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locker in the basement of the building. Too nice to keep out where it would collect dust, she had said of this or that, and packed it away.
    But she could buy a few pillows, a colorful throw for the sofa, something to liven it up. Not a plant. They always died in her care.
    Slowly she wandered to her home office and sat at her desk, and more slowly she took Darren's e-mail from her pocket and smoothed it out. Already frayed, it had been dampened at the Diedricks cabin when she took off her rain garb, and now the creases were starting to split.
    My darling Barbara, I love you and it seems my fate to keep loving you. I got over the anger, and the hurt, and began to think, instead of just suffer gut reactions. You were right, Barbara. If that little bit of you was all I could have, I was content to live with it, or so I thought, without realizing what I was doing to you. How selfish we can be when we're in love — one of those mysterious puzzles we poor humans seem plagued with apparently. I want to be your friend, your companion, your lover. I want to be your husband, to marry all of you, not just the part I was too ready to settle for. I'm afraid it's all the way or not at all with us, isn't it? Will you marry me, Barbara? You can come home. I won't bug you, or call, or hang out on your doorstep.
    She placed the e-mail message in a file folder on her desk, then sat with her eyes closed, remembering a session with Dr. Sanger. "When you confront what it is you fear, only then can you resolve it. But you have to find that elusive fear. No one can do it for you."
    Abandonment? Betrayal? Unfaithfulness? She shook her head. Afraid of hurting him desperately. She knew that was part of it, but was it all? Marjorie Sanger had not thought it enough. Find a better answer, she'd said. Six weeks had not been long enough. She had brought home the same two problems that had resulted in her flight — her wandering, futile search for answers. Could she work within the law when she believed with every fiber of her being that the law often was wrong? What to do about Darren? What she had come home to face now was a possible warrant for her arrest, and finding herself suspected of aiding and abetting a kidnapper, or worse. And she still had no answers to anything, she added almost savagely.
    Chapter 5
    Maria and Shelley were almost giddy with joy at Barbara's return on Monday morning, both talking at once, hugging and touching, as if to verify that she was really back. Shelley had several interesting cases, two from Martin's restaurant, one a real paying office case, and Maria was apologetic about so much mail in the office, and in the box at the apartment. No bills, she added, smiling. She had taken care of the bills, paid the rent and they'd had to have a repairman do something about a computer glitch.
    Laughing, Barbara walked through the reception room to her office with Shelley close behind. Fresh flowers were on the round table, and a new plant in a new cloisonné urn near a window. She looked at Shelley accusingly.
    "Well, your father said you'd be back today, in all likelihood. I thought a little something special would be nice. I have to run. Court at eight-thirty, shoplifting, seventeen-year-old brat "
    Barbara waved her out and went to sit at her desk. It was good to be back, she thought in surprise. Crazy, but it was good to be back.
    Frank arrived minutes later. And promptly at nine Lt. Howard Janowsky appeared. He was a heavyset, middle-aged man with graying hair, wearing gold-rimmed eyeglasses, dressed in a bulky tweed suit and carrying a briefcase. His suit was too hot for indoors, Barbara thought, and not warm enough, or moisture proof enough, for outside. You wanted something you could shed inside, let drip, if necessary, or at the very least dry out a little before putting it on again. She imagined that heavy wool absorbed moisture and held it all day.
    He nodded to Frank, and held out his hand to Barbara for a firm,