Exhaustion from four sleepless nights was knitted into Nola's limbs, and her eyelids were grainy. She paced the room, stopping at the crib to watch the full lips as they fluttered with each deep breath. She picked up Lulu and walked to the window to look at the flow of life outside. Although it was only early afternoon and some stubborn rays of sun in the west slashed through the clouds, the east was darkening. In the market across the street, shoppers moved faster before getting caught in rain. The world was oblivious to the drama taking place in her life. How many other dramas—and human tragedies—were happening right now behind thousands of darkened windows, in back alleys, or inside the tiny, bereft stores that looked from Nola's angle like mouse holes?

She turned to see Wade standing at the door, surprise lifting his brows. For a moment, the two of them locked eyes. As his gaze traveled down to the baby in her arms, his stubbornness closed in on Nola. Yet it could not dampen the serenity that went so deep and fanned her smoldering ember of hope.

“You got another baby?”

“It’s Lulu.” With a shift of her elbow, Nola tilted the baby so he could see the sleeping face. “The Chinese left her at an orphanage, but I found her in time.”

“They drugged her, but she’ll be all right.” Lulu’s hair still smelled sour, but the damp washcloth had removed the stickiness. Nola laid her back on their bed, sneaked a finger between the pajama leg snaps to check the skin temperature. Satisfied, she covered Lulu and reclined beside her.

Wade walked to the window. Not long ago she could have seen his jaw working. Now the muscles had slackened.

Nola wished she had put on a classical CD to thaw the icy silence. She spoke. “You know I’m keeping her.”

Wade's figure in front of the window rocked from toe to heel, heel to toe. “Ashford thought things were calming down.”

“The Chinese lied to him. They were not going to unite her with her mother; they were just going to kill her.” Maybe the Chinese had told Ambassador Ashford the truth, but he had been the one who had lied. She might never know. “Anyway, what he thinks is a moot point now.”

From her spot on the bed, she could see only the sky. The lip of afternoon brightness had narrowed. The east was now cloud-laden, offering no comfort. Then a steady patter on the huge glass blotted out the world.

“We’re in this marriage for the long haul,” Wade finally said, his tone that of a survivor of marital strife. “I’m not going anywhere without you—or you without me.”