but the deliciously rounded bottom of his wife that was in front of him, Simon looked at him. "You're heading back now?"
"Hell, nay! Sabra and I always spend the first night here ... discussing ... things." Cam winked, his hand dropping down to rest on Sabra's bottom.
Grabbing his hand, Sabra pulled it away from her backside. "Watch it."
"I'll watch it, all right," Cam's voice floated back to Simon as they turned the corridor leading to the private quarters set aside for the Security personal. "When it's bent over the table and---"
A giggle, so uncharacteristic of the Sabra everyone knew, but commonly heard when in Cam's teasing presence, cut off the words. There was a shriek, a deep boom of laughter, and a door slammed shut.
Cam and Sabra had gone to discuss ... business.
Turning to face Simon, Des tucked her thumbs into her belt and grinned. "Want to go and get a drink?"
Grabbing her belt, Simon jerked her right up to him and growled, "You've raised a thirst all right, lass, and I'm going to quench it. Now."
"Oh my." She fluttered her lashes. "Hot drink?"
"Hot 'tis right." He grinned wolfishly. "You're going to burn."
"Burn. My, my, my. You only use that word when you're horny, lover." Reaching down, Des boldly cupped his swelling staff through his pants. "Oops. Better get you someplace private, trader, before you're arrested for flaunting yourself so brazenly."
The wench was shameless. Grabbing her hand, Simon turned and almost dragged her down the corridor. Laughing, she skipped up beside him and easily fell into step.
Controlling his now raging libido was an effort, but Simon managed to paste a pleasant smile on his face while they passed the other occupants of the huge Intergalactic Peace Ship. Turning into the corridor to their private apartment, he didn't bother anymore. Even as he was turning the doorknob to open the door, he swept Des up to him and kissed her hard.
They almost tumbled inside the large cabin, and Des was still laughing as he pressed her back against the wall.
Desire thrummed through him, fire burning low in his belly. He pulled the jacket from her shoulders and tossed it aside, his fingers going immediately to the buttons on her shirt, popping them open impatiently.
"My, someone can't wait," she said huskily, her hands sliding the vest from his shoulders.
"You stoked the flames, Des. 'Tis all your fault." He kissed her throat, while pushing aside the now ruined shirt and cupping her breasts through her bra. "You're a wicked, wanton wench."
"And you're a randy trader."
He laughed, long and low. "Aye, I am. Randy for you, lass." Unbuckling her belt, he unsnapped the front of her pants and pushed them downwards, along with her underwear.
Dropping to his knees, he broke the front of her bra and tossed it aside, releasing the fullness of her breasts to his gaze, his touch ... his mouth.
Closing his lips around those tight little nipples was pure ambrosia. Sucking them, feeling them harden and Des arch back, made the fire in his loins burn. Hearing the gasp that came from her when he slipped his hands inside the waistband of her pants and tugged them down enough to cup her rounded cheeks, made him impatient to taste more.
Have more.
He felt her toe her boots off, and he shoved her pants the rest of the way down, kissing his way down her stomach as she lifted her feet and kicked the pants away.
Now she was totally naked. Sitting back on his heels, he ran his hot gaze over her. "Beautiful."
"You're still dressed," she said breathlessly.
"Think 'tis going to stop me, lass?"
That challenge was in her eyes as she stepped away. "No hanky panky unless we're both naked."
The wench liked to play games. Liked to tease. Liked to push him when it took her fancy. Never maliciously, always seductively. Their love-play at times could almost burn out of control. He loved it as much as he did their gentler love making.
Prepared for an all-out burn session, it surprised him when Des suddenly dropped to her knees before him, wrapped her arms around his neck and tipped him off balance until he was lying on his back with her draped over him.
"Sucker." Her eyes gleamed with heat and laughter.
He couldn't help but grin. "You're a handful wench. Mayhap you need to be reminded who is boss here."
"I can tell you that." Sitting up, her thighs astride his, she slid her hands seductively down the sides of his pants and started to draw them down his lean hips.
Getting up onto his elbows, Simon eyed her in carnal amusement. "Me?"
His staff sprang free, hot and hard, curving up against his abdomen.
She grinned hedonistically. "Me."
"Prove it." He sucked in a harsh breath when she gripped him in a firm hold, her thumb lazily circling the tip of his penis.
"I'll have you screaming for mercy." Her eyes were so hot now that the pale brown of her irises were almost yellow.
A fiery yellow. Molten yellow.
"Do your best," he managed to gasp out. "Dare you, in fact."
"I do love a dare," she said.
Simon's head fell back against the thick carpet when her lips slid over the tip of him, sucking gently. Stars burst before his eyes when her mouth took him in further, and further.
Fire burned through him, desire splintered his self-control.
She took him to the heights fast and mercilessly, sucking and tonguing, using her hands on his scrotum and perineum to urge him higher. His fingers hooked into the carpet, and he soared with the fire, feeling it arc up through him before spurting forth in hot seed and wild heat.
He didn't scream for mercy, but he sure as hell screamed her name.
When he finally floated down from that pinnacle, and opened his eyes slowly, it was to find Des lying atop him again, one forearm on his massive chest while she sipped from a glass of frosty berry juice and watched him with a mixture of love and satisfaction on her face.
"I made you scream." She grinned.
"You nearly killed me," he replied, lifting his hands to push a thick lock of red hair back over her shoulder. He saw the new self adhesive patch on it, but didn't comment.
"I could kiss it better," she offered, her eyes twinkling.
Plucking the glass from her hands, Simon rolled suddenly so that she tipped back onto the floor. "Stay right there."
Lifting her arms, she lazily linked her fingers and placed them behind her head. He felt her hungry gaze as he stood, pulled off his boots and yanked his pants down and off. Picking up the glass of frosty berry juice, he moved so that he straddled her, one foot each side of her knees.
She arched one brow up in amusement as he sipped from the glass, his gaze roving over her body.
Meeting her gaze, he saw the tenderness behind the mischief, the love that always glowed softly just for him, and it warmed him.
"I love you," he said softly.
"Same," she replied.
They gazed at each other, and he dropped to his knees, still straddling her. Placing the glass down, Simon leaned forward, bracing his hands either side of her head as he leaned down to kiss her gently.
She tasted of berry juice, and the faintest essence of himself. Erotic.
When she would have deepened the kiss, her lips opening eagerly, he drew back to kneel astride her. Pulling the tie from his hair, he felt the shaggy length sweep across his shoulders and down his back, just the way he knew she liked it.
Taking the tie in each hand, he pulled it taut before her eyes.
She grinned. "Ohhh. Bit of bondage, trader?"
"Afraid?"
She laughed outright.
The wench really was adorable. Faking a frown, he said, "You should be afraid."
"Of being tied up by you?" She waggled her own fine brows. "Trader, you caught and tied my heart to you awhile ago. Let's see what else you can do with that fiddly little tie right there."
"You'd be surprised." Heat flared through him again. "I'm answering your challenge."
"Did I give one?"
"Lass, you're a challenge every day."
"Oh, well then, do your worst."
Low laughter filled the room, then it turned to low gasps, and finally carnal moans. This time it was Simon's name that echoed around the room as Des climaxed, and he cradled her to him as she floated down deliciously from that erotic peak.
Lying beside her with his head propped up on one elbow and his other arm across her waist, Simon watched in contentment as Des slowly opened her eyes. They were drowsy, soft, full of love, but with that hint of mischievous laughter she kept for him alone.
"I think we're even," she said.
He laughed softly. "Well matched."
Leaning down, Simon kissed Des tenderly. Aye, well matched. He'd captured the heart of this tough Peacekeeper turned Security, and he thanked God every day for her.
Life might be unpredictable, but of several things he could be sure---life would never be dull, and it would always be full of laughter, loyalty and love.
What more could a man want?
Born in Victoria, Australia, my childhood was spent in a variety of places, both in towns and the outback. Now settled in Western Australia, I work as a nurse. A love of animals has me involved in animal welfare, and certainly explains why the cats hog my bed and the hot water bottle!
Reading has always been my escape, writing my dream. Horror, myths, legends, fantasy and history---there are no limits to the wonders to be found. And romance? Well, that adds the spice, hope and happiness ever after.
Visit www.wings-press.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.

