Heart of a Peacekeeper

by Angela Verdenius

  "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."