Heart of a Peacekeeper

by Angela Verdenius

  * * * *

  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 hard-headed 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 o
ther 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.