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 “Well, well, Camilla, my love.” The heavy English accent, so like Camilla’s, comes from the front, a male husky tone, as a man in the passenger seat turns to face us. He’s wearing black shades, a stubbled middle-aged face, dark shaggy hair that’s semi groomed and wearing an expensive leather jacket. “We’ve been looking for you love.” He smiles at her and it’s completely sinister, a crooked, evil smile that does not bid well for either of us. He has an air about him, that he is a guy you do not piss off.

“Tyler. I haven’t been hiding, I’ve been trying to get your money.” Camilla’s turned white as a sheet, with wobbling voice and clearly terrified. Losing all her poise and mannerisms as her accent gets a little shaky, dropping its upper-class edge and sounding less refined. I stay painfully still, regulating my breathing so that I don’t fall into a panic attack and try to keep my hea