Supremacy's Outlaw: A Space Opera Thriller Series (Insurgency Saga Book 3) by T.E. Bakutis (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📗

let him out of his cell, and it seemed that, despite Esparza’s gratitude, they were going to keep him in here as long as they liked.

He hadn’t left his cell for two days, had heard nothing from Esparza, and hadn’t dared bother Rafe beyond cursory questions and pleasantries. His time down here in this underground base could last weeks, even months, while the people on the other end of those bugs were listening.

Still, the best tool to quash suspicion was routine. The longer Jan went without saying anything remotely treasonous, the more careless and bored his listeners would grow. If five years in an orbital prison had taught Jan nothing else, they had taught him patience. And how to kill a man with a rubber hose.

Jan was thus mildly surprised when he heard the lock to his door click open in the middle of the afternoon. It was too early for dinner and too early for Rafe to be back from whatever he did all day. Was this to be another interrogation? At this point, Jan would welcome any excuse to get out of this cell.

Or Hanson, the tall brunet nurse.

Who had just entered his room wearing a nervous smile.

Jan broke into his most charming grin. “Mr. Hanson! How wonderful to see you again!”

“You too!” Hanson said, already blushing. “How have you been?”

“Comfortable and safe,” Jan said. “What brings you here?”

Jan caught a glimpse of the frowning, helmeted soldier who staffed his door. That soldier closed and locked the door to the room, leaving Jan inside here with Hanson, alone. Jan wasn’t about to miss this opportunity.

“I need to check your vitals,” Hanson said as he walked forward, “and make sure you’ve recovered from those torture nanos. Barbaric devices.” He set his medical bag at Jan’s feet.

“Of course.” Jan immediately stripped off his shirt, baring his sculpted upper body. “I am happy to endure whatever examination you deem necessary, Mr. Hanson.” He casually nudged Hanson’s medical bag closer to his own leg.

Hanson’s eyes widened by a noticeable degree. “Oh?” He swallowed and blinked. “You can call me Peter.” They really were alone in here.

“Peter, then.” Jan cat-stretched, slowly and languidly, as he turned his gaze to the wall. “Please, complete your examination without delay. I don’t want to keep you.”

“Oh no, I have time.” Hanson took a deep breath. “Just relax.” He sat beside Jan, not quite but almost certainly ogling Jan’s impressive physique, and wound a blood pressure wrapper around Jan’s bicep. “You might feel a little squeeze.”

Jan smiled at Hanson as he eased his other arm, the arm Hanson wasn’t currently wrapping, all but silently into position on his hidden side. “That’s not always unpleasant.”

Hanson swallowed, blinked, and looked away, pumping the node vigorously. Hanson’s eyes remained locked on the pressure gauge as Jan’s hand snaked down to the top of the man’s unattended medical bag, teasing open the lip. His fingers slid about inside until he found what he was looking for.

Jan was still easing his prize out of the bag when a knock at the door jerked Hanson’s gaze from his instrument. Jan yanked his prize out of sight and made sure his knee brushed Hanson’s. Hanson’s gaze met his, in shock, and Jan smiled.

Only after a long moment did he remove his knee. Just long enough to secure the thermometer he’d retrieved from Hanson’s bag beneath the bedsheets. He didn’t want Hanson thinking about cataloguing medical equipment at the moment.

“So ... your blood pressure’s fine,” Hanson said. “You’re fine, I mean. No issues.”

Jan gently patted Hanson’s leg. “I know.”

Hanson blushed furiously as he rose, then grabbed his medical bag without glancing down. The door unlocked, and the guard outside shoved it open, stalked inside, and fixed Jan with a hard gaze. Hanson slow-walked to the door.

Come now, Jan urged silently. You can do it.

“Say!” Hanson spun back around and smiled at Jan. “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

Jan looked around and shrugged. “I’ve been having dinner in this room. It’s not bad.”

“Oh, really?” Hanson frowned. “Doesn’t that get old?”

“It’s orders,” the soldier by the door said more loudly than seemed necessary. “Direct from the Commander.”

Jan got a good look at his captor for the first time — at his gray uniform, his unmarked combat body armor, and his visored riot helmet. Such gear was not unusual or suspicious for a soldier tasked with this sort of duty, and it would also make an almost perfect disguise. Could he be so lucky?

Hanson turned on the soldier and frowned. “Isn’t it a bit harsh to keep him locked up all the time? He’s our guest.”

“Orders,” the guard said again.

“Hmm.” Hanson turned and stared at Jan. “Tell you what. I’ll see what I can do about getting you clearance to stretch your legs a bit, tomorrow afternoon. Going without exercise could complicate your recovery.”

“A short walk,” Jan said, “would be absolutely lovely, Peter.”

“Time to go,” the guard said.

“Of course.” Hanson glanced over his shoulder at Jan as he walked out the door. “Tomorrow, then!”

“Tomorrow,” Jan agreed, with the widest of smiles.

Hanson would almost certainly report if a scalpel went missing while he was treating a prisoner, but there was a good chance he wouldn’t do the same for a thermometer.

Those got left behind all the time.

Tomorrow, of course, Hanson didn’t return. He also didn’t return the day after that, which led Jan to believe his cleverly laid ruse had, in fact, not been clever at all. Or Hanson had reported the thermometer missing, and soldiers were going to come in the night to shoot him in the head.

At last, his door unlocked when it wasn’t supposed