I happened to glance down at what she was working on. It was a painting, and a skilled one at that, of the ocean. I couldn’t do it. My trusty knife...fell from shaking fingers. Her knowing green eyes met my own yellow ones. ‘I can’t just leave you here. Come on.’ ‘Can I help you with something?’ James demanded in a strong English accent. I looked into the face of two very pissed off men. I ignored the bantering, it would only distract me. Although she must have been terrified, she summoned. I found myself heading deep into one of the worst sections of the city.Pulling up in front of a very decrepit house that had been longing desperately for a coat of fresh paint for some time, I rang the doorbell.After a while, the door finally opened. A middle-age guy, looking a bit worse for the wear, stood in the doorway looking at me."Whatya want?" he said, in a not unfriendly tone."Are you Mr. Pamby?" I asked, politely."Yeah," who wants to know?" he said."My name is Dag. I'm a TV reporter. More

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