Santoro, who now had his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and a thick folder open in front of him, finished reading a sentence before looking up. More theater, but that was how the game was played.

Then he leaned back in his chair and watched the two men walk toward him. Kuga strolled with his usual insolent panther grace, but Mr. Sunday moved like a dancer. Very light on his feet, with a springiness that was at odds with his nature. Santoro closed the folder, took off his glasses, tossed them onto the desk, and extended his hand. He’d shaken this man’s hand once before and had been deeply repelled then.

As he was now.

Sunday’s grip was cool, moist, and utterly slack; and it left Santoro with a desire to wipe his own palm on the seat of his pants. Or maybe go and wash with lye soap.

“Rafael,” said Sunday in a faux Southern drawl, “so good to see you after all this time.”

“A genuine pleasure,” lied Santoro.

They smiled at each other with all the warmth and sincerity of a snake meeting a mongoose.

“Please, have a seat.” Santoro placed his fingers lightly on the phone. “Would you like coffee or something?”

“Thank you, no,” said Sunday as he settled down into his chair. He wore a tropical-weight white suit with a coral shirt and tie that blended various shades of pale reds and blues. He had gold rings on most of his fingers and an absurdly expensive wristwatch. Sunday’s fingers were unusual in that the index and ring fingers were nearly as long as the forefinger, and the pinkies on each hand were oddly thick. There was also a dusting of red hair on the backs of each phalange, and it was very thick on the back of each hand, and some of it even seemed to inch around toward the palm. Sunday had a full, sensual mouth and eyes that seemed to be a slightly different shade of green or perhaps brown, depending on how the light hit them.

But Santoro had seen those eyes change before. Literally change. And the memory haunted him.

“I have to say,” began Sunday as he crossed his legs and smoothed his hand along the top of his thigh, “it was a real pleasure to get a call from you fellows.”

“Yes,” murmured Santoro. “Kuga was very pleased that you agreed to provide your services to us.”

“Services,” said Sunday, tasting the word. “Yes.”

“We’re in a nice position for growth,” said Kuga. “The Rage thing helped us make our mark. It got us a lot of attention.”

“No doubt.”

“Mostly good attention,” continued Kuga. “People got to see what we were capable of and how far a reach we had.”

“And what do you think they learned about you?” asked Sunday.