Heart of a Smuggler

by Heart of a Smuggler (lit)

  That was a thought he didn’t want to examine too closely.

  “The wench deals with some mean characters,” Heddam observed. “’Tis that bastard, Link. He’s not known for being nice.”

  “Gabie should be careful who she does business with.” Shamon frowned, watching Link gesture wildly. Every sense he had went onto alert when Link took a threatening step towards Gabie, and Shamon straightened.

  He needn’t have worried. Misha suddenly appeared from the cargo hold, striding down the ramp with a laser in her hand. Shamon couldn’t hear what was said, but Gabie was merely standing there with her hands in her pockets and in a very relaxed stance. The albino wench had the laser barrel pressed to Link’s forehead and was saying something that made the thin vermin start to back away.

  Right, the lasses were handling it, but he couldn’t just stand there. Shamon started striding across the distance separating the ships, but before he even got to Gabie’s ship Link had hurried away with a snarl on his face.

  Gabie was still watching Link leave the docking bay when Shamon came to a halt beside her.

  “Honestly,” she said without looking up. “That man has cheek.”

  Misha holstered the laser. “He’s pushing for you to take that load, Gabie. I don’t like it.”

  “He’s got two chances. None and buckleys. I’m not interested in any cargo he has without an invoice chip.” Gabie glanced up at Shamon and winked. “Have to have it all legal, you know.”

  Shamon frowned after Link’s receding figure. “You play with dangerous vermin, Gabie.”

  “All part of the job.”

  He switched his attention to her. “I don’t like it.”

  “Why, you’re worried about me. How sweet!” She smiled widely.

  The wench had a pair of enchanting dimples, one in each cheek just above that full, soft mouth. A very kissable mouth.

  Stars, what’s wrong with me? Trying to rein in his thoughts, Shamon focused on the immediate problem. “One day you’ll work with the wrong people, Gabie, and you’ll get seriously hurt.” He glanced up to where Misha was watching him with those pink-rimmed eyes that gleamed with intelligence. “Your whole crew will get hurt.”

  “I think it’s really sweet that you’re so worried about us all.” Gabie rubbed his arm in what he would have called affection, but coming from her just had to be teasing. “You can have a double helping of dessert for that.”

  “Give up trying to talk sense into Gabie,” Misha drawled. “She goes her own way.”

  “Then mayhaps you need to talk sense into her.”

  “I happen to think she has very good plans.” Misha’s eyes gleamed in amusement, but she was looking past him.

  Shamon glanced around to find Heddam, Aamun and Simon standing behind him. Simon had that damned thoughtful look on his face, Heddam’s eyes sparkled with laughter and Aamun was rubbing his jaw and smiling.

  Now what had tickled their funny bones?

  “So, gents.” Gabie stepped past him. “I’m starving. Are you all ready for something to eat?”

  “Starving, lass,” Aamun replied, his amused gaze shifting from Shamon to the sprite striding past him. When his gaze flicked back up to Shamon, there was a very knowing glint in his eyes.

  About to ask him what was so funny, Shamon was diverted by Olin and Paz coming down the ramp and falling into step with Misha.

  Shamon caught up with Gabie easily, Simon, Aamun and Heddam walking with Gabie’s crew.

  “The rest of your mob in the tavern already?” Gabie asked him without pausing.

  “Aye.” Shamon didn’t think he should mention that undoubtedly Torkra and Mikal would be with some of the tavern wenches, slaking their youthful desires.

  He also didn’t want to examine too closely just why he wasn’t happily in bed snuggled up to a warm, willing wench. Normally when in the settlements, once their business was done and they were relaxing, the single traders sought out female company for a few hours or even a night.

  He loved wenches, the more voluptuous ones especially. The fact that he hadn’t sought out a pretty wench for the last week during the trading was something he wondered about himself. He just wasn’t... interested.

  Damn, when had that ever happened before? Shamon squinted up at the sky, seeing the first star appear faintly. Only when he’d been too sick to care, which was very rare. Apart from that, he had a lusty appetite. Mayhaps he should get one of the Daamen medics to check him over when they went back to Daamen, make sure he wasn’t sickening or something.

  Misha had moved up on Gabie’s other side and they were talking quietly, their words swept away as they moved into the crowded street.

  Shamon followed, Heddam striding along beside him, the others bringing up the rear.

  They drew abreast of a tavern and Kel was waiting outside for them. “The other taverns are crowded,” he informed them. “But this one saved us some tables at the back of the room, if ’tis okay?” He looked down at Gabie.

  “Fine by me. Lead on.”

  They entered the tavern, the smell of bodies, ale and cooking food assaulting Shamon’s senses. It was crowded and immediately they were almost squashed together. Kel and Simon led the way in, the crowd giving way to their broad bodies as they moved forward.

  Finally they were all seated at the tables that had been pulled together along the back of the wall. The rest of his friends were already there, and they greeted Gabie and her crew pleasantly.

  Shamon found himself sitting at one end of the tables, Gabie directly opposite him. He had time to observe her while the tavern wenches took their food orders. The wench was no fool. While everyone gave their orders, she was looking around the room. She looked relaxed, but her eyes were suddenly serious, watchful, scanning the crowd for trouble.

  How interesting. Though he shouldn’t be surprised, for she’d not made her living as a smuggler by being a fool. And the more time he spent in her company, the more interested in her he became... and ’twasn’t that a joke on him?

  He glanced around the tables. Law-abiding traders sharing a meal and time with a motley little crew of smugglers. Shamon shook his head mentally. The Daamens had been in some strange company in their time, but this had to be the strangest.

  Although, wait... there were the space pirates they mixed with when they crossed paths with them, and the bounty hunters—grudgingly. Not that they mixed with the bounty hunters, merely gave them a tight nod if they saw them. There was history between the traders and one pack of bounty hunters in particular that went back awhile.

  “Something funny?”

  Shamon’s attention was brought back to find Gabie gazing at him inquiringly. “Just private thoughts.”

  “Mmmm.”

  Resting his forearms on the table, Shamon leaned forward slightly. “So, lass, what brings you to these parts?”

  That ever-present amusement gleamed in her eyes. “Business. How about you?”

  He laughed. “Silly question, aye? Let’s try something different.”

  Picking up her mug of ale, she took a sip and eyed him over the top of the mug. “Let’s.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “It depends.”

  “Oh?” It seemed a perfectly straight forward question to Shamon.

  “On whether it’s purely an interest question or information gathering for certain legal parties.”

  “You’re a suspicious little wench.” Shamon grinned broadly.

  “Careful, I’d say.” Picking up a biscuit from the one of the three plates scattered along the table, she bit a piece off.

  “Purely interest,” Shamon said, watching as she licked a crumb off her full bottom lip.

  Stars, he could lick that off for her. He blinked and forced his thoughts back on track. Shooting stars of Cyran, mayhaps I really do need to find a buxom tavern wench later.

  “Oh, in that case I come from Ceron.”

  “The Lawful Sector?” Shamon was surprised.

 
“Ah-ha! You thought I was from the Outlaw Sector, didn’t you?” She laughed delightedly.

  ’Twas no husky laugh, but a light, tinkling sound that had several of the tavern patrons nearby smiling as well. Shamon found himself smiling before he even realized it. The wench’s laugh was infectious.

  “I confess the thought had crossed my mind.” Shamon picked up one of the biscuits and nibbled a piece of it, only to grimace.

  “What’s wrong?” Gabie looked from him to the biscuit.

  “’Tis nuts in it. I’m not fond of nuts.”

  “Oh, you big baby. Give it here.” Reaching out, Gabie plucked the biscuit from his hand and took a big bite out of it. “Perfectly fine,” she said, managing with admiring grace not to spray crumbs all over him.

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Amused, he looked back down at the plate of biscuits, wondering if there were any there without nuts in them.

  “I could just lick them all for you first,” Gabie suggested. “Take a bite. Any with nuts I’ll eat, those without you can have.”

  “Please, I couldn’t ask it of you. Too big a sacrifice.” Choosing a chocolate biscuit, Shamon took a bite and closed his eyes, sighing blissfully. “’Tis more like it!”

  “I thought you tough traders ate steel for snacks,” Gabie teased. “Instead, I find chocolate lovers.”

  “I love all things sweet.” Opening his eyes, he looked straight at her. “And I love surprises.”

  “I just bet you do.”

  For a second they looked at each other, and Shamon wondered if she suspected his double entendre. He was surprised to hear it himself, though truth be told, he was sort of getting used to the little surprises popping up in his thoughts around her.

  Uh-oh. I’m attracted to her.

  Don’t panic. You’ve been attracted to pretty wenches before this. She’s just another pretty wench.

  But a dangerous one.

  Don’t be a fool. ’Tis just a wee wench.

  In a dangerous occupation and openly flaunting the law.

  ’Tis not my problem.

  You’re attracted to a smuggler.

  Pushing the thoughts firmly out of his mind, Shamon sat back as the tavern wenches started placing the plates of food down on the tables. The rich smell of meat and vegetables wafted through his senses and he settled down to eating and chatting, determined to keep the conversation between them light.

  Glancing around the table, he saw that his friends were chatting quite happily amongst themselves as well as to Misha, Paz and Olin. Typically, once they’d made a friendship of sorts, even though not close, they were relaxed and enjoyed themselves.

  Misha was in a light-hearted argument with Etol and Mikal about the merits of private enterprise versus legal trade. Paz was mournfully filling in poor Torkra with his tales of woe and hardship, and Olin was chatting to Aamun and Simon about, of all things, gardening.

  Shamon forked up more food. Stars help him if he ever turned into a wedded man talking about gardening, of all things!

  Gabie was talking spaceships with Heddam, who was sitting beside her, and Shamon listened. The wench was surprisingly well informed of spaceships, considering the death trap she travelled in, but Shamon found out why she had such an attachment to the ship. It had belonged to her father before he’d died in the crossover of a laser fight on the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector.

  The ship had sentimental ties.

  He’d crossed paths with Gabie quite a few times, but he’d never spent time in her company and he found he was quite enjoying it. She was like no other wench he’d ever come across. Fun-loving, thumbing her nose at the law, barely scraping under the radars, and openly enjoying crossing verbal swords with giant traders who could easily snap her in two if they were that kind of people.

  Fearless. And fearless could be dangerous. Anything could go wrong during smuggling.

  Pushing his empty plate away, Shamon looked around the room. There was a mixture of everyday settlers and rougher elements in the tavern. And two peacekeepers who were heading over in the direction of his table.

  They came to a stop at the end of the table, their hard gazes raking over the mix of traders and smugglers.

  “Surprised to find you here,” one of the peacekeepers said to Simon.

  There was no doubt what he meant. Law-abiding traders in the company of motley smugglers.

  Green eyes sparkling with mirth, Gabie leaned back against the chair and smiled widely up at them. “Just a bunch of traders passing the time together, Michel.”

  The peacekeeper’s expression didn’t alter. “It’s you I want to see, actually.”

  “No. Really?” Gabie beamed. “I’m so touched.”

  The wench was begging for trouble. Under the table, Shamon nudged her shin with the toe of his boot in warning not to antagonize the law.

  He nearly swallowed his tongue when her booted food skimmed up the inside of his leg in reply and she lodged her heel on the edge of his chair between his thighs. He could almost feel a hot flush go through him.

  “So, what can I do for you, Michel?” Gabie looked earnest, but the devilment dancing in her eyes was plain for all to see.

  “I want access to your spaceship.”

  “But of course.” She did everything but bat her eyelashes. “Olin will take you aboard. I’m sort of in company, if you get what I mean?” She winked.

  Michel’s expression didn’t waver. “I want your cargo disc invoices.”

  Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the disc and handed it to him. “It’s all there, honey.”

  Honey? Shamon looked at Heddam, to find all his friends watching the exchange with avid interest. Misha merely looked mildly interested, Paz looked like he was resigned to life in prison, and Olin smothered a yawn.

  “I’ll be keeping this until I’ve checked your cargo.” Michel slid it into the small handtronic he pulled from inside his jacket and scanned the disc. “Interesting cargo, Gabie.”

  “Oh, you know me, Michel. I like the unusual.”

  “Yes, I know.” His gaze raked over her once more. “I know only too well.”

  The tone in the peacekeeper’s voice had Shamon studying him anew. The man was medium build and height, with sandy blonde hair neatly trimmed and a pleasant face. Handsome, some of the wenches would no doubt think. He carried an air of authority easily. Shamon caught sight of the badge partially concealed by his jacket and realized that Michel was none other than the Head Peacekeeper of the settlement.

  And Michel was no one’s fool.

  “Olin.” Gabie gestured to the older man, who got to his feet sleepily. “Go with Michel and show him our cargo. You never know, there might be something there he’d like to buy.”

  Stars above, the lass was poking a very sore wound, going by the expression on Michel’s face.

  Resting his hand on the back of Gabie’s chair, Michel leaned down until he was hovering not far from her face. The action held a threat and Shamon stiffened, looking for any indication that the lass was worried.

  Far from it, she merely looked even more amused.

  “I do hope I’m not going to find anything illegal on board, Gabie,” Michel said quietly, and the warning in his voice was clear for all at the table to hear.

  “Perish the thought, honey,” she replied cheerfully.

  “I don’t want to be slinging you and your crew into the Enforcement Building cells.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Michel.” She smiled even wider and patted his chest with a familiarity that didn’t go unnoticed by Shamon. “Everything on board is legit.”

  He stared down at her for several seconds and she winked at him. Swearing softly, Michel straightened up and stepped back. With one last warning look at Gabie, he and his peacekeeper swung about on their heels and followed Olin from the tavern.

  “The man’s going to give himself a stroke one day.” Picking up her mug, Gabie swallowed the last of the ale.

  “You know him well,” Shamon stated.<
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  “Grew up together,” she replied. “Michel always was straight-laced.”

  “Hence you two never stayed together,” Misha added.

  Heddam looked from her to Gabie. “You two were lovers?”

  Shamon felt a nasty little something curl through him at the words and managed to squash the feeling before he could examine it too closely.

  Too late. Jealous! A little voice deep inside shrieked gleefully.

  Refusing to acknowledge it, he kept his gaze trained on Gabie.

  “Me and Michel?” Gabie laughed. “No. We didn’t always see eye to eye, and as we grew up, the eye to eye thing was more and more uneven. He went into law, I went into,” she coughed, “private enterprise.”

  Shamon stroked his beard thoughtfully. The little nasty something deep inside him uncurled and disappeared. “He’s worried about you.”

  “Michel would love to sling my arse into gaol, no doubt about it,” Gabie stated cheerfully. “He’d love to make me sweat for a few days.”

  “You could end up in Cardrak, have you considered that?”

  “I doubt Michel would let that happen. He’d have me branded outlaw and claim me.”

  That nasty little something snapped right back to attention inside Shamon. Not before I claimed you, lass.

  “He’d love to have me for his personal slave, running around cleaning his Enforcement Building, scrubbing the cells, bringing him drinks and food and polishing his precious badge. Telling me he told me so, over and over and over again.”

  “Not to mention polishing his beloved planet cruiser,” Misha added.

  “For life,” Paz said mournfully. “A slave for life.”

  I could think of much better things for you if you were claimed by me, and it certainly wouldn’t be as a cleaning slave. Oh, aye, Shamon could think of much more carnal things to do with Gabie.

  “Pfft!” Drawing out a pack of cards, Gabie slapped it on the table. “Forget old Straight Lace. He’s no fun.” Her eyes gleamed as she looked around at the traders who were watching her with amusement. “Come on, people, who’s up for a game of poker?”