Min had spent thirty-one years building a life and an identity for herself. She'd had help along the way help from people like Sister Limei when she was small. Help from friends like Xinou when she was older. But growing up without family, without any hint of who or what she came from, meant she'd pretty much invented herself.
Her clever invention lay in pieces at her feet now. Reporting had always been more than a job to her. She'd known that the world was not a safe place since she was too small to put it into words; the good guys didn't always win, and bad things really did happen to good people.
All anyone could really count on was themselves. In such a world, information was essential. People needed facts on which to base the daily choices of their lives, facts about the changing world around them. Min had her share of personal ambition, but in a secret place deep inside she'd always felt she'd been called to reporting almost the way a priest is called to the priesthood. Now she couldn't work.
Min's stereo was in her living room, but her TV was in her bedroom. After Xinou left she spent the afternoon holed up in there, watching Wally and the Beaver, Lassie, Donna Reed and Sergeant Joe Friday. She wasn't looking for answers. She didn't even know what the questions were yet.
She just needed to be somewhere else for a while. Someplace where things made sense.
Zhao knocked on her door once, to tell her he was going to the grocery store. When he knocked again, the sun had started its slide down the western edge of the world. "You awake in there?" he called through the door. "Supper's almost ready."
Min sat in her queen-size bed with the covers all jumbled. Her knees were drawn up, her head pillowed on them.
Black and white images flickered on the television screen.
Zhao had been decent, more than decent, about everything so far. She wished he'd quit it. She wanted to keep thinking of him as the sorry SOB she'd convinced herself he was. "You can open the door," she said. "I'm almost finished feeling sorry for myself."
He opened the door, which she'd invited him to do, and came in, which she hadn't. "Have you always been this hard on yourself," he asked, "and I just didn't notice?" She looked at him standing in her bedroom, only a few feet from her bed, and grimaced. "You know, I need to remember that you're one of those give'em an inch and they'll take a mile types."
He smiled. It was a slow, comfortable smile, not consciously sexy, and it made the breath catch in her chest.
Oh, Lord, she thought, looking away. I'm in trouble.
"Something smells good."
"Spaghetti sauce." His voice was closer. "I'll get the pasta cooking in a minute. I hope you like garlic." Damn him, damn him, how could he do this? How could he stand here in her bedroom, next to the bed where he'd taken her to places she hadn't known existed, and sound so blasted normal? She swallowed.
"I've laid you down in that bed twice," he said suddenly, his voice husky. "Last night you were asleep. The time before that, we started a baby."
Her head turned sharply.
He was looking straight at her. Flames burned in those pale eyes. "I remember everything, Min. I remember how you moved under my hands, how you tasted. The way you whimpered when I ran my tongue up your belly. I've tried to forget, but I can't."
"And you didn't call me afterward, because you were so concerned for my feelings." she said, her head held high and her sarcasm thick enough to hide behind,
He watched her in silence for a moment that stretched out too long, a moment taut with the force that sang between them. "No," he said at last. "I wanted to think so, but I guess I was mostly selfish." His mouth quirked up on one side, but no smile lit the bleakness in his eyes. "You scared me pretty bad that night, you know." He turned and started for the door.
" Zhao..."
He looked back at her.
She had no idea why she'd spoken. She'd wanted to say his name. Just that. Just his name. Her mind was blank of everything else.
"We've got a lot to settle," he said softly. "But we've got time. I'm not leaving this time."
She shivered. For some reason that sounded more like a threat than a promise.
Zhao 's mother was nothing like Min had pictured her.
After all, Min knew both of Ashi Yang's sons by the time the woman called on Thursday and asked if she could come over. So Min was expecting someone with either Chen's charm or Zhao 's intensity. Not that she knew Chen well, but when Zhao had gone into work on Monday at Min's insistence, he'd asked his brother to check on her. Chen's hours as an undercover cop were erratic, but he tended to work evenings more than daytimes. He'd dropped by every day, and Min thought they were on their way to becoming friends. She hoped so.
It was good to think at least one member of Zhao 's family accepted her and the baby.
Min's first impression when she opened the door that afternoon was that someone had shrunk June Cleaver and dyed her hair dark. Ashi Yang was a delicate, soft spoken woman who might have been able to claim a full inch over five feet but Min doubted it. She had happy lines around her eyes and mouth, the kind a person gets from years of smiles, and she gave the impression of a person who used to be shy but has learned, over the years, to overcome it.
Min liked her. She just didn't know what to say to her.
That was disconcerting for a woman who'd chatted with diplomats and serial killers in the course of interviews. But Ashi was a woman who liked to talk about family. They talked about Chen briefly, and a cousin of Zhao 's who'd recently moved back to South Texas with his new wife, but Min couldn't contribute much to such a discussion.
It didn't help that Ashi obviously felt as uncomfortable as Min did.
They sat in Min's living room, Ashi on the striped chair, Min on the red couch, and made awkward conversation over the coffee and cookies Zhao 's mother had brought. She'd brought a chicken casserole, too. It was in the oven now, waiting on Zhao to return from work.
'These cookies are delicious," Min said. She reached for another gooey chocolate chip fat-bomb.
"I wasn't sure if I should bring them," Ashi said, fidding nervously with the handle of her coffee mug. Her nails were painted a pale pink, and her only jewelry was her gold wedding band. "From what Zhao told me, I had the impression you prefer healthy foods."
"Sometimes, but I'm crazy about chocolate." Min would have given a lot to know just what Zhao had told his parents about her. She grinned suddenly, remembering the man she'd gotten to know before she made the mistake of going to bed with him. "Are you sure he didn't just call me a jock?"
Ashi blinked, then laughed and set down her coffee cup.
"As a matter of fact, he did. I'm being ridiculous, aren't I? I promise you, I'm not usually so stuffy." She shook her head, amused with herself. "I'll confess to being old-fashioned enough to be uncomfortable with the idea of you two living together, but you'd think my son was fourteen, not forty, the way I'm acting."
"Well," Min said, feeling the clutch of nerves in her stomach. "It is an awkward situation. You probably hadn't ever heard my name before he told you I was pregnant. It's bound to be something of a shock. May I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"When did Zhao tell you about the baby?"
"Last night."
Min tried not to feel hurt. She didn't know how families operated, and it was probably hard for a man to tell his mother he'd gotten some woman pregnant.
But she'd come home from the hospital five days ago.
That seemed like more than enough time.
"I appreciate you letting me come over like this, Min," the other woman was saying. " Zhao wanted to wait until you were back on your feet before introducing us, and perhaps I was selfish, rushing over here like this." She smiled.
"I guess he knows me pretty well. He waited until you were feeling better before he told me, didn't he? I suspect he knew I'd make a beeline over here."
Min shrugged, uncomfortable. "I guess. Are you happy about the baby, then?"
"My dear, I'm sixty-two years old. I'd begun to wonder if either of my sons was ever going to make me a grandmother. I'm delirious."
Min took a sip of her own coffee so she could study the woman sitting in the brightly striped chair. She suspected Ashi Yang's feelings were a good deal more mixed than she was admitting, but Min believed the woman meant what she said. Like Sister Limei used to say, sometimes it really is the thought that counts.
Thinking of the nun eased Min even as it brought a pang of guilt. She still hadn't told Sister Limei about the baby. But she didn't want to do it over the phone, and she couldn't travel yet. "Well, that's good." She smiled, too. "I'm glad my baby will have a grandmother."
"I'm glad, too. And not just about the baby. I must admit, I never thought Zhao would marry again. And you're so very different from..." The shadow of old grief crossed the other woman's face. She shook her head. "I'm sorry.
No doubt it's best that you are so unlike Shi Yun."
Min went very still. "Mrs. Yang," she said carefully, "did Zhao tell you we were getting married?"
"Not exactly." She looked uncertain. "He said he'd asked you, but nothing was settled. I assumed...I thought he meant you hadn't set a date yet."
Nothing was settled. Anger bunched in Min's middle like a fist. "He asked," she said tersely. "I turned him down."
"Oh. I see." But it was obvious from her expression that she didn't understand at all. Nor did she approve, though she was trying to conceal her dismay.
"I'm sorry." Min wanted to tell the older woman that her son was sleeping on the couch, not in her bed. Yes, Zhao wanted her. Sometimes she caught him watching her, his eyes hungry and waiting. That didn't matter. It didn't matter that her body reacted when she felt those pale eyes on her, either. She had no intention of allowing him back into her bed. Ever.
"I don't plan to marry," she said instead. "But I do want my child to have grandparents. I want him or her to have family."
"Well." She fiddled with her coffee cup some more. "I can't say I'm comfortable with your decision, but it is your decision, not mine." Her smile was tentative. "You said
'him or her." I take it you haven't had a sonogram yet? Or is it just too early to tell?"
"Both, really. I was supposed to get a sonogram on my next appointment, but with everything that's happened, I've decided to change doctors. I want one with more experience. I've been researching my condition, looking into who in this area is most familiar with it, and I've got an appointment with a Dr. Zimo next Monday. I think he's planning a sonogram as part of the exam."
"Sometimes," the other woman said almost shyly, "they let you have a picture, a copy of the sonogram. Do you think you"
The sound of a key turning in the door made her break off. Both women turned to look as Zhao swung the door open and stepped inside.
He shook his head when he saw his mother. "I should have known. Mom, I asked you not to rush over here and play twenty questions."
"Nonsense," Ashi said, standing. "I only asked two or three." She walked over to the tall, scowling man who was her son and slipped one arm around him for a hug. Zhao 's face softened in a way Min had never seen before as he looked down at his mother.
That's what he looks like with someone he loves. The thought came into her head fully formed. Min pushed it away. "Ashi brought over a casserole. It's in the oven."
"Southwest chicken," he said, his arm going around the tiny woman at his side. "I smelled it the second I stepped inside. If you think you can bribe me with my favorite dish—"
"Of course I can," she said, laughing.
Min watched as Zhao walked his mother to the door, the two of them smiling and finishing each other's sentences.
The top of Ashi's head didn't reach Zhao 's shoulder and their features were nothing alike, yet their kinship was obvious.
They loved each other, yes. They also enjoyed each other.
Envy was a sharp, green sliver that had lodged in Min's throat years ago. She felt it now with every breath. My baby won't have to wonder what family feels like, she told herself. Her baby would be part of that warmth.
Ashi Yang turned at the door, and she and Min said the appropriate things to each other. Then she left, and Min and Zhao were alone.
"You told her we were getting married," she said, gathering her anger around herself protectively.
"I wondered what was bothering you. No, I didn't tell her we were getting married. I said I'd asked you, but nothing was settled."
"Well, she assumed that meant we just hadn't set the date yet! Dammit, Zhao, why didn't you just tell her you'd done your duty and I turned you down? Do you have any idea how awkward I felt?"
He sighed. "My mother is of a different generation. She doesn't really understand the idea that being a single mother is somehow better than marrying the father of your child. Frankly," he said, heading for the kitchen, "I don't, either."
"What does that mean?" Frustration boiled up in Min hot and fast. She wanted to move, to pace, and was trapped on the couch. Four more days, she told herself. In four more days she'd see the doctor and surely, surely some of the restrictions would be lifted.
"It means that I intend for our child to have two parents who live together, and I'm a conventional man. For me, that means marriage." He disappeared into the kitchen.
"Did you really think that because you turned me down once, the subject was closed?"
Yes, that's what she'd thought, what she'd needed to think. "The subject is closed." She wanted so badly to follow him, grab him, shake some sense into his thick head.
She wanted... more than she was willing to think about.
"You can't stay here if you're going to start pressuring me about marriage, Yang."
He came back out with a can of beer in his hand and looked at her coolly. "You're itching for a fight, aren't you? I guess an argument might be an improvement over the way you've hidden away in your room ever since I moved in."
Her lip lifted in a sneer. "I'm sorry you've been dissatisfied with my company."
"Oh, I've enjoyed your company just fine, when you've deigned to share a few minutes with me over supper." Min had enjoyed those minutes, too. She'd begun to look forward to them, to the conversations shared along with the meal, the sort of talks they used to enjoy sometimes over drinks. So far, about the only things they agreed on were fifties' rock, the Astros' chances and the frustration of dealing with bureaucracies but disagreeing was more fun, anyway.
Only, dammit, she didn't want to spend her days waiting for Zhao to come home. It made her feel pathetic. "Just because you're living here temporarily doesn't give you any claims on me. If you want company, go find some." He got tight all over without changing expression.
"That's it." He set his beer down on the table. "We'd better get a few things straight. I've let you avoid--" "Let me? You've let me?" she said in anger . Really good. She leaned forward, stabbing the air with her finger.
"Let me tell you something. You do not have what it takes to let me do anything."
Something moved in his pale eyes, something dark and almost frightening. "I guess we'll talk later," he said, and started toward her.
She sat up straighter. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing you don't want. Nothing you aren't damned near begging for though I suppose you'll make me pay for that comment." He slid his knee onto the couch, bent over her and seized her chin in one hard hand, tipping her face up. "But later," he said, his voice growing softer, deeper, with each word. "Make me pay later, Min." Her name was no more than a hot breath across her lips as his mouth claimed hers.
Zhao knew he was in trouble the moment he felt her mouth beneath his. If he'd meant to teach Min that she needed him, that she couldn't taunt him by day and haunt him at night without paying the price, he defeated himself in that first second.
She tasted like spring and freedom, like every hungry adolescent dream he'd ever had. She slid into his bloodstream like summer-hot, languid and compelling. When she tried to pull her head back, to pull away from him, he groaned and trapped her in place with his other hand behind her neck.
He nipped at her lower lip. Her mouth opened to him, and he came inside.
A shudder traveled up her body. He felt it, though he touched her nowhere but her mouth, her face, her neck.
Then she moved but not away from him. Her body lifted toward him. Her hand slid up his chest, lingering, caressing.
And he knew which of them was ready to beg. "Min," he whispered against her lips, his own hands still, his body rigid. "Let me touch you. Please. I need to touch you."
She shifted, moving over on the couch. Making room for him. He needed no more invitation to bring them together, body to body.
She pressed against him and hunger clawed at his gut.
He was raw with need with more than one kind of need.
He had to be careful, had to be sure he didn't hurt her. Not this time. Her hands made it hard to balance his need to possess with his need to protect such busy hands, as eager for his body as he was for hers. Their mouths clung together while their fingers tugged at this and unfastened that, while their bodies strained against each other.
She had his shirt unbuttoned and pulled free from his pants before he managed to find the zipper on her dress and lower it enough to pull her dress down on one side.
She wore lace beneath her clothes, lace the color of peaches. The breast so nearly bared to him was full and beautiful, and he couldn't wait. He bent and kissed her nipple through the lace.
Min cried out.
The lace was rough to his tongue. The flesh beneath it was hot. He licked, then sucked.
She gasped his name, her hand clutching and releasing his hair as rhythmically as his mouth suckled her. She was so responsive. He knew if he slid his hand between her legs he'd find her already wet and ready for him, and the knowledge was killing him. But he couldn't touch her there. Not yet.
" Zhao," she said again, her voice thin with need. " Zhao, the baby. We can't. The baby."
He raised his face to look into her eyes, huge, passion-drowned eyes. "I won't hurt the baby, Min. I won't do anything that could hurt the baby." He was going to hurt himself. He accepted that. The pain and frustration would be worth it for these moments of holding her, touching her, watching her come apart for him.
He meant to see it happen this time. When he'd had her before, her bedroom nache living room. He could a little light filtering in from the living room. He couldn't have her this time, not completely, but at least he would watch her when he sent her up the peak, and over.
His hand shook when he pulled down the wet lace of her bra, leaving her breast naked. He pleasured her with his tongue, with his teeth, until his control stretched too tight and the frantic motions of her body told him she was near the edge. Then, at last, he let his hand slide up her bare leg, up under the thin material of her dress.
His fingers were almost touching her center when her body suddenly contorted away from him. "No." She pushed at him pushed his head away from her breast, pushed his hand away. "No, Zhao!"
Bemused, not understanding, he lifted his head. "I promised not to hurt the baby," he said softly. "I'm just going to touch you, Min. I won't take you. Let me do this for you."
The flush of arousal mantled her cheeks, her breast. Her lips were moist and swollen, parted to let out her shallow breaths... and her eyes were the frantic green of a hurricane sky. "No," she said. "I can't. I won't. Not because of the baby. I don't trust you, Zhao. I can't let you do that to me when I don't trust you."
Zhao looked at the rejection on her face, and fear brushed against him like the first frost of fall—a touch of ice, chilly and threatening. Some damage couldn't be fixed. Some hurts couldn't be forgiven, and some mistakes, he knew, were forever.
Zhao paused in the doorway to take off his hat, shaking raindrops from the black felt. It was a thoroughly gray Monday outside, with rain drizzling down from colorless skies.
Inside, Zhao 's presence in the crowded waiting room drew the immediate attention of every person in the room. And every person in the room, except for him and the receptionist, was pregnant.
In the course of his job over the past twenty years, Zhao had talked to witnesses in tenements where rats fought with the roaches over spoiled food. He'd questioned suspects in their private jets and in the cardboard boxes in the alley they called home. He'd arrested a clown at a Halloween party, and a woman at her daughter's wedding.
Never had he felt quite so thoroughly out of place.
A faint, embarrassed heat crept up his cheeks. He strode forward, his hat in his hand. "I'm Zhao Yang," he told the receptionist. "Is my...is Min Jing here?"
"Of course, Lieutenant. I remember. You brought your medical history in last Thursday and let us have a little blood, didn't you?" She smiled a bright, professional smile.
"Have they done the sonogram yet? Can I join her?"
"I'm afraid you missed the sonogram, and Dr. Zimo is with Ms. Jing now. If you'll have a seat, she should be out shortly."
Damn, he thought, bitterly disappointed. He found a chair that sat by itself in one corner, flanked by a tall green plant on one side and a table strewn with magazines on the other, and sat to wait. He knew he was late, well past the time he was supposed to meet Min here, but he'd hoped the doctor hadn't been able to see her yet. Dr. Zimo was working Min in between his regular appointments.
Apparently the doctor was running more nearly on time than Zhao was today. He sighed and settled his damp hat on his knee.
No doubt he was in trouble for failing to show up when he said he would. Not that he'd had much choice. All hell had broken loose that morning on what should have been a routine arrest. Briefly, images of blood and violence flowed through Zhao 's mind; with an act of will, he shut them away. They'd be back, he knew. He didn't expect to get much sleep tonight.
But he knew better than to offer the demands of his job as an excuse for not being here. He couldn't very well tell a pregnant woman exactly what had happened to delay him.
All Min would know was that he'd honored the demands of his job ahead of his obligation to her. He didn't expect a woman to understand that.
Shi Yun never had. It had always hurt her when he put police work first. If she'd been here today instead of Min, she'd have spent the next couple of days looking at him reproachfully every so often and waiting for him to figure out how-
Zhao blinked, shocked and guilty. It seemed profoundly wrong, disloyal, to think of Shi Yun and Min at the same time. Yet he wasn't sure which of them he was being disloyal to.
The uncertainty made the guilt worse.
He clenched his jaw and looked around, hoping for distraction. Ever since Min had told him about the baby he'd been noticing how full of pregnant women Wutongshu was.
About half of them seemed to be in the waiting room with him that morning.
The table beside him held a scattering of magazines, including one on parenting that he'd seen Min reading at the apartment. It had a mother and baby on the cover. He hesitated, then picked it up.
When Min returned to the waiting room it was even more crowded than it had been earlier, but she had no trouble spotting Zhao tucked away in the corner. He wasn't the only man there—a couple of daddies to be had shown up since she'd gone in to be examined. But he was far and away the most compelling.
She wasn't the only one who thought so, either. Zhao 's attention was on the magazine he was reading, so he didn't notice the frequent glances he drew from several of the women in the room. Min did. The feeling of possessiveness those glances stirred in her was both new and unsettling.
He did notice Min, though. As soon as she started across the room toward him his head came up. He stood, and their gazes met.
Sometimes in the past when Min's eyes had met Zhao 's, she'd had an odd feeling, as if his eyes were speaking to her in a language she couldn't understand, but ought to.
That feeling swept over her now a sense that meanings pressed at the backs of his eyes, the fluid and concrete set of meanings that made up Zhao Yang.
She broke eye contact, shaken. Good grief. She was really losing it. Next she'd be thinking she could read his mind or something.
"So how are you?" Zhao asked softly when she reached him.
"Fine, I guess. I haven't really talked to Dr. Zimo yet. He wanted to run his tests and do the exam before he talked to me—to us, I mean. It may be a little while."
"I wanted to be here," he told her. "I'm sorry I was late. I missed seeing the sonogram done."
His apology made her feel skittish. She'd wanted him there, too. She'd been disappointed when he hadn't made it, and she didn't like feeling that way. Min shrugged. "We knew you might have trouble keeping the appointment.
"You probably didn't much want me here, anyway. But I'm still sorry."
He'd apologized twice. It wasn't like him. There was a tightness to his voice, too, a drawn look around his eyes.
Abruptly she forgot to worry about her own feelings.
"What happened? Something went wrong, didn't it? You said all you had was a routine bust this morning."
"It should have been."
"So what went wrong?"
He grimaced and ran a hand over his hair. "Min, you don't need to hear about it, believe me."
She frowned at him impatiently. "Come on, Zhao, I've covered the crime beat in Wutongshu for five years, Maybe I'm not a cop, but there isn't a lot I haven't seen." He got a startled look in his eyes, as if she'd said something completely unexpected. But that made no sense. He knew what she did for a living, and what that entailed.
" Zhao?" she said, puzzled.
"I'd be pretty stupid if I tried to protect you from the sorts of things that have made up your job the past few years, wouldn't I?" he said slowly.
"You said it, not me."
His mustache twitched in a half smile, but his eyes had the same considering look. As if she'd sprouted a second head or something.
"Well?" she demanded. "Are you going to tell me what happened this morning? And quit looking at me as if I had broccoli between my teeth."
His smile deepened. "Later, maybe, I'll tell you. I don't think this is the place for me to go into detail. And you're not supposed to be on your feet."
She glanced around. Both of the women closest to them looked as though they were listening as hard as they could while pretending to be reading their magazines. No, these nice ladies probably didn't need to hear about whatever horror made Zhao 's eyes so tight and flat.
"You're right on both counts," she said, and promptly sat in the chair he'd been in.
That surprised a chuckle out of him. "First time that's happened—you admitting I'm right."
"The occasion hasn't arisen before," she said dryly.
He stood in front of her chair, turning his hat over in his hands and looking tall, dark and rather charmingly awkward. "I guess I'll go find a seat myself."
"Wait a minute." Impulsively she reached out, laying her hand on his arm. He felt warm and solid beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt. "What you said earlier about me not wanting you here that wasn't true."
"No?"'
She picked her words carefully. "I know you wanted to be here, and I guess it would have been nice if you'd been able to make it. And I'm sorry you missed the sonogram, too. It was pretty special. But they took pictures." The look in his eyes pleasure, and something beyond pleasure made her glad she'd told him. He crouched beside her chair. "Could they tell if it's a boy or a girl?" She laughed. "Not really. The pictures are fuzzy, and things aren't clearly developed yet, if you know what I mean. But I could see little toes and fingers. And it moved.
I saw it move." Her hand slid over her stomach as she remembered the wonder.
"It moved?" He took a step closer and crouched beside her chair. "You saw the baby move? Can you feel it moving now?"'
She shook her head. "Not yet. Not for another four to six weeks, according to my books, but it's already moving, even if I can't feel it.'
He stared at her stomach, his gaze as intent as if he might be able to see through the skin and muscle to where their baby rested if he just concentrated hard enough. "You don't look any different."
But she was. In small, significant ways her body was changing. "The baby is so tiny still," she said, "only about two and a half inches long. I haven't gained much weight yet, so the changes aren't very noticeable."
His eyes came up to hers. "Your breasts are bigger," he said softly.
She blushed. She could hardly believe it, but she did blush.
"Ms. Jing?" the nurse's voice broke in. "If you and Lieutenant Yang would like to step back to the doctor's office, he'll be with you in a few minutes."
They followed the nurse down the hall. Min was painfully aware of the man walking beside her. She reassured herself that at least she'd figured out what her problem was, the reason she felt this man's presence along her skin like an electric current.
Hormones. A woman's body gets hormonally charged during pregnancy, making emotions stronger, closer to the surface.
Some women responded to the hormonal overload by crying a lot. Some became irritable. Last night it had dawned on her that she'd reacted by lusting after Zhao.
Probably she would be getting equally excited about any decent looking male who was, well, available right now.
Especially if he were built like Zhao, with the lean efficiency of a wolf. Especially if he moved with the rangy grace of that animal. Especially if he kept watching her as if...
Min glanced at Zhao as they reached the door to the doctor's office. He stood aside, waiting for her to go in first... watching her with the patient hunger of a predator stalking its prey.
She shivered and went through the door. With luck, he wouldn't be so blasted available after today. Once the doctor gave her permission to be on her feet again, she wouldn't need Zhao anymore.