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was soft, dry, and it startled her. Emma straightened up from her softscreen.There was a man standing before her, here in the pastel light of her Las Vegas office: a thin Caucasian, 1980s pinstripe suit, neatly cropped hair. “I surprised you. I’m sorry. My name’s Cornelius,” he said. “Cornelius Taine.”Neutral accent. Boston? He looked about forty. She saw no sign of cosmetic enhancement. High cheekbones. Stress muscles around his eyes.How the hell had he gotten in here?She reached for the security touchpad under her desk. “I didn’t notice you come in.”He smiled. He seemed calm, rational, businesslike. She lifted her finger off the button.He stretched out his hand and she shook it; his palm was dry and soft, as if even his perspiration was under control. But she didn’t enjoy the touch. Like handling a lizard, she thought. She let go of the hand quickly.She said, “Have we met before?”“No. But I know of you. Your picture is in the company reports. Not to mention the gossip sites, from time to time. Your complicated personal history with Reid Malenfant.”He was making her uncomfortable. “Malenfant is kind of high profile,” she conceded.“You call him Malenfant” He nodded, as if storing away the fact.“You’re with the corporation, Mr. Taine?”“Actually it’s Doctor. But please, call me Cornelius.”“Medical doctor?”“The other sort.” He waved a hand. “Academic. Mathematics, actually. A long time ago. Yes, in a manner of speaking, I am with Bootstrap. I represent one of your major shareholder groups. That’s what got me past your very conscientious secretary in the outer office.”“Shareholders? Which group?”“We work through a number of dummies.” He looked at her desk. “No doubt when you get back to your softscreen you’ll soon be able t