Escape. Flee from it all. How could she shield her baby from two governments if she couldn’t even defend her from gnats? Nola waved the washcloth as she marched into the crowd of thousands of Chinese heading home at the end of the day.

A hundred feet later, hiding in a building doorway, she scanned the waning pinkish light. The cloud of gnats was gone, as though the plunging darkness were a clock striking midnight. She reached into the side pocket of her bag for a baby wipe, and her hand jiggled coins. She was certain they weren’t yuan, and sure enough, when she scooped out the contents of the pocket, she also found a few dollar bills. Still, she couldn’t buy herself a drink. Exchanging dollars, forbidden to common Chinese, might get her arrested.

Streetlights came on, casting yellow circles. Lulu was fussing, probably needing a diaper change.

The name of the only person in this city who could help her had been flickering in Nola's mind for the past hour. But Daniel was no friend either. Although his and Ashford’s views were opposed, they stemmed from the same perception: she was just a fool, a China doll.

And given Daniel's grim view of the tense relationship between the two nations already heading toward an open conflict, why would he help her to further botch it?

Darkness shrouded the world. The streets emptied fast. Nola stopped under a lamppost, a refugee with an abandoned baby lost in China. Fifteen years after starting as an orphan, having traveled farther than most people ever dared dream, she had nowhere to go.

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 22

The pay phone was a bright orange box mounted on the side of a newspaper kiosk, where tabloids featuring scantily clad Asian women hung from lines like laundry. A large tree, bent with age, stood behind, its saucer-sized, waxy leaves a protective enclave. Nola eyed the phone. A bulky receiver rested on top, and on the post behind it, a plastic panel depicted dialing instructions.

Through the kiosk’s open side, Nola glimpsed the display on the inside wall. There was her own oversized promotion album. Two teenagers with identical shiny black braids asked to see it and flipped through the glossy pages. For a wild instant she considered stepping forward and asking for their help. She watched them pay. Giggling, they departed with the book, never aware how close they had been to having it autographed.