Heart of a Smuggler

by Heart of a Smuggler (lit)

  The food was delicious, and so much of it. Haunches of cooked meat, piles of roast vegetables, platters of cut-up fruit, towering cakes and big urns of hot and cold drinks. Pastries, stews, pastas, rice dishes, everything a hungry person could dream of was stacked behind the serving counters.

  Servers were busy filling plates with people’s orders and handing it to them across the top of the servers. Some workers were obviously waiting on tables, for they piled plates on little trolleys and headed back to certain tables.

  “I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven,” Gabie breathed.

  While she ogled the dishes and tried to make up her mind, Shamon kept his hand on her back and ordered his and Heddam’s food. By the time the sweetly smiling server had handed him his plates, Gabie didn’t care. If the server was so pleased to see Shamon, she’d serve Gabie fast just to impress him. She could live with that.

  Misha walked beside her as they carried their plates. Merissa walked in front of them. Shamon walked behind them balancing both plates and Paz, Olin and Brion brought up the rear.

  They had to stop while several servers angled past them with their trolleys. Gabie was gazing around when Misha let out a low hiss.

  “Hmm?” She glanced at her.

  Misha was staring at someone.

  Gabie looked over but she didn’t see anyone of particular interest. She did see Sabra and a huge Daamen trader with wildly rioting curls spilling over his shoulders walk in the door. More people followed.

  Misha looked pale.

  “What’s wrong?” Gabie whispered.

  “I think... I think I saw...”

  “What?”

  “Emet.”

  “What?”

  Misha hushed her quickly and when Merissa gave her a narrow-eyed look over her shoulder, Misha smiled calmly, took a piece of meat off her plate and chewed it, making noises of appreciation.

  “Are you sure?” Gabie whispered as soon as Merissa looked away again.

  “No. Yes. Maybe.”

  “Where?”

  They started moving forward again.

  “I thought he was behind Sabra.”

  “There is no one behind her expect, oh, a stack of people. None of them look like Emet.”

  Misha took another long look then sighed and shook her head. “I’m seeing things.”

  Gabie wasn’t so sure. Misha rarely imagined things. But Emet wasn’t here, he was millions of miles away by now. She hoped. There was no way a wanted outlaw would be walking in the midst of a ship chock full of the law.

  They finally came back to their table to see that Sabra and the curly-haired giant were chatting to Heddam. The curly-haired giant had his arm resting on the back of Sabra’s chair, and Gabie didn’t miss the way she leaned slightly towards him, even while she talked. Gabie blinked. Whoa, the security officer had her hand resting on that massive thigh, too.

  “Shamon,” the dark-haired giant greeted him cheerfully.

  “Cam.” Shamon nodded back. “I should have guessed you’d be waiting here for your love.”

  “Always, my friend, always.” Dark eyes switched to Gabie, the expression friendly and relaxed. “I’ve heard you’re having some interesting times.”

  Shamon set his plate on the table and sat beside Gabie. “Gabie, ’tis Cam, Sabra’s long-suffering husband. Cam, ’tis Gabie, my wife-to-be.”

  Gabie choked on a bite of meat, Misha laughed, Paz stared open-mouthed, and Olin grinned faintly.

  Shamon patted her helpfully on the back. “The lass is still trying to get used to the idea,” he explained to Cam.

  Gabie downed the glass of water that Sabra handed to her and finally got her breath back.

  “Congratulations are to be given, then.” Cam’s eyes twinkled. “When’s the happy day?”

  “After Shamon’s funeral, apparently,” Misha informed him.

  “Cripes!” Gabie turned and glared at Shamon. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” He held up a napkin. “Want a wipe?”

  She snatched it out of his hand and bunched it up in her fist. Cripes. Paz. Paz had no idea, and now it had been sprung on him and what would the poor boy think?

  “Paz.” She turned around to face him across the table. “I’m so sorry. I—”

  “It’s about time.” Paz shook his head sadly. “You took so long coming to grips with it, I thought I’d grow old waiting for you to make up your mind.”

  Well, that floored her. Misha, the vindictive cow, was laughing so hard she was going to fall off her damned chair any second. Heddam wasn’t much better.

  “You just can’t hide anything from this boy.” Olin proudly patted Paz’s shoulder.

  “You knew?” She couldn’t believe it.

  “We all knew, Gabie.” He sighed heavily. “You were the only one who didn’t seem to know until much later.”

  Relief pored through Gabie. Paz knew and he was okay with it. He wasn’t freaking, unlike she’d done. Even Olin looked happy.

  She pointed the fork at Paz. “You and I are going to have a little chat later about what else you might know.”

  He wasn’t worried, just resumed gawking at everything around him.

  “See.” Misha wiped her eyes. “Nothing to worry about. Mountains out of molehills.”

  “I’ll give you molehills if you don’t stop laughing.”

  “You should have seen the expression on your face.”

  “I liked it,’ Shamon rumbled from beside her.

  “You would.” She fought the smile.

  His lips brushed her ear as he whispered seductively. “I like your expression even more when I’m deep within your tight little sheath and you’re screaming my name.”

  Luckily she had nothing in her mouth because she would have choked again. Instead, she gave a cough and said, “Yes, well...” picked up her fork and stabbed a potato.

  He laughed and straightened up. His big arm brushed against hers as he picked up his own fork and resumed eating.

  It seemed the rest took pity on her flustered appearance and talked amongst themselves as they ate.

  It wasn’t long before Gabie noticed her friends ending furtive glances over her shoulder. Gabie raised her brows but Misha could only look at her with wide eyes.

  Wide eyes wasn’t good.

  “I think... I think I saw...”

  “What?”

  “Emet.”

  Oh crap. Gabie stared at Misha while pretending to take a sip from the water glass. Misha bobbed her head once.

  No, no, no. This was not good. This was bad. Olin, who was sitting beside Misha, was smothering a yawn with one hand, but his pinkie was waving frantically. A waving pinkie meant trouble.

  Trouble that was disturbing both Olin and Misha could only mean Emet.

  Emet was here.

  A clatter sounded, someone cursed, a mumbled apology and then a stunned cry rose above the murmur of a hundred or more voices.

  Everyone at Gabie’s table looked around. Four tables from them a man stood, wine spilled down his elegant, fur-trimmed robe. The man by his side was reaching for an empty holster, disgust on his face when he realized he carried no weapon, having had to give it up when he boarded the IPS.

  The man backing away from him had yellow hair but there was no mistaking Emet. It was a very bad wig. Where the hell had he got it? Maybe it had looked all right when he’d had the scarf he wore wrapped around the bottom part of his face, but it was half pulled off now.

  There was mistaking those dark eyes or pale face, though.

  “Oh, no.” Misha sucked in a harsh lungful of air. “Gabie!”

  Sabra, Brion and Merissa looked sharply at Gabie and Misha, but Sabra returned her attention to the men standing.

  “Help!” the man with the fur-trimmed robe yelled. “He’s a wanted murderer! He killed my wife!”

  It hit Gabie in a flash. This was the man who had set Emet up, the one who had hunted him.

  Security guards were popping up all over the pl
ace like corks from bottles. Soldiers appeared like ants from two doorways.

  And Emet ran.

  If it had of been Gabie, she’d have run, too. She totally approved of that method. It had served her well in the past.

  Then Misha was up and running, dodging around the table, evading Merissa’s hands as the security officer lunged forward. Never one to think things through, Misha was up and over the nearest table.

  That caused a commotion. People yelled and screamed, plates hit the floor and everyone started getting up.

  “Grab her!” Sabra bellowed.

  “Misha!” Olin yelled.

  Paz was open-mouthed, then he gathered his fragile courage together and followed Misha.

  Now soldiers were aiming for Misha and Emet, people were dodging others, and yep, things had gone to hell in a hand basket. There was only one thing for it. Misha was in trouble and Gabie was in the hand basket with her.

  “Nay!” Shamon made a grab for her, catching her collar as she started upwards.

  Well, she’d gotten away from jacket clutches before now. One swift shrug of her shoulders and she was out of the jacket, leaving it dangling in Shamon’s fist.

  Brion and Sabra were heading right for her and Olin, bless him, dived over the table and crashed into Brion.

  Gabie leaped over the next table, inwardly cringed as her hand landed in a bowl of cream, and then she was sprinting after Misha, who had changed directions while she chased after Emet and dodged two IPS soldiers.

  The fur-trimmed man was trying to follow and closing in fast behind Emet, the crowd allowing him to gain the upper hand.

  Briefly Gabie caught sight of a tall, imposing, black robed-figure stopping in the doorway, his mouth open in amazement. That was all she could see before someone grabbed her arm and swung her around.

  It was an IPS soldier, and he was yelling something at her to do with “Get down!” or “Stop!” or some such rubbish, because really, when it came to coming to a friend’s aid, who the heck stopped? She retaliated by grabbing a bowl of mashed potatoes and letting him have it full in the face.

  Give the man credit, he tried to hang on, but Shamon was bounding over a table and clearing it in one stride, and he didn’t look happy, so she was in no mood to give credit to anyone. Placing a boot in the soldier’s stomach, she pushed hard. He still didn’t let go but one of the fleeing, screaming women tripped right over Gabie’s leg and broke the soldier’s hold on her.

  Gabie took off running until she skidded in some spilt gravy and went down on the floor, bringing four women down with her. No time to be gracious, she kicked her way free and on hands and knees scuttled under the tables. This was a technique she was familiar with, and by the time she came out the other side she’d put a bit of distance between herself and Shamon, as well as Sabra who looked like she could eat nails for breakfast. Her face was like thunder.

  Forget the luxurious cabin, Gabie had no doubt the cells would be her room for the next several years.

  A soldier had caught hold of Emet and they were grappling. Misha threw herself on top of them. Freeman was now in the mix, trying to drag Misha off the soldier.

  The fur-trimmed man was making for them all, and in his hands she caught the dull sheen of a knife. Cripes, was he going to try and stab Emet with a butter knife or something? Then she caught sight of a sharp blade and realized that he’d grabbed a carving knife from the haunch on his table.

  He was going in for the kill, and her best friend was in-between him and his prey.

  Gabie surged forward, using her elbows and boots, pushing and kicking her way through. Someone yelled her name, a hand grabbed for her, and she gave the owner an almighty shove, sending him backwards into a pile of people.

  A gasp of horror rose above the clamour of stampeding people, though now it seemed the stampede was less, as though they were getting under control.

  That wasn’t a good thing, it gave less cover, but hell, she was in the manure right up to her eye balls, so no point worrying about that now. Spotting the bastard nearing the grappling group, Gabie jumped up onto the table and ran fast.

  A plate of peas went up in the air, a bottle of wine tipped over and she sprang from the chair, across the open space and up onto another table.

  Keeping her eyes on the fur-trimmed man, she judged the distance and leaped. Landing on his back, she brought him down amidst some very elegant ladies. They rolled away screaming so loud she thought her ear drums would burst.

  It was the least of her problems. The fur-trimmed man snarled and slashed back at her with the carving knife, slicing through her shirt sleeve.

  “You wanker!” She exploded furiously and grabbing his hand, she bit him.

  Hey, fancy that, he screamed like a girl. Gabie felt a well of victory until she realized she was tasting his blood and spat out his hand in disgust. He made to scramble away but she was onto him like a vagrat, angling her arm under his throat.

  He got rid of her by simply rolling and squashing her beneath him, the rush of oxygen from her lungs forcing her to let him go and shove him away instead.

  The man was persistent, she’d give him that. He was off and running, but so was she. No way was she letting anyone hurt her friend.

  Then she saw the man stab out with the carving knife, and he was running in a direct collision course with—her heart froze. Shamon.

  Shamon was pushing his way through the crowd and his attention was on Gabie. He didn’t seem to see the man, the craving knife.

  No! Her heart stuttered. Shamon was going to be seriously injured, maybe killed, and there was no way—no way—the man she loved was going to die by any bastard’s hand!

  Letting out a yell of rage, she grabbed a bottle as she hurtled past an empty table. She bounded up on a table, threw the bottle, missed the man and did the now familiar launch.

  The landing hurt this time, mainly because the man’s heels were right in her abdomen. Well cushioned she might be, but some things still hurt. Gritting her teeth, she hung on, even when he shook her so hard her teeth almost rattled. Shamon was safe and that was all she cared about. Oh yeah, and Misha, of course. And Emet.

  When had life gotten so complicated?

  The man yanked loose suddenly and she started to follow, pushing up onto her hands, only to be stopped by a long, swishing black robe appearing directly before her. And two big boots to her right. And a smaller pair to her left.

  Blowing out a puff of air, she blew a hank of hair off her face and looked up slowly. The big boots were attached to a security uniform. The smaller pair to her left were attached to a security uniform, and going by the cursing in a familiar, husky voice, it was Sabra.

  The black robe, now, that could only belong to one person. She looked higher and swallowed. And higher. Until finally she had her head cranked back and was looking up into the furious face of Meekta.

  That was bad, but worse was when she heard Olin let out a yell from somewhere and she remembered Misha. Planet leader or not, Meekta was in her way. In a fast move she started to push up, only to have two big hands come under her arms and yank her upright. She was pulled back against a giant body and the two big arms came around her from behind.

  “No!” she yelled. “Shamon, let me go! Misha’s in danger! Misha!”

  “Gabie, stop!” His voice was loud in her ear as he tried to hold her. “Misha is safe. Gabie. Misha is safe!” He swung her around. “See?”

  It was true. Panting, Gabie saw Misha and Emet standing with Paz and in front of them stood four security guards. Beside them stood Uleah. Misha had one arm around Paz’s shoulders and the other hand she had on Emet’s arm.

  Misha managed a weak grin at Gabie and an even weaker wave.

  Relieved, Gabie slumped back into Shamon’s hold. His hold gentled and he breathed softly into her ear, “’Tis all right, sweet lass. ’Tis all right.”

  Remembering the fur-trimmed man, she started to stiffen, only to see him being escorted from the hall by two securi
ty guards. At least for this minute, Misha was safe. And Shamon.

  She started to look up at him, only to be diverted by Meekta stalking around to face her. Fury emanated from every part of his body, but his voice held icy control.”You will be escorted to the interview room, and you better have a damned good explanation.”

  He stalked from the room, Uleah by his side.

  Sabra appeared beside her. “Come on.” Oddly, she didn’t look unhappy. Her face might have been calm and cool as always, but there was a sparkle in those cobalt eyes, and a spring in her step as she looked towards Emet and Misha.

  “I’m coming with Gabie,” Shamon told her.

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Shamon put Gabie down but retained a hold on her hand. Her very sticky hand. As she followed meekly beside him, she was more than aware of the number of angry faces glaring at her. Probably because many of them wore their meal on their clothes and in their hair. Well, she did, too, but they didn’t find her complaining, did they? Sheepishly she avoided their gazes. When in doubt or guilty, deny everything and look at nobody.

  Her fingers curled tightly around Shamon’s and he gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.

  As they stepped out into the corridor, she looked up at him. He towered above her head, shoulders and a bit of chest. “Are you mad at me?”

  He actually turned his head and looked down at her in amazement. “What?”

  “You know. Are you mad?”

  “Wench, I’m furious, but let’s not discuss that right now.”

  “Good plan.” If he was furious, waiting was good. Maybe his temper would blow over. She hoped.

  It was a comfort to know that even though he was mad—furious—he still sought to comfort her, his bigger body sheltering her from angry and curious looks, her hand almost tenderly held in his.

  He was like a big, angry, teddy bear. She decided to cling to that comparison because any other thought was frankly a little daunting. It was daunting enough that she and her friends were in deep shit with just about every law officer on board the ship, not to mention the highest planet leader.

  It seemed like the longest walk but the shortest time before they were standing in the interview room, lined up like criminals in front of the table behind which Meekta had sat. Uleah stood to one side, while Shamon leaned against a nearby wall, having had to relinquish her hand.