Heart of a Peacekeeper

by Angela Verdenius

  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 t
he 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 y
ou'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."