Somehow, Marisa had known that's what it would be. She drew the bow over the strings, began the sweet, sentimental tune. Jessica's eyes were closed. She looked so young and innocent. For a moment, Marisa saw the echo of her sister in her daughter's face.

What if something had happened? What if Sam had had an accident in Peru? Maybe Marisa was just grasping at straws, but she couldn't believe, any more than Jessica, that Sam would turn against them forever.

She thought of Patrick Murphy. He had seemed so stalwart, so steady, when he'd come up to Cape Hawk last month. She knew that he had spent many years trying to track down Lily. Maybe Marisa could call him, ask him to check on Sam and make sure she was okay. Could he do that?

Still playing the song, glancing down at Jessica, she knew she had to try.

Returning from visiting Maeve at the hospital, Patrick sat on the deck of his boat, Probable Cause, watching terns dive for minnows in the cove. The baitfish had been thick this week, and it was very unusual to see them in these numbers this far up the river. They swam in the estuary, but Patrick's dock was nearly seven miles inland. The water was brackish here, but right now it was a haven for fish and seabirds. Looking over the rail, Patrick saw a bluefish come to the surface, snapping at everything that moved. His phone rang and he didn't even check caller ID—he was too engrossed in the fishing ballet.

“Hello,” he said.

“Patrick?” came the voice.

He knew it instantly. Patrick had a cop's instinct for identifying characteristics, and Marisa Taylor's voice had imprinted itself in his inner data bank.

“Marisa?”

She laughed, a quick, nervous ripple that made his skin tingle. “Yes, it's me. I'm surprised you knew—”

“I'm a detective, ma'am,” he said. “It's my job to know.”

“Ahh,” she said, chuckling softly.

“How is life in Cape Hawk?” he asked.

“It's . . . well . . . it's fine.”

Patrick listened, watching gulls circle overhead, waiting for her to continue, wondering why she sounded so hesitant.

“You must miss your friends,” he said. “Lily and Rose. And Liam.”

“Lily called me, and I do miss her—more than you can imagine.” She paused. “It seems I'm missing everyone right now.”

Patrick's heart jumped. Was she talking about him? He had promised himself to play it cool the next time he talked to her or saw her—meeting her at Cape Hawk had done something to his insides that hadn't been done since . . . well, since Sandra. He'd gotten all turned inside out. He was glad she couldn't see him right now—he felt his face turning bright red.

“Missing everyone?” he managed to ask.

“Yes,” she said. “Well, one person in particular. My sister.”

Okay, he told himself. That made more sense. He cleared his throat. She was calling him in his professional capacity. “Is she actually missing?” he asked.