“That’s not true!” Lorraine cried. “I only went there to rehearse scenes with my acting partners or have an occasional yoga session. I needed that apartment for my creativity and my alone time.”

“I understand they have wonderful rehearsal space for rent at Carnegie Hall. Tonight you can come up here and stay in the guest room, or you can check into a hotel—your decision. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

He hung up.

Lorraine’s head was reeling. Jack Reilly was a cop. His wife was an investigator. If they discovered the safe she had installed behind the built-in cabinet in the closet, her life would be ruined. I have to get in there again and soon, she thought frantically. But how? She dug through her bag for her address book. She would call the young actor she’d rehearsed with in the loft not long before she left the States. Lorraine knew he needed money. She could tell he was the type who would help her if the price was right. Riffling through the pages, she located his number and began to dial.

Regan and Jack Reilly were driving south on Manhattan’s West Side Highway, returning home from a three-day weekend on Cape Cod with Jack’s family. It had been his father’s birthday, and the clan had gathered to celebrate.

“We’re almost there,” Jack said with relief. “I thought coming back on a Monday, we’d beat some of the traffic. I wish we could have stayed longer, especially with this heat…”

“Me, too,” Regan agreed. “But if the contractor actually shows up tomorrow, it’ll be worth sweating it out. He swore to me he’d be there. We’ll see.”

“You’re not sorry we got into all this are you?”

“Not at all. I love having a shopping cart full of contractor’s supplies parked outside our bedroom.” Regan smiled. “For years I’ve listened to my mother lament about how she and my father should have bought the apartment next door to theirs when it went up for sale. We got that chance and had to take it. When this renovation is finished, we’ll have a home we’ll never want to leave…if by then we haven’t gone crazy.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Let’s hope not.” Five minutes later he was turning onto their block. “How about if I drop you off with the bags and then go get us some Chinese food? I also want to swing by the office and pick up a report.”

“Sounds good. I’ll open a bottle of wine and set the table on that new rooftop terrace of ours. It might not be in the best condition yet, but there should be at least a slight breeze coming off the Hudson.”

They unloaded the car and placed the bags on a luggage cart. Regan brought the cart up to the loft Jack had purchased a couple of years before they met.

Inside the apartment, Regan turned on all the lights. The smell of plywood and sawdust filled the air. She wandered down the hallway to their “new” apartment and smiled.