Heart of a Smuggler Read online

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Torkra shook his head. “Won’t be long, old friend, and you’ll need a walking stick.” He held out one arm. “I could help you across to the tavern?”

  “I could help you see stars.”

  “The old do lose their sense of humour.”

  Shamon grabbed him in a headlock and they got into a scuffle, ending up with Torkra pinned down on the floor and Shamon holding him down with ease.

  “You owe me an ale, lad,” Shamon informed him happily.

  “Bully.”

  Laughing, Shamon swung himself up, but the laughter died on his lips when he saw the wench striding through the huge, open doorway not far off. Bright-eyed, laughing, her gamine face alight with mischief, she was like a ray of sunshine on a dull day. Laughter bubbled in her voice. Even her stride was bouncy, full of energy.

  Trouble. Trouble on two legs had just walked through the door.

  “Hello.” Heddam stood beside Shamon and hooked his thumbs in his pants waistband. “Look who just walked in.”

  Straightening up, Torkra caught sight of the wench. “Wow.”

  “Don’t get too excited.” Shamon watched the wench approach a merchant. “She’s a smuggler.”

  Torkra’s eyebrows shot upwards. “True?”

  “True.”

  “’Tis a mighty fine looking smuggler.”

  Shamon had to admit to the truth in those words. The wench wasn’t only pretty in a gamine, mischievous way, but she had a figure to make his mouth water. She had a body a man could hold onto while sinking into feminine heat. Hourglass was the only thing he could think of when he saw her. All soft, round limbs, big bosom, pert bottom and a swaying walk that could cause a man’s tongue to fall out of his head.

  Smuggler. A flicker of annoyance rippled through him when he saw a merchant approach the wench and start talking. She pulled a disc from her pocket and proffered it to the merchant, who took it and scanned it through his handtronic. He smiled widely and nodded.

  The wench practically beamed at him.

  Another sucker taken. Shamon shook his head.

  “Did she just make a sale to that merchant?” Torkra’s jaw dropped in amazement.

  “Aye.” A frown creased Heddam’s brow. “And more fool him.”

  “But she’s right in the middle of the Lawful Sector,” Torkra protested. “Surely she cannot sell smuggled goods here?”

  “She’ll sell it anywhere she can,” Shamon replied. “And trust me, the wench is a wily one and has never been caught.”

  Right then the wily wench swung around on one heel, caught sight of the traders and laughed. Out loud. And strode across to them, her impressive bosom nestling snugly against her shirt.

  Shamon’s mouth went dry for a second before he regained his senses enough to remember that this cheating wench was intruding on honest business.

  Coming to halt right in front of the big men, she angled her head back to grin up in amusement at them. Not many smugglers would have been game to face-up the giant Daamen traders, Shamon knew. Just the thought of being in close vicinity with the towering, muscle-bound, seven foot and more giants was enough to make them swallow hard. The sight of their dangerous, roguishly handsome faces made many a wench’s heart patter madly, but the danger seemed to stand out more to those who crossed the traders. And those who made the Daamen’s black list included smugglers.

  Smugglers steered clear of the Daamens.

  Except for this smuggler and her motley crew.

  “Well, well,” she said gaily. “Finishing some business, I see?” She waved past Shamon at Simon, who, Shamon saw from a quick glance over his shoulder, didn’t know whether to laugh or frown.

  To be fair, there was something about the wench’s tenacity and boldness that tickled the humour of the Daamens... along with annoying them at times.

  “I don’t believe I’ve met you,” she continued, sticking out her hand to Torkra, who was staring at her. “I’m Gabie.”

  Not knowing what else to do, and never one to embarrass a lass, Torkra gingerly engulfed her hand in his big palm and gave it a gentle shake.

  “We’re in the same business.” She looked slyly at Shamon and Heddam.

  “I strongly doubt that,” Shamon returned. “In fact, wench, I know ‘tis not true.”

  “Why, you big joker, you!” She gave him a hearty smack on one massive bicep.

  He’d sure like to return the hearty smack on a very pert bottom.

  “He’s such a joker,” she informed Torkra.

  “Ha,” Torkra said, totally at a loss.

  “So...” Gabie eyed the loaded hover trays near the merchants with whom the Daamens were dealing. “Business is good, huh?”

  “Our business is good.” Shamon eyed the bright-eyed wench with one upraised brow, torn between the desire to laugh or scowl, an emotion never far off when Gabie was around. The wench was outrageous. “Your business isn’t.”

  “Now don’t be like that.” She patted her jacket pocket. “I have a disc and all. This is legal.”

  Heddam gave a snort of laughter.

  “A doubter! I could show you the disc, but I am busy. Selling goods, of course, legal goods.”

  “Of course,” Shamon said.

  “Here comes my crew now, so I must toddle along.” Gabie gave Shamon a saucy grin and strode off, a bounce in her stride, her glossy brown ponytail swinging jauntily across her shoulders with every step.

  Shamon had never met any wench who laughed so much. Shame she was a smuggler, for she was someone who always managed to catch his eye. He didn’t see a lot of her, she’d only turned up on the scene about four years ago, but she bobbed up now and again on the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector and in the Lawful Sector. Selling goods that the Daamens knew for a fact were mostly smuggled, for they’d seen her conducting business with some very lowlife scum

  In the four years Gabie and her crew had smuggled goods, the law had never been able to pin the smuggling tag on them, thereby outlawing them. Somehow, the wily wench flew under the radars and distributed her illegal goods.

  And she laughed about it the whole time, Shamon had no doubt, and she took great delight in greeting the Daamens like old friends when she saw them, the cheeky chit. Many of the Daamen trading crews had crossed paths with her at some time.

  “’Tis her crew?” Torkra raised his brows.

  “Aye. The albino wench with the mohawk is Misha,” Heddam supplied. “The elderly gent is Olin, a one-time outlaw so I’ve heard. The youth there,” he gestured to the thin, tall youth with the mournful face and heavy boots that only emphasized his skinny legs, “Is Paz. A sadder streak of misery you’ll never meet.”

  Shamon watched as the crew brought in several hover trays piled high with crates and barrels. Shaking his head, he watched the eager merchant part with a dinno chip, which Gabie pocketed with a huge grin.

  “All done.” Simon moved up beside Shamon. “Ah, the little smuggler surfaces.”

  “And that merchant will be sorry he ever met her if the law sniffs her out,” Aamun added, a twinkle in his eyes. “But knowing that wench, the law can sniff around as much as they like and they won’t catch her.”

  “’Twill be prison if they do,” Heddam stated.

  Prison. Somehow the thought of all that sunny brightness engulfed by the harshness of prison made Shamon shift uncomfortably. The wench might be on the Daamens’ blacklist as a smuggler, but there was something just so damned likeable about her.

  “They’ll never catch her,” Simon said, as though reading his mind. “Way too cunning.”

  Shamon certainly hoped so. He could only shake his head when Gabie looked up, spotted Simon, and waved cheerfully at him before rounding up her crew and herding them through the huge open doorway, leaving the merchant with a load of illegal goods of which it would never be proven.

  ~ * ~

  “Take this and ensure it gets to her.” The shadowy figure, breath rattling harshly in the dimness of the room, handed t
he sealed disc to the man.

  Taking it, he slipped it into the pouch that hung beneath his shirt. “I’ll see she gets it.”

  “The journey is dangerous. They will be looking for you.” The figure took a phlegm-filled breath, coughed and wiped her mouth. “You can’t be found.”

  “I’ll travel fast.”

  “It’ll be too late for me.” She coughed again, wiped the blood away with a pristine white cloth. “But make haste, make all haste.”

  He bowed and left the room.

  Lying back against the frilled pillows, she stared up at the ceiling. “Make all haste.”

  ~ * ~

  “Those Daamens didn’t look too happy to see us,” Paz stated mournfully. “You know, one day they’re going to give us a good beating.”

  Olin ignored him.

  “Because they’re legal and we’re not,” Paz continued, turning his attention to Misha.

  She ignored him.

  “One day,” he predicted morosely, “We’ll cop it from them.”

  Sharing the dinnos out between them all, Gabie laughed. “They won’t touch us, Paz, so rest easy.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because Daamens don’t beat up on those smaller than themselves, or more helpless.”

  “Are you saying we’re helpless?” Misha looked up, a gleam in her pink eyes.

  “Against them, yes.” Pocketing her dinnos, Gabie rolled her shoulders and peered out the space shield. “So, shall we head into the settlement, get something to eat and drink, have a little fun?”

  Olin roused himself from his half doze. “Sounds like a plan to me!”

  Leaving the spaceship, they walked through the docking bay and towards the settlement. Gabie saw the Daamen’s big trading ship, the ramp down, but knew that no one would get aboard, not with the security shield in place. The only ones who could pass through the invisible barrier were those who had their body pattern entered into the computers. Anyone else who tried would set off the alarms and the security door would snap shut fast enough to take anyone’s head off. Not that she’d seen it done, but she had no doubt it was set to high speed. She sure would set it that way if it was her ship.

  Laughing inwardly, she thought about the giant traders, but one in particular came to her mind. Wild, shaggy fair hair and a neatly clipped beard, built like all the giant traders and dressed in the sleeveless vest, rough linen pants and black boots that they all wore, Shamon was dangerously, rakishly handsome, as all the Daamens were, but there was something about him that drew her to him when she saw him. Maybe it was the disapproval she could feel, or maybe it was the normally merry nature of him. Whatever it was, there was something about him that called to her mischievous nature, and oh how she loved to stir him up. Or try to stir him up. The big trader didn’t rise to her bait often, but she’d seen the gleam of mixed annoyance and amusement in his eyes several times. And that just tickled her pink.

  Maybe she had a death wish. Gabie laughed out loud.

  Misha, Olin and Paz didn’t even blink, well-used to their merry captain’s sense of humour and enjoyment of life.

  The settlement teemed with life, settlers and visitors rushing about their busy ways. Gabie pushed her way through the throngs until she found the nearest tavern. It was busy.

  “Won’t be room for us.” Paz sighed.

  “’Course there will be,” Gabie assured him cheerfully. “Come on. I’m dying for a fresh meal.”

  The tavern was crowded but they found a table near the back and sat down. A tavern wench came not long after, batted her eyelashes at Olin and Paz, took the orders from them all and flounced away.

  Leaning back in the chair, Gabie looked around. She recognized a couple of lowlife scum, not bad enough to be wanted by the law but shady enough to be watched closely by the peacekeepers.

  A couple of them recognized her and came over.

  “Gabie.” The grubby, sly-eyed man greeted her.

  “Link. How’s it going?”

  “Fair enough, fair enough.”

  “Gabie.” Ross, Link’s off-sider, nodded, his eyes greedily drinking in her features.

  Gabie nodded briefly, feeling Misha shift beside her and knowing instinctively that her second-in-command had one hand on her laser. Ross was a lecherous bastard and insulting to boot. It wouldn’t take much of an excuse for Misha to shoot him in the foot. The fact that Link wouldn’t fight back was a bonus. Fighting was not on Gabie’s list of favourite things to do. In fact, it was on her things to avoid list.

  Link jerked his head at Ross, and scowling, the man moved back into the crowd. Resting both hands on the table, Link leaned forward and smiled.

  Those closest leaned back a little. The man was in dire need of a shower and dental hygiene.

  “Seen you doin’ some business with the local merchants,” Link stated, not in the least offended by the not-so-subtle movements.

  “That’s right,” Gabie replied, breathing shallowly.

  “I have some stuff that needs shifting.”

  “Hey, I don’t ‘shift stuff’. I trade.”

  “Just shift this stuff to another place for me and I’ll pay you well.”

  “Is that right?” She cocked one brow at him. “And why do you need to pay me so well? No one else will do it for you?”

  Link held out his hands and shook his head. “No one trusts me.”

  “No,” Misha said. “Really? Fancy that.”

  Link’s smile was more a grimace.

  “You got a disc with invoices for this ‘stuff’?” Gabie queried.

  “Gabie—” Paz began, alarmed.

  “Well, no,” Link said. “But it’s all legit, I assure you. If you’re caught—”

  “Sorry, no covering disc, no deal.” Gabie smiled. “You know my terms.”

  Link scowled. “Getting a disc done will cost me extra.”

  “Get me the disc and if it passes my inspection, we’ve a deal. Depending, of course, on what this ‘stuff’ is.”

  Muttering, Link stalked away.

  “Good gravy,” Gabie said. “What does he think we are? Common smugglers?” She slapped the table and laughed in amusement.

  Misha shook her head, Olin was half asleep already and Paz look so miserable one could be forgiven for thinking he was about to burst into tears.

  Two tavern wenches came with trays and practically threw the plates of hot food and mugs of cold ale on the table. They were in a hurry and Gabie saw why when they made a beeline right for a table on the opposite side of the room. The gap in the crowd showed six big Daamen traders eating and drinking at a table. Two other tavern whores were perched on the knees of two of the traders whom she recognized as Heddam and the older teenager, Torkra. Shamon was busy talking to Aamun, the oldest of the Daamens. Simon and Kel were quietly eating.

  Gabie rubbed her jaw. Shamon really should get rid of the beard, he’d look even more devastatingly handsome, rather than simply looking like a rakishly handsome bear.

  Shrugging mentally, she turned her attention to the food, which was delicious and hot. Nothing like a good meal and good company. Not that old Olin was much company, he was already looking dozy.

  The barkeeper came across to Gabie’s table minutes later, a frown on his red face. “One of the merchants upstairs wants to talk to you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Something about business.”

  “I’ll be right up.”

  “I’ll come.” Misha swallowed the last of the ale and banged her mug back on the table.

  Paz looked at Olin, who was nodding off in the corner of the bench, his meal long finished. “Want me to come, too?”

  “No, better keep an eye on Olin.” Gabie grinned. “In case his burst of energy attracts all the tavern whores and he has more than he can handle.”

  Getting up, she and Misha pushed through the crowd and up the rickety staircase. The steps groaned beneath their boots.

  “Maybe you need to cut back on the food,”
Misha commented.

  “Maybe you need to give me some respect. I am the captain,” Gabie returned.

  “With all due respect, maybe you need to cut back on the food.”

  “That’s not very respectful.”

  “No, but true.”

  About to answer rudely as they gained the upper floor, Gabie was distracted by the man standing near the door of a room not far off. He gestured to her and she crossed the space between them. Misha strode along beside her, and they came to a halt when the man held up one hand.

  “You are Gabie?” he asked her.

  “Last I knew.”

  “My boss will see you now.” He looked at Misha doubtfully. “You wait here.”

  “How about I twist your arm up behind your back?” she retorted.

  Misha was great with the tough talk. It had gotten them through a few tight situations.

  “He only wants to see your captain.”

  “Where she goes, I go.”

  He looked at Gabie.

  “What can I say?” She shrugged.

  “You’re her captain.”

  “I get no respect.” Grinning, Gabie waved expansively at the door. “Shall we?”

  Muttering, he opened the door and stood aside.

  Gabie strode inside and came face to face immediately with someone she hadn’t expected to see. Hadn’t wanted to see, in fact. She stumbled to a halt, the smile leaving her face, and Misha crashed into her back, throwing her forward.

  “Oh crap,” Misha breathed.

  Both women reached for their lasers, but it was too late. Four big brutes grabbed hold of them, two on each side.

  “Steady on!” Gabie tried her hardest to look innocent, but it wasn’t her best look. “Brucie, baby, what’s wrong?”

  The hard-eyed man weighed down with rolls of fat was no decent merchant. He was shady, calculating, and someone Gabie had sold a few things to in the past but had cut free of on her last trip. He was a leech and a user of the worst kind, and she suspected he was into more than just buying illegal goods.

  “Let go!” Misha struggled in the grips of the two brutes holding her, but couldn’t escape their meaty grips.

  Two lasers appeared, one pressed to Gabie’s temple, the other to Misha’s. Both stood extremely still.