"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.
Four
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 everyo
ne 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?"
Heart of a Peacekeeper Page 9
