But every thought of slow and careful flew out of his brain when he caught sight of the bare foot, vulnerable and pale and terribly still, poking out from behind the corner of the staircase.

Breath too frozen to allow a curse, Johnny rushed into the foyer and scrambled around the stairs, every beat of his heart thumping out, "Please don't be Tessa, please don't be Tessa, please don't be Tessa lying here on the floor."

It wasn't.

Johnny dropped to his knees next to Miss Patty's unmoving form. A sickening blend of relief and grim understanding coiled through his guts, but he kept his hands moving, checking for injuries without disturbing the older woman's neck or spine. His questing fingers found a sticky lump behind her left ear, and when he pulled them away, they glinted scarlet with blood.

Blood had been spilled, violently, in the house where his wife lived. Where he'd left her unprotected.

Stop it, he told himself viciously. No time for that now.

Johnny shrugged out of the flannel shirt he'd thrown on over his T-shirt that morning as he dragged himself away from his sleeping wife. Balling it up, he pressed it to Patty's head wound, but the bleeding had slowed considerably.

Thank G.o.d for his investigative training. Even in this awful moment, his mind was quietly calculating that based on the amount the blood that had clotted, he could estimate that the wound was inflicted several hours ago. Whoever did it was likely long gone from here before Johnny had even managed to extricate himself from Tessa's arms in the cold, predawn light.

Which meant Tessa wasn't here, because there was no way she could have missed seeing her friend's unconscious body lying on the hall floor. Just to be sure, Johnny called her name a few times, pausing to listen intently, but there was no response.

The cold reality settled over him like a mantle of snow. Patty was hurt, a.s.sailant unknown. And Tessa?

He had no idea where Tessa was, or if she was okay. For all he knew, she could be hurt worse than Patty.

She could be dead.

Johnny's heart gave a painful thump, shattering the ice that had grown around it. Fire and agony raced through him, banishing every trace of the cold, competent operative who'd subsumed his very ident.i.ty in order to carry out his mission.

He bowed his head over Patty's chest and shook with the realization that there was nothing left behind but a man in danger of losing everything that mattered most to him.

Chapter 19.

The first thing Marcus saw when he ran in the door of Miss Patty's house was Johnny on his knees on the floor, one hand holding one of Patty's and the other pressing his cell phone to his ear.

"Yeah, and hurry. She's coming around, but I'm concerned she lost a lot of blood before I found her."

Ugly dej vu whipped around Marcus's head for a dizzy second, but he muscled through it with the ease of practice. "Ambulance on its way?" he demanded when Johnny ended the call.

The younger man nodded, face stern but eyes wild with an emotion so raw, Marcus had to force himself to meet Johnny's stare. "They're coming, and I think Patty is going to be okay. At least, she started coming to a few seconds ago. What did you find at the bakery?"

Marcus didn't shock easily. He'd seen and done enough in his life that nothing much surprised him anymore. The call this morning from a guy calling himself "Captain Buddy" and saying Johnny needed his help?

That had been a surprise.

"We couldn't get in at first," Quinn said from behind him, her voice tight with nerves and urgency. "It was all locked up. Marcus had to break in."

Now it was Johnny's turn to look surprised. He raised his brows at Quinn and Marcus knew what he was seeing. The messy coil of strawberry-blond curls hastily pulled up and out of her way, the way her slim fingers were tangled in the hem of Marcus's black sweater. The way Marcus wasn't shoving her off him.

She'd still been in his bed when the call came in, all his good intentions about keeping her from spending the night no match for the pounding, insatiable hunger of his body for hers.

He hadn't paused to argue when she refused to go home after the ferry captain's call. Partly because there wasn't time, and partly because until they'd clocked this unknown threat and neutralized it, he didn't particularly want to let her out of his sight.

So Marcus towed Quinn along in his wake as he moved farther into the house. A quick glance at Johnny, who dipped his chin and gave him a subtle thumbs-up, had Marcus shrugging his jacket back over his shoulder holster. The coast was clear. He took a knee by Miss Patty's wan face, observing the wrinkle between her eyes and the quivering eyelashes.

The older lady moaned, weak and thready, but the sound sent a wave of relief through Marcus. It was worse when they didn't move, didn't respond. Didn't make a sound.

"Hey, Miss Patty," he said, reaching down to capture the wrinkled hand she was lifting weakly toward her head. He squeezed her fingers rea.s.suringly. "Don't touch, I know it hurts. There's an ambulance on its way and they're going to fix you right up."

Her lips moved soundlessly for a second, stopping Marcus's heart, but Patty coughed a little and managed to say, "Quit talking like ... I'm dumb. Turn you over ... m'knee."

Marcus grinned. If she was feeling well enough to sa.s.s him, she was going to be okay. "You don't know, I might enjoy that."

Scandalized delight lit the older woman's faded eyes briefly before a grimace of pain crossed her face.

"Don't try to sit up," Marcus cautioned. "The EMTs are going to want to check your spine."

"Did I fall?" The feebleness of her voice and the confusion betrayed by her own question seemed to annoy her. She scowled while Marcus and Johnny exchanged a look over her head.

As much to calm Johnny's sudden alarm as to rea.s.sure Patty, Marcus said, "It's okay if you don't remember what happened. Short-term memory loss is common with a head injury."

"Head injury," Patty echoed, the irritation in her expression shifting to something like dread. Marcus hated to see a woman like Patty, so vibrant and vital, reduced to a helpless old lady prostrate on the floor.

"And you came to so fast," Marcus complained teasingly, "I didn't even get a chance to perform CPR."

He waggled his brows to make Patty smile. "Missed opportunity," she agreed smugly, some of the fear clearing from her eyes.

On her other side, Johnny was practically vibrating with impatience. "Miss Patty, I hate to ask-"

"So don't," Marcus growled. "Give her a minute. She already said she doesn't remember how she got hurt."

"But she might remember something from earlier in the day," Quinn pointed out from behind him, making Marcus stiffen. He'd almost forgotten she was there. "She still knows her name and vital stats, right?"

"Patricia Catherine Cuthbert." Patty sighed. "Two dozen sticky buns, four dozen cinnamon buns, and five dozen cinnamon streusel m.u.f.fins."

Alarmed, Marcus shot a questioning look over his shoulder. Quinn was smiling, though. "That's her morning list for the bakery. The stock they need to open. I'd bet anything. Her memory is just fine."

"Then Patty, please think back," Johnny begged, leaning over her. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Marcus held his tongue, even as the lines fanning from Patty's eyes deepened with pain. "I don't ... Oh. I came downstairs and Tessa wasn't here. I was surprised, but ... I thought she must be with you. Which made me glad. But then I heard the front door open and I thought maybe she'd come home. It wasn't Tessa, though. It was-"

She stopped and Johnny leaned forward. "Who was it?"

Patty's breath came faster, shallow little sips of air that couldn't possibly be enough. "That's enough," Marcus snarled.

"d.a.m.n it," Johnny burst out, his face set like stone. "I need to know. If there's any way she can help me find Tessa..."

"Tessa," Patty gasped. "Tessa. Oh, my G.o.d, she's in trouble."

"Yes! And I need your help."

Patty stared up at him, a single tear running down her temple and into her blood-matted hair. "Anything."

With a muttered curse, Marcus shot to his feet and stalked to the front window to watch for the ambulance. It was too much, all of a sudden, watching the injured old woman push herself past her own limits in her attempt to help someone else. It was hard to watch.

"Are you okay?"

Quinn's voice was as gentle as he'd ever heard it, and even that put him on edge. "This entire island could fit inside Yankee Stadium. What the h.e.l.l is taking that ambulance so long to get here?"

"She's going to be fine," Quinn replied. Her hand settled on his shoulder, tentative and light as a dragonfly landing on the surface of a lake. "You were wonderful with her."

Practice makes perfect. Marcus stared out the window at the breaking dawn and said nothing, while behind them, Johnny and Patty carried on a slow, halting conversation he couldn't really hear.

"Is someone after Tessa?" Quinn asked. Her voice was carefully casual, as if she were working hard to sound unafraid. "I didn't think things like that could happen here."

She was so painfully young sometimes. "Bad things happen everywhere."

"But everyone here knows everyone else," she argued. "I mean, how could a bad guy hope to get away with anything on Sanctuary Island? We all know each other's business!"

Before Marcus could respond, Johnny was rushing past him to scoop Quinn off the ground and into his arms. He twirled her around and said, "You're a genius!" before opening the front door and rushing down the steps, nearly crashing into the paramedics on their way up.

"What did I say?" Quinn laughed, flushed to the roots of her strawberry-blond hair.

Marcus stomped over to let the paramedics in, but first he had to uncramp his fingers from the fist they'd instinctively made when Johnny put his hands on Quinn.

Opening the door wider, Marcus let his training come to the fore as he directed the EMTs toward the patient and filled them in on her known condition. He watched them work, staying close to Patty because his presence seemed to soothe her, and the whole time he carefully didn't look at Quinn.

And he carefully didn't think about the fact that in the instant when he'd seen her in Johnny's arms, Marcus had wanted to rip the guy's head clear off his shoulders.

Which was ridiculous, because Johnny was stupid in love with his own wife. He wasn't after Quinn, and even if he were ... so what? Marcus had never been the jealous type before.

There was nothing to be jealous of anyway. Quinn was a fun girl, a beautiful girl, with a smile that lit up a room and a body that wouldn't quit. She was the girl-next-door fantasy come to life, literally.

So what if she'd started looking at Marcus like she saw something in him? So what if Quinn had stars in her eyes when she stared his way? So what if her entranced expression did something to Marcus, deep inside-something that made him covet every moment when Quinn's focus slipped away from him to someone else?

So what if they'd spent hours the night before, sharing a pillow and talking about Quinn's dreams and plans for her future, and Marcus hadn't been bored or annoyed even for an instant?

d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l. Tessa wasn't the only one who was in trouble.

Johnny raced down the sidewalk, the soles of his shoes slapping loudly in the early morning quiet. Would they be there this early? Or would they still be asleep?

Please, please, be there, Johnny pleaded silently. You're my only hope for a lead and the clock is ticking. I don't want to have to track you down.

The moment he'd overheard Quinn say that crime was impossible on Sanctuary Island because everyone was in each other's business, it had clicked. He'd stared wildly down at Patty, who must have read the look in his eyes because she'd gripped his fingers with surprising strength and said, "Go! I'll be fine. Go get our girl and bring her home."

Johnny ran past the bakery, not even wanting to look at the darkened windows. Tessa should be in there, safe and sound and baking up a batch of crazy-delicious scones. But she wasn't.

The hardware store came into view and Johnny's breath seized in his lungs when he caught sight of the two old men in their rocking chairs out front.

They were there. The guys he'd met his first day in town, almost a month ago, who'd interrogated him as to his purpose in visiting the island more thoroughly than any customs officer ever had.

The younger one, wearing a red knit cap with a pom-pom on top underneath his beat-up old costume crown, beamed down at Johnny with friendly curiosity. "Look, it's Mr. Tessa! Maybe he knows why the bakery is closed. Is Miss Patty taking a vacation?"

"That old cat wouldn't know a vacation if it bit her in the Acapulco," the other man scoffed, eyeing Johnny as if appraising him as a potential source for good gossip. "She hasn't taken a day off in thirty years. What gives?"

"Patty was attacked in her home early this morning." Johnny didn't see any point in beating around the bush. They were going to see the ambulance coming from her house in a minute anyway, plus they might as well spread the word that there was someone dangerous in town. Maybe it would encourage the townspeople to be more alert and cautious than usual.

The man wearing the crown, the one Johnny remembered was called King, cried out in dismay. "Oh, no! Is she okay?"

"We should go see if there's anything we can do to help," the other man suggested, hauling himself out of his rocker and thumbing his dangling suspenders back up over his shoulders.

Johnny held up a hand to stop them. "The paramedics are with her now, and I think she's going to make a full recovery. But my wife, Tessa, is missing. Did you see her this morning?"

Alarm widened the older man's eyes while King's face just crumpled in pained confusion. "We only got here a few minutes ago," he said regretfully. "And you're the first person we've seen all morning."

So they hadn't been at their posts when Marcus and Quinn ran over from the b.u.t.tercup Inn. They hadn't seen the abduction, or the person who attacked Patty. Struggling against the wave of disappointment, Johnny forged ahead with his questions.

"What about yesterday?" he demanded. "Anything odd or unusual happen in town? Any strangers?"

Johnny was braced for another disappointment, but King nodded vigorously. "The big black truck," he said urgently to his friend. "Remember? I said it was new but you said no, it was old and in bad shape, just listen to that engine, and I said I just meant it was new to me."

Johnny's heart was in his throat. "Did you get a glimpse of the driver?"

The two men shared a glance then shook their heads regretfully. But King perked up and said, "But I saw a red plastic tank in the back of the truck, looked like marine fuel. Does that help?"

Pulse quickening, Johnny said, "It doesn't necessarily tell me who has my wife, or why, but it gives me some ideas about where to search. Thank you."

He turned to go, but the fretful voice of one of the older men stopped him. "Shouldn't we call the police?"

"Please do," Johnny replied. "But I'm not waiting around for them. If you call, let them know I'll be scouring the perimeter of the island, starting with the docks. Is there any place else you know where people tie up boats?"

"Not in a big group like down at the docks," King said, shrugging. "But almost every house on the water has its own dock."

Johnny's resolve hardened. That was potentially a lot of boats, a lot of private docks to check, but he would find her. He had to.

"Listen, maybe call the Coast Guard, too," Johnny suggested over his shoulder. "If you're right about what you saw in the truck, I think I know how he plans to get Tessa off the island-and it isn't by ferry."

"He who?" King yelled after him as Johnny loped off down the street, setting up a steady, ground-covering pace. "Who could it be? Who has Tessa?"

Johnny wished to G.o.d he knew.