“What?” Kit asked with astonishment. “She actually left me here like this? That’s swell.” Kit looked at Billy and smiled. “I can tell you one thing. If I have anything to do with it, her name is going to be mud in the insurance industry. Come to think of it, I don’t even know her last name. I don’t even have her cell phone number to call. Wait until I run into her tomorrow…”

“I’ll get you home,” Billy said. “Where do you live?”

“Hartford.”

“Oh…”

“‘Oh’ is right. I’m staying on the thirty-eighth floor of the Gates Hotel, so that’s not going to work, either. I don’t think I have the energy to hop up that many flights on one foot. My best friend lives downtown in Tribeca. I’ll give her a call and see if she’s home. She has a fourth-floor loft that I think I can manage. I just hope she’s there…”

3

J ack was over at One Police Plaza within minutes of leaving Regan. One of the reasons he’d bought an apartment in Tribeca was so he’d be close to the office. His wasn’t a nine to five existence—he could be called in at any time, day or night, when a case was breaking. Jack didn’t mind; he loved his work. After graduating from Boston College, he’d decided to pursue a career in law enforcement. He’d risen through the ranks of the New York Police Department from patrolman to captain and a few years later he became the head of the Major Case Squad. His goal was to one day be police commissioner. Now that he’d found Regan, Jack felt his whole life had fallen into place.

People remarked on what a handsome couple they made. Thirty-four-year-old Jack was six-feet-two-inches tall with broad shoulders, sandy hair, and even features. Thirty-one-year-old Regan was five foot seven and one of the Black Irish. She had dark hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion. They looked like they were made for each other.

“I wish I’d met you years ago,” he often told her.

“Me, too, Jack. Believe me! But now we really appreciate each other,” she’d answer with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

Things were so good, it sometimes worried him. But as Regan always said, worrying was part of being Irish. He smiled at the memory of her playful teasing, parked his car, and got out. Ah, life is grand, he thought, even if it feels like 110 degrees in this city tonight.

He hurried into the building, greeted the guard, and took the elevator up to his office. Ducking into a hallway bathroom, he washed his hands and splashed cool water on his face. This doesn’t feel as refreshing as the water of Cape Cod Bay, he thought. It was hard to believe he and Regan had been taking a cool dip at the beach behind his parents’ house just this morning. After the long trip home, that refreshing swim seemed like ages ago.