And overturned it certainly is. Argent’s a big man, no weasel. At a guess, I’d say he stands taller than two meters and masses ninety-five kilos, with the only fat in his body from the hamburger he ate for lunch. Broad shoulders, deep chest. Handsome, in a hard, chiseled kind of way, with short-cropped dark hair speckled with gray. Calm expression, steady, cold gray eyes that glint sharply in the light. Lying palm-down on the desktop, his hands are empty, presumably to reassure me, but it does just the opposite.