"Good idea," she said, stopping her nervous pacing to pull out her phone from her back pocket, trying to hide a wince at the flare of ache in her shoulder the motion to her back pocket required. Flipping it open she scrolled through the menu toward the call log, but stopped with a frown, noticing the little picture icon along the top of the screen.<br/><br/>Puzzled, she clicked into that menu, and opened the lone, untitled file found there - and was presented with a picture of a vary familiar pair of breasts, shirt pulled down to show the bra, and a masculine hand holding a lit cigarette close to the skin.<br/><br/><em>I am the Hound of New York...</em><br/><br/>Gina went pale.