The phone rang once. Twice.
Dominic squeezed his eyes shut. “Please let it go to voicemail. Please, Lord, I will be good. I will recycle.”
On the second ring, the call connected.
An accented low voice, rough with sleep and still somehow crisp, cut through the speaker.
“Richter.”
Eight people screamed silently.
Sophia’s stomach performed a full Olympic floor routine. Her hand almost launched the phone into the river. She recovered, because she was a professional disaster.
“Hi,” she said quickly. “Do not hang up.”
There was a pause. “Miss Almeda?”
Dominic slapped both hands over his mouth. Mae clutched Donita’s arm. Mario looked ready to faint.
Sophia straightened her spine even though he could not see a single vertebra. “Yes. Hello. Good morning. Or good evening. Time is an illusi
