"All right, Maria, here we go. For the past few weeks or months, have you been excessively worried about work, family or finances?"

Maria shook her head. "No. Miguel is doing very well at his job, and Raul, he is doing very good, too."

"Have you lost interest in the things you usually like to do?"

"No. I am very busy at home getting ready for the baby."

"Have you been feeling sad or hopeless?"

"No."

"Have you lost interest in s.e.x?"

Soft color rose beneath the dark skin over her cheeks. "My husband, he is a very virile man, but with the baby coming " She glanced away. "Still, I feel desire for him."

Elizabeth bit back a smile and Michael looked down at the paper. "Do you cry often?"

"A few times lately, but only because I am afraid."

Michael made notes on the paper. "Are you irritable and out of sorts with other people?"

"No, I do not think so."

"Do you spend time thinking about death or dying?"

Maria shook her head. "I think mostly about having my baby. The doctor says it is going to be a little boy."

Flicking a glance at Elizabeth, Dr. James set the questionnaire aside and picked up a second sheet of paper. "This is a test for Anxiety Disorder. Answer each question just as you did before."

Maria nodded, sat up a little straighter in her chair.

"Do you sometimes feel that things around you are strange, unreal, foggy or detached from you?"

"Si at night when I am alone."

"Do you have a fear that you are dying or that something terrible is about to happen?"

"Si, and I am very afraid."

"Do you have difficulty breathing? Or feel as if you are smothering?"

"That has happened to me yes."

He made notes on the paper. "Do you suffer chest pains, light-headedness or dizzy spells, shaking or trembling?"

"Si, but only when the fear comes."

"Have you experienced the sensation of your legs being rubbery or jellylike?"

"It was not quite that way. The last time the voices came, I could not move my legs. I could not move from the bed. I could not get away."

Dr. James frowned. "Have you experienced a skipping or racing heart?"

"Oh, si. My heart, it goes so fast I think it will beat right through my chest."

The doctor set the paper aside and pulled off his reading gla.s.ses. "From the answers you've given, Mrs. Santiago, you have the cla.s.sic symptoms of anxiety. What you're feeling isn't really happening. But stress is making it seem as if it is."

"Then the voices, they are not real?"

"No. But you mustn't be afraid. Once we discover what is causing the anxiety, the voices will go away."

Dr. James glanced at Elizabeth, who took her cue and rose from her chair. "Dr. James is going to help you, Maria. All you have to do is talk to him, tell him your fears, be honest about yourself and your past." Elizabeth squeezed the young woman's shoulder. "If you do that, it won't be long before you'll start to feel better."

Elizabeth left the doctor's office, closing the door softly behind her. It looked like Maria was definitely suffering from anxiety. Michael James was good. In time, he would discover the cause. Once the problem was out in the open, the symptoms would likely disappear.

Elizabeth returned to her office, relieved yet wondering what had set off the young woman's recent attacks.

Her marriage, perhaps. Miguel Santiago was twenty-nine, ten years older than his wife.

He wasn't abusive, just domineering, and up until now, Maria hadn't seemed to mind. She had been raised to believe the husband was master of the household and it seemed their mutual understanding was working to make a successful marriage.

Now, based on what Elizabeth had heard in Michael's office, she was beginning to have her doubts.

"So what do you think I should wear?" The week was over. It was Sat.u.r.day afternoon, hot, as usual in San Pico, the sun beating down through the bedroom windows in Elizabeth's Cherry Street apartment.

"The black c.o.c.ktail dress," Gwen Petersen said, plopping down on the edge of the bed in front of the mirrored closet. "Definitely." The room was simply furnished, with an inexpensive walnut queen-size bedroom set she had purchased right after college, and not much on the walls.

Elizabeth had never planned to return to San Pico and in the two years she had been back, she'd done little to make the apartment feel like home.

"Carson's house is very elegant," Gwen continued, "and he'll have the dinner professionally catered. Jim and I attended a function there not too long ago. You'll definitely need to wear something nice."

Gwen studied the dresses laid out on the bed, a red chiffon with a full, flowing skirt, and a light blue silk sheath with a modest neckline and small cap sleeves, and a simple black silk sheath. "The black is perfect, cla.s.sic yet s.e.xy."

"That's kind of what I was thinking. I've always felt good when I wear it. I usually wear my mother's pearls with it."

"Perfect." Gwen got up from the bed, picking up the hanger with the black sheath on it, holding it up in front of Elizabeth. "It's a good thing you still fit into the clothes you brought with you from L.A. You sure couldn't find anything like this in San Pico."

The above-the-knee sheath dress was made of black silk crepe, with a draped neckline that dipped down low in back.

"I don't suppose you could, but you really don't need clothes like these very often here, either."

"True enough, but if you seriously start dating Carson Harcourt, you're going to need everything you've got and a whole lot more."

"I'm not seriously dating Carson. I hardly know the man."

"It'd be nice, though, wouldn't it? If you two got together? Carson has plenty of money and he's well respected in the community. Around these parts, the man is considered quite a catch."

"Well, I'm not trying to catch Carson or any other man. I've had one husband. As far as I'm concerned, one was more than enough."

Gwen held the dress up in front of her and looked at herself in the mirror. The skirt was too long for Gwen's pet.i.te frame, but the black did wonders for her fair complexion and short red hair. "Not all men are like your ex, you know. Jim's a terrific husband."

"Yes, he is. Jim's one in ten thousand. Unfortunately, I don't have time to plough through another nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine to find one like him."

Gwen laughed. "It isn't that bad. There are a lot of nice men out there."

"Maybe." Elizabeth walked over and took down a s...o...b..x that held a pair of black fabric high heels. "I just haven't had much luck spotting them. Besides, not everyone needs a man in order to be happy. I've got my career. I've got friends like you and Jim. I have a perfectly acceptable life and that's the way I intend to keep it."

"What about kids? Surely you want children. Having babies is a very good reason to find a husband. Unless of course, you're one of those modern women who wants to get pregnant and raise a kid on her own."

"I'm not that modern, believe me."

And when she had first married her college sweetheart, Brian Logan, she had wanted children very badly. But Brian always said it was too soon. They needed to get their careers established. There wasn't enough money. He just wasn't ready to be a father.

In the end, they had divorced before she'd had a chance to get pregnant. Now at thirty, her biological clock rapidly ticking, she had returned to using her maiden name and immensely disliked the idea of falling under any man's thumb again. Which meant there was a very good chance she would never have a baby.

"I'd love to have children," Elizabeth said, "but not unless I stumble across the kind of man who is committed to the long haul. No more divorces. Not for me. And we both know men like that are few and far between. It just isn't worth the risk."

Gwen didn't argue. She knew Elizabeth's views on marriage and no amount of discussion was going to change them.

"Listen, I've got to run." Gwen snagged her purse off the walnut dresser. "Call me tomorrow and let me know how it went." She grinned. "I'm still holding out hope for you, Liz, whether you like it or not."

Elizabeth laughed. "I'll call. I promise. But don't get too excited. It's just a date, nothing more."

"Yeah, right. See ya." Gwen disappeared through the bedroom door and Elizabeth heard the front door close as she left the apartment. The women had known each other since high school. Since Elizabeth's return to San Pico, they had become even closer friends.

It was the only thing she really liked about the ugly little town. Nice people. Gwen Petersen was one of them. An image of Carson Harcourt, tall, blond and handsome, rose into her head. Carson seemed nice, too. She wasn't completely immune to the notion of having a man in her life. Tonight might prove interesting.

Six.

Elizabeth crossed the living room to answer the knock at her door. Carson stood on the small front porch, looking casually elegant in a pair of summer-weight tan slacks and light blue shirt, a navy blue jacket draped over one arm.

"Ready?"

"Let me get my purse." She grabbed the black fabric bag that matched her high heels, locked the front door as they walked out, and Carson guided her down the walk to his silver Mercedes.

"You look terrific, by the way," he said as he opened the door and waited for her to slide into the pa.s.senger seat. "Great dress."

"I wasn't quite sure what to wear. Fortunately, I had a very nice wardrobe by the time I left L.A. My ex-husband was a stockbroker with big aspirations. He wanted his wife to project the right image."

"Most of the women from here drive down to L.A. to go shopping."

Most of the women married to men with money, he meant. Elizabeth no longer cared about playing the role she had played as Brian's wife, though she had to admit she was glad she had the appropriate clothes to wear tonight.

The drive out of town to the farm didn't take long. Carson parked his car in an immaculate four-car garage, but took her around to the front door to go into the house. The big, white, wood-framed structure with its wide porch across the front looked impressive and well cared for from the highway. Now she saw that the interior had recently been remodeled: new paint, new drapes, new furniture, which was a comfortable mix of overstuffed sofas and Victorian antiques, the oak floors adding a sense of elegance and charm. The molded ceilings were high, and an antique chandelier hung from the ceiling in the entry.

The decorating had been professionally done, she was sure, probably a designer from L.A.

"It's lovely, Carson. Like something out of Better Homes and Gardens only more inviting."

"Thank you. I wanted a place that looked good but didn't put people off."

He led her into one of two front parlors, where a bar had been set up. A member of the catering staff, a young man in black slacks and a starched white shirt, poured her a gla.s.s of chilled champagne, Schramsberg, a brand she recognized as coming from the Napa Valley, a fairly expensive California label.

They talked as Carson gave her a tour of the downstairs portion of the house, including his modernized kitchen where the catering staff was hard at work, then on to his wood-paneled study. By the time they returned to the parlor, a long black stretch limousine was pulling up in front of the house.

"Looks like they're here. Three of the couples flew in on a twin-engine Queen Aire. I hired a limo from Newhall to collect them. Another is bringing the Castenados up from L.A."

"I gather you have an airstrip here on the ranch."

He nodded. "It isn't big enough to handle a private jet, but it serves most other small planes very well."

"Do you fly yourself?"

"I thought about taking lessons, but I really don't have time."

They walked toward the foyer and Carson pulled open the leaded gla.s.s door, inviting his guests inside. The fourth couple arrived within minutes of the other three, the group varying in ages from thirty-five to sixty. Introductions were made all around, then Carson led his guests into the bar and drinks were served.

Elizabeth was glad she had worn the black dress. The other four women had on equally expensive outfits, two wore sequin-trimmed pants suits, one a knee-length, ivory dinner suit, another a simple black sheath similar to the one she had on.

They talked for a while, then Carson rested a proprietary hand on her shoulder. "If you ladies don't mind, there are a couple of items of business that need to be discussed before we go in to supper. It shouldn't take all that long."

He didn't wait for their approval, just turned and started walking, all four males in the group following him down the hall toward the study.

Elizabeth turned to the ladies, taking over the role of hostess. "Is this the first time you've been to San Pico?"

"None of us have ever been here," said one woman in a dinner suit, Maryann Hobson, who was married to a real estate developer in Orange County. "Though, of course, we've known Carson for quite some time."

"His home is lovely," one of the other women said, Mildred Castenado, a tall, statuesque Hispanic woman whose dark eyes seemed to take in every detail.

"Yes, it certainly is," Rebecca Meyers agreed. Her husband was the CEO of a big pharmaceuticals company and Becky, as she had asked to be called, seemed a bright intelligent woman. "I particularly like what they've done with the molded ceilings." Painting the walls a creamy beige and the moldings very white.

"Have you known Carson long?" the fourth woman asked, silver-gray hair, thin lips and tight lines around her mouth. She was the eldest of the women, Betty Simino, wife of the senior member of the group.

"We've been acquainted for several years," Elizabeth said, not liking the a.s.sessing look in the woman's pale blue eyes. "This is the first time I've been to his home. I agree with Mildred. The house is quite lovely."

"Carson used the designer I recommended," Mildred said proudly. "Anthony Ba.s.s. I think he did a marvelous job."

"Yes, he did."

The conversation went on in that vein, light, mostly pleasant, with only an occasional foray by Mrs. Simino into the nature of Elizabeth's relationship with Carson, which, of course, didn't actually exist.

Elizabeth found herself glancing toward the study door, wondering when Carson would return. Praying it wouldn't be much longer.