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Right. I knew that. “Okay…Well, can you—”

“Can I what? Make it stop?” She cocked her head. “Maybe put her in a closet? Because I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it.”

“I—”

“This isn’t a trumpet I’m playing in here. It’s not a TV I have turned up too loud. It’s a tiny human being. It can’t be reasoned with, and it’s not responding to negotiation attempts so I don’t know what to tell you.” She bounced the shrieking infant, and it cried on. “She’s fed, and clean, and dry. She doesn’t have a fever. She’s too young for teething. I’ve given her Tylenol and gas drops for colic. I’ve bounced her and rocked her and I’m coming to the conclusion that she’s simply playing out some cosmic karma-based retribution for crimes I committed in a past life because I cannot for the life of me understand what I’m doing wrong.” Her chin started to quiver. “So no, I can’t make it stop. I can’t help you, or me or her, and I am truly sorry if my own personal hell is inconvenient for you. Get earplugs.”

She slammed the door in my face.

I stood there, blinking at her peephole.

Great. Now I was the asshole.

I dragged a hand down my beard and let out a long, tired breath and knocked again. I knew she was peeking through the peephole because the wailing was pressed right to the door. She opened it. “What?” She had tears running down her face.

I made a give-it-here motion with my hand. “Give me the baby.”

She stared at me.

“Go take a shower. I’ll hold her.”

She blinked at me. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not. You obviously need a break. Maybe it will help.”

Continuing to do the same thing was going to yield the same results. What she was doing wasn’t working, and it was clear that this situation wasn’t going to resolve itself without outside intervention.

She looked at me like I’d gone mad. “I’m not giving you my baby.”

“Why? Are you afraid I might piss her off?” As if she intended to illustrate my point, the wails went up an octave. “I’m going to hold her until you’re done. If neither of us are sleeping, it makes no sense for both of us to suffer. And you have vomit in your hair.”

She looked down on the hair gathered over her shoulder and saw the white goop. She rolled her eyes like it didn’t surprise her and came back up to me. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but this isn’t your problem.”

I rubbed my forehead tiredly. “Well, I beg to differ. As long as we’re sharing a wall, we’re in this together. Sometimes a change of circumstances can change behavior. Someone new to hold her while you go and lower your anxiety might make the difference.”

She bounced the baby uselessly and it kept crying. I could see the frustration around the woman’s eyes. She looked exhausted. “I don’t know you,” she said.

“My name is Adrian Copeland. I live in apartment 307, next door to you, and I own this building. I’m thirty-two years old, no criminal history, I’m a partner at Beaker and Copeland in St. Paul. I’m harmless and I’m standing here in the hallway at”—I looked at my watch—“4:07 in the morning, trying to help you. Let me in and let me hold her.”

I watched the deliberation on her face. She was going to crack. I could read people. She was that deadlocked juror who was going to fold—and she did.

She pulled open the door and let me in. I stepped inside.

Fuck, her apartment was a disaster.

It looked like the place used to be nice. It had that Pottery Barn thing going on. But the studio was small and completely cluttered with baby paraphernalia. A car seat, a crib by the king-size bed at the back of the apartment, a swing. Bottles were piled on the kitchen countertops and the place smelled faintly like shit. Actual shit. Dirty-diaper shit.

She eyed me. “Just so you know, I have my little stabby thingy so don’t try anything stupid.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Your stabby thingy?”

She jutted her chin up. “Yeah. You know, the keychain thingy? I’ve got cameras too. Tons of them. And a gun,” she added. “I also have a gun.”

I crossed my arms. “Okay. And do you know how to use this gun you have?”

“No,” she said matter-of-factly. “Which makes me more dangerous.”

I snorted.