Supremacy's Outlaw: A Space Opera Thriller Series (Insurgency Saga Book 3) T.E. Bakutis (read my book .txt) 📖

for an Advanced. Jan could almost allow himself to believe that Senator Tarack would keep her end of the bargain after they found Fatima, that she would order Bharat to disable the torture nanos and send Jan on his way.

Also, perhaps Jan was an Advanced jet pilot.

He walked out of Ceto’s oppressive summer heat and into the cool, air-conditioned bliss of the first floor of a three-story mini-mall. Summer Breeze was on the top floor — naturally — but Jan strolled past the storefronts, ignoring the suspicious side-eye he received from well-dressed customers. Those merchants who could see out of their stores avoided his gaze.

He still wore the low-rent clothes he’d bought on arrival, despite the fact that Bharat would buy him any clothes he needed, by design. Jan had no intention of blending into an area this rich. His intention was to make absolutely sure Emiko knew he was here and coming to visit, because if there was one thing that pissed Emiko off, it was surprises.

Especially from a man who was supposed to be in jail.

After a good five minutes of browsing, more than long enough for Emiko’s security people to notify her a guy dressed like a crawler driver was wandering her mini-mall, Jan took the escalator up to the third floor. A bright orange sign glowed above the wide entry, and an icon of the happy palm tree swayed beside it. Inside, a dozen plush barber’s chairs with attached sinks sat male and female clients attended by sharply dressed stylists, who shaved faces, massaged scalps, or clipped hair.

Emiko’s salon occupied a third of the upper floor. Jan knew a luxurious bathhouse waited beyond the salon, with a number of private massage rooms beyond that. Rafe’s talent for accessing floor plans was surpassed only by his talent for being annoying.

Emiko’s office — or the office of Miss Orchid Nakamura, as Emiko was known here — was at the back. Jan strolled right up to the front desk, which earned him a pair of dubious eyebrow raises from the attractive white man sitting behind it. Well, well.

While Jan preferred a bit more muscle on his casual encounters, Emiko’s receptionist had one of the most gorgeous faces he’d ever laid eyes upon. The man’s bleached-blond hair was shaped in a half-cut Jan just adored. He had cheekbones you could use to shave ice.

“Excuse me,” Emiko’s receptionist said, in a cool tone that did nothing to spoil his allure. “Are you ... lost?”

Jan stopped before the counter and rested both crossed arms on it. “Would you like me to be?”

His mark stared. “I’m sorry?”

“I’d like to schedule a close shave.” Jan lowered his voice and leaned in. “As close as you’d like, if an encounter of that sort interests you. This could be pleasant, yes?”

“I ... uh ...” The now obviously flustered receptionist flushed bright red. “I just work the desk here.”

Jan wet his lips. “Can you work anything else?”

The wall behind the desk opened silently. A short Asian woman in a lined shirt and dark skirt stepped out of what was quite literally a secret passage. She waved, casually.

“Serge!” Emiko singsonged, smiling like she wanted to murder someone. “Don’t you have some appointments to schedule?”

Jan’s wide-eyed mark — Serge, which was a rather delightful name — just stared at Emiko with his jaw hanging open. Jan reached out and closed it for him.

Emiko had scarcely aged. She still looked at least ten years younger than she actually was, with large brown eyes, a cute nose, and wide, perfect lips. Her short hair was dark now, not red, with one attractive clump hovering above her left eye.

“Ah, Miss Nakamura!” Serge’s eyes darted between Emiko and Jan. “I was just ... this man just ...”

“Miss Nakamura!” Jan performed a dangerously low bow. “How wonderful to see you again.” He straightened and beamed at Emiko. “I trust you didn’t forget our appointment today?”

Emiko breezed forward and returned his bow, though not nearly as low. “You wound me, Mr. Allan. How could I forget a long-delayed meeting with one of my oldest friends?”

Serge glanced between them. “He’s ... your friend?”

“Theodore Allan,” Jan said, dropping into the alias Emiko had suggested. “And you and I will speak again, young man.” He offered a suggestive wink, then turned to Emiko. “I see your talent for hiring talent has not dulled in these past years.”

“You flatter me, as always,” Emiko said, not at all exposing the dagger gaze he’d likely receive the moment they were alone together. “Come. Let’s speak in my office.” She glanced at Serge. “Be a dear and hold my calls, would you?”

Serge snapped to attention. “Yes, Miss Nakamura!”

Emiko stepped back into her hidden passageway. “Please follow me.”

“Delighted,” said Jan, and did so.

Apparently Emiko had installed her own series of narrow private passageways so she could move through her salon without traveling the way other people did. That fit a woman as paranoid as her. Yet Emiko neither spoke nor looked back as they practically speed-walked through the back halls.

Jan pondered explaining why he was here, but Emiko never gave him the opportunity. Finally, they emerged into what was obviously Emiko’s corner office. The view was as impressive as Jan had expected.

A wall of one-way bulletproof plastic looked down a shallow hill onto the glitz of the Luxury District. Jan took a moment to appreciate the view. Star’s Landing was a long way from Duskdale, and its Luxury District was a long way from the Sledge.

Some city planning committee had artfully arranged angular metal and glass skyscrapers with overlapping footprints, and the nearer buildings featured arrangements of hanging greenery highlighted by colorful lights. In the round courtyard below Emiko’s window,