One older trainer stood near the boxing ring. His name, according to the patch on his shirt, was Raymond Price. He was in his sixties, with silver hair and a face that looked permanently tired.
Raymond had been watching Cole from the moment he entered.
Now he approached slowly.
“Derek,” he said, “you should reconsider this.”
Derek rolled his eyes.
“Not you too.”
“I’m serious.”
“He sells heating and air-conditioning equipment.”
“That’s his job. It doesn’t tell you everything about him.”
Derek laughed.
“Are you telling me he’s some secret assassin?”
Raymond didn’t smile.
“I’m telling you that you don’t know him.”
Cole looked at the older man.
Something about Raymond’s expression bothered him. It wasn’t fear exactly.
It was recognition struggling to become certainty.
“Have we met?” Cole asked.
Raymond studied his face.
“I don’t think so.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
Raymond hesitated.
“Your name is Cole Mercer?”
