Something else disturbed her – something that had nothing to do with her father. “What is it? What’s bothering you about this case?” Bettina began straightening the folds of her cape. “I’m worried. It’s so far. And isolated.” “Is that all?” Relief brought another chuckle. “You worry too much. You know I’m capable of taking care of myself.” “Maybe I need a grandchild to fret over.” “You never give up, do you?” The banter returned to the familiar as they cruised through the night traffic of the university and then wound their way into the Berkeley hills. By the time the cab pulled up in front of Bettina’s apartment building, Margo had eased her mother’s anxiety for her safety, but not her own small curls of unrest. Both had been unexpected. Her mother’s worry she could understand. But what had caused the momentary discontent with her life? It had to have been Carmen . The lilting French music and the Spanish setting always struck a chord of romanticism; a chord she usually kept buried and out of her practical world because it reminded her of her single status. She sighed. Often she wondered what her life would be like now if she’d gone ahead and married Paul. He’d never allow her to go to Fort Bragg. But then she might have had children and wouldn’t want to go. However, there were always patients who needed her. Paul never understood that. It was best they’d broken the engagement. “Come up and have some tea?” Bettina offered as she slid out the door of the cab. “I’d love to, but you know if I did we’d stay up too late talking.” “I suppose.” Bettina patted her daughter’s cheek with her gloved hand. “I enjoyed tonight.” “Me too.” Margo blew her a kiss. Bettina stepped out into the rain and then bent down to peer into the cab. “I’ll call and make reservations. It’s been a while since we’ve been on the Wharf.” “Thanks.” Margo shook her head as she watched her mother enter the well-lit building. It was always like this between them: the continual evaluation of her personal life. And her mother was right. If she was ever going to discover the pleasures of marriage and children she’d better get busy. The years were slipping by. Perhaps she should refer Zane to another psychologist. Fred would… No. Zane’s image focused. The haunted look in his eyes called to her – the same look she’d seen all week, much too often. Even in her dreams she’d heard his voice call out her name. Margo shifted uncomfortably. None of her other patients had occupied her thoughts so thoroughly. It must be his isolation , she decided. His loneliness tugged at her heart. Margo tried not to think anymore about Zane as the cab traveled the short distance to the top of the hill where her own apartment building perched. One look at the darkened doorway sent all thoughts of her new patient on the skid. Her heart raced as she fought down the panic. “What…what did you say?” she stammered to the cab driver, never taking her eyes from the building. Impatient and probably tired, the cabbie reminded her of the fare. “Right.” Margo fumbled with her purse while she tried to think of what to do. There was no way she could step into that hallway without any lights on. “Here.” She handed the driver some bills. “What do you suppose happened to the light?” The man took his money and relaxed. Margo didn’t even care that he’d been worried about getting the large fare. “Probably blew out. It isn’t the power. I see other lights in the building.” There was that at least. Her apartment would be lit. She never left without turning on the lights. But how to get there? “Look, lady. D’ya mind gettin’ out? I gotta get back to the city.” “You wouldn’t want to walk with me to my apartment, would you?” “I don’t have time to play games with ya.” “No. I didn’t mean…” Great. Desperation had called for desperate