The truth was that Jameson wasn’t sorry. Maybe a little disturbed, but not repentant. Despite the fact that a murderous psycho bitch possibly wanted to kill him. Despite the fact that this petite owl perched on her lab stool was peering down at him with pity mingled with disgust.

“Did you jilt her?” Prandi asked as she tried to salvage what she could of the mangled amphibian corpse.

“Did I what?” Prandi’s accent made it hard to understand her at times. Jameson leaned in closer to hear her.

“Jilt her, dump her, whatever you Americans call it.”

“Heh. That’s an understatement.” Jameson picked up his scalpel again, feeling more confident now that his hands had stopped shaking. He didn’t want to admit it but Sassy had really gotten to him. After a moment, he added, “No, I didn’t jilt her. As far as I know, she has no reason to hate me. I just happened to find her friend’s phone.”

“Why don’t you just give it to her then?”

“Because in America we don’t give something without getting something back in return.”