When her son, Tommy, was an infant, Jane Wadlow would often wake in the middle of the night for no discernible reason. In the quiet darkness, she would listen for any disturbance in the house and then, met by silence, she would rise and go check on Tommy, just to make sure he was still safe in his crib and her world still spun on its axis.

Her son had long since grown to manhood and started a life of his own, and the house had more empty spaces since Tommy had gone off to film school in California. Tommy had grand plans for the future, and they didn’t include ever living in Medford, Massachusetts, again. That was the bitter joy of parenting, Jane had learned. You spend all those years teaching children, nurturing them, preparing them to go. And then, damn them, they went.

But in recent months there had been many nights when the house breathed with new life. She babysat regularly for her niece, Caitlin, who worked as part of a news crew for the local NBC affiliate. Most of the time she worked the day shift, driving the news van for reporters working on stories for the midday or evening news. That worked perfectly, because it meant that Cait could be up early in the morning with her baby girl, and still have a little mother-daughter time before heading to work. But once or twice a week, Cait was called in to work the night shift, covering the eleven o’clock news. On those nights, Jane and her husband, George, would put Leyla to sleep in her playpen in Tommy’s old room, and it made more sense for Caitlin to crash there than to go home to her own apartment.

Shortly after two o’clock in the morning, the August sunrise still hours off, Jane found herself awake. The flickering glow and the low murmur of voices told her that George had fallen asleep with the TV on again. She sighed, knowing that if she didn’t drift off within seconds it would be at least an hour before sleep claimed her again. Those seconds passed with no slumber imminent, and Jane lay in bed, wondering how late Caitlin had come in, and how the girl would ever find another man to fall in love with when all she ever did was work and play with her baby.

She doesn’t want another man, Jane chided herself. Not right now.

Ever since Caitlin’s father—Jane’s brother—had died, the Wadlows had been Caitlin’s guardians and closest family. Even while her father had been alive, Caitlin had been close to her aunt and uncle, and her only cousin, Tommy. She had practically grown up in Sweet Somethings, the fudge and chocolate shop that Jane had owned and run for decades in Medford Square. As Caitlin had grown older, she had helped Jane to mix fudge in the big copper pots in the back room and to put chocolates into the display cases. Jane had paid her, and in time Caitlin had become an official employee—until she’d graduated high school and gone off to college.

After her father’s death, Caitlin had seemed to spend even more time at Sweet Somethings. Jane had sold the store six years ago and, though she was happy not to have to work the long hours anymore, she missed it every day. But she thought that Caitlin missed it more.

Jane smiled wistfully at the thought. She reached out and touched her sleeping husband’s arm. At the moment, George lay beside her in their bed, snoring softly. He had fallen asleep during the baseball game and the remote control still lay on his chest, an inch from his splayed fingers. He always turned the volume down low, so it wouldn’t disturb her. Now the late night news was repeating and she glanced at the weather forecast. She wanted to hear this, so she took the remote from her sleeping husband and turned the volume up slightly.

Other than a little rain shower, the attractive girl in the tight suit predicted a warm, sunny August week. That was good. But then the news returned to the same story that had been on right before the ball game, that of a baby stolen from its mother in Bangor, Maine, as she left the hospital with the newborn for the first time.

Grainy footage from security cameras in front of the hospital showed a nondescript man with dark hair striking the woman in the back of the head and snatching the infant car seat from her hand as she fell, then climbing into the back of a nearby van with the stolen child. The father had apparently gone to fetch the car to take his family home. The security footage showed him pulling up in his Buick only moments after the van pulled away. A nightmare. I’d never have been able to live with myself.

Beside her, George snorted a bit, then turned over to make himself more comfortable and fell into soft, easy breathing. Jane clicked the button on the remote that turned off the television and set it on her nightstand. In the deeper darkness and stiller silence, she listened for a telltale rustle or whimper that would suggest that Caitlin or Leyla might be having a restless night. She heard nothing, but old habits died hard. If she didn’t get up and check on them, she’d never be able to fall back to sleep.

She ran her fingers through her hair, climbed out of bed, then padded quietly down the hall to peek into her son’s old bedroom. Caitlin lay tangled in a single sheet, knees drawn up toward her chest and the pillow drawn down into an embrace. In sleep, her face was peaceful and soft, almost as if she were once again the teenage girl who had first come to live in this house, full of grief at the death of her father and anger at the world that had made her and her older brother orphans. But Caitlin wasn’t that girl anymore. She’d been a soldier, and she’d fallen in love, and then the world had taken that away from her, too.

Jane had never met Leyla’s father, Nizam, but in his pictures he looked handsome, serious, and kind. Jane had always loved photographs, and put a lot of stock in her ability to read people from their pictures. Cait tended not to talk much about Nizam except to Leyla, reassuring the baby that her father loved her and watched over her from heaven. But in those moments, the pain in Cait’s heart was etched on her face. She’d found a good man and endured anger and resentment and prejudice in order to love him. Now she was an ex-soldier, a young widow, and a single mother trying to make a life with Leyla.

Quietly, Jane crossed the room and looked down into the playpen, where Leyla mewled softly, eyes still closed but fussing a bit. At seven months old, she might not be able to walk or talk, but even without words she had personality. She made people smile. Hundreds of times, Jane had been with her at the store or at the park and seen the way people lit up at the sight of her. Babies had that effect, she knew, but Leyla seemed to have it more than most. And when Jane explained the story of Leyla’s birth—of her soldier mother and her Iraqi father, and of Nizam’s death—a different light came into people’s eyes, as if they had suddenly begun to understand something for the first time.

Jane knew exactly what it was. She and George had had the same feeling the first time they held Leyla in their arms. The beauty of this baby girl, with her Christian mother and Muslim father, reminded people that even those they saw as enemies could fall in love.

A cry arose from the playpen, as if the mere act of thinking about the baby had disturbed her. Jane glanced at Caitlin, then hurried to retrieve Leyla. Cait had worked late, and Jane didn’t want Leyla waking her up.

“What’s the matter, sweet pea?” Jane whispered as she reached into the playpen and began a comforting, rhythmic tap on the baby’s back.

Leyla’s eyes found her, and the baby made a kind of plaintive whimper, then went quiet. Seven months old, but she knew her auntie would take care of her. Technically, Jane was Caitlin’s aunt, but she felt too young to be anybody’s “great-aunt,” so Auntie Jane would be just fine.

Her lower back protested as she lifted the baby into her arms, cuddling Leyla against her chest. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, rocking gently, she started to pace the room.

As she rocked the baby, she glanced out the window and frowned. Badger Road was a quiet neighborhood. They didn’t see a lot of cars parked on the street unless one of the neighbors was having a party, or the Mandells’ daughter was having one of her high school sleepovers. So the dark sedan parked across the street and two houses down caught her attention for several reasons. First, it was after two o’clock in the morning, which meant even the Callahans, who loved a party, would have kicked any guests out hours ago. Second, the car looked brand new and expensive, which made it unlikely to belong to high school kids sleeping over at the Mandells’ house. Third, the car was parked at the curb in front of the DiMarinos’ house, two doors down, and the DiMarinos were on a cruise and wouldn’t be back for more than a week.

Jane bent over a little for a better look out the window. She had never been great with makes and models, but she thought it was a BMW or Audi—something expensive, with dark windows. Then Leyla started fussing a bit, forcing her to stand up straight and rock her properly.

“All right, baby. Hush now,” she whispered.

She relished the weight of the child in her arms, enjoying the smell and warmth of a baby. When Caitlin had first gotten her job at Channel 7 and begun fretting over how she would be able to afford daycare, Jane hadn’t hesitated. She didn’t have the chocolate shop anymore, so she had no job to prevent her from saying yes. No way would she let Leyla end up ignored and neglected in some germ-infested baby kennel. George had worried about how much work it would be—they were no longer young—but Jane had stayed firm.

Jane’s younger brother, Rob, had gotten married right out of high school to a beautiful dimwit who had lasted five years before abandoning him for a lawyer. She had left him with two children, Sean—who’d been four at the time—and baby Caitlin, fourteen months old. Rob had been a strict father but sweet and loving with his kids, and they had respected and loved him in return.

Pancreatic cancer had killed him a week before Caitlin’s junior prom.

Sean McCandless had been serving in the Marine Corps, stationed in the Middle East, when his father had died. The Corps gave him leave to come home, but only long enough for the funeral. Jane and George were named in Rob’s will as Caitlin’s legal guardians until she turned eighteen, and they looked out for her afterward, helping her sort out her finances and do her college applications, advising her in the sale of her family home since she couldn’t afford to keep up with the bills.

Tommy might be the only child to whom Jane McCandless Wadlow had ever given birth, but Caitlin was the closest thing to a daughter she would ever have. The baby girl Jane cradled against her now could never be a burden. She kissed Leyla’s head, and the baby shifted a bit. Her eyelids fluttered as though she might wake up again, then she gave a tiny sigh and nestled in Jane’s arms. She was truly a beautiful baby, her skin a warm shade of cinnamon she had inherited from her father.

The yellow glow of headlights swept across the room and Jane heard the gentle purr of an engine as a car approached out on the street. She glanced out the window and saw a second car pull up behind the one parked in front of the DiMarino house.

Then the first car started up, the headlights blinking on. Jane watched as it pulled slowly from its place at the curb and drove off while the new arrival replaced it, sliding into the spot. The new driver killed the engine and the lights winked out. In seconds, it was like nothing had happened. Anyone who had not seen the new arrival would likely have assumed this was the same vehicle.

Jane waited, swaying back and forth with Leyla, but though she watched for several minutes, no one got out of the car.

A stakeout, she thought. She had seen enough cop shows that this was the first thing that occurred to her, but quickly on its heels came another suspicion. What if somebody knew the DiMarinos were away and they were watching to see if anyone had been left to house-sit? The people in the cars could be burglars casing the house.

Okay, so maybe she had seen too many cop shows, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be true. Something odd was going on down the street. What she had watched just now looked very much like a shift change, one car coming on duty and the other going off.

The question was, what duty?

A few minutes later, when she returned Leyla to her playpen and went back to her bedroom to find George snoring loudly, she was still wondering. Whatever those cars were up to, they made her nervous.