18
Pia
I finally got a lead on Sophia while slaving away, stifled to death in my office on Monday morning.
A voice message on my extension at work—the young woman herself.
“Hey,” the low, husky voice I would know anywhere. “Heard you were worrying about me—no need to. I’m making it just fine on my own. Take care, Miss Pia.”
I sobbed. Literally shook in my chair, tears coursing down my cheeks as a weight I hadn’t realized lay over me lifted fully.
Sophia was okay.
I wondered what had taken her so freaking long to call me and let me know, but maybe she hadn’t known how upset I was over her disappearance. She didn’t leave a number, but I could live with that.
She was alive. Sounded better than I’d ever heard her.
Moving onto the Dasia case blew the wind from my sails, though. Mr. Gri
