But that remained only a possibility, rather than a certainty.

During the process of buying the house he had momentarily toyed with the idea of bending some of his principles, and ordering the restoration to be something more akin to the modern. But in the end he decided that he could not do that. This was to be his personal masterwork, not a project of compromise. He was taking a huge risk, and he could only hope that he would succeed in creating something very special.

By the time he was eighteen, it was a foregone conclusion that he would become an architect. With his SAT scores nearly off the charts, he was readily accepted into college. It was while attaining his master’s degree in architecture that his uncanny ability to recognize architectural works and the people who had designed them really came to the forefront. Once he had studied the work of an architect, it was easy for him to identify buildings that had been created by the same hand. He minored in art history, and in this discipline too he possessed an unerring eye for artistic authorship that was truly remarkable.

And then, for what must have been the one hundredth time that day, Garrett thought about last night’s dream. He had tried to get it out of his mind but found it impossible. The dream had been so vivid, so lifelike in its colors, intensity, and detail that in many ways it had not seemed like a dream at all. It was as if he had truly been there with that mysterious woman who had begged for his help. Although her beauty had been mesmerizing, her sadness was the most desperate he had ever witnessed. And the unexpected attraction he felt for her at that moment had carried over into his waking hours, her lovely image reappearing in his mind’s eye seemingly at will, yet only to vanish again.

Who was she? he wondered. Could she have been someone from his past who lay deeply buried in his memories, only to now reemerge and create that amazing dream? No, he realized. Had he ever met a woman as lovely as she, he would have certainly remembered. Whether this woman really existed or whether she was simply a figment of his imagination, she was unknown to him. He also hoped that he might see her again sometime, be it in a dream or real life. And that if he did, he would not find her to be in such terrible distress.

ONE HOUR LATER, Garrett was happily astride his Harley Low Rider as he headed south from Boston along a lovely coastal road. He had ridden a motorcycle in one form or another ever since his college days, and he still loved it. His parents had stern objections, but expecting him to give it up was an exercise in futility. He was on his way to Seaside to give his contractor the ten-thousand-dollar check.

As he approached Seaside he saw that Jay Morgan’s pickup was already parked out front and that some lights had been turned on inside the house, presumably a few lanterns that Jay had brought along with him. After shutting down the Harley and leaning it onto its kickstand, Garrett untied a sturdy leather tube from the bike’s rear fender and began walking toward the house. As he went along, he picked up several small stones and put them into one pocket. Jay was sitting in one of Garrett’s folding chairs on the front porch, waiting for him, shaking his head in mock disdain.

“It’s about time you got here,” he said. “There are few clients in the world that I would consider meeting at this time of night. And although you’re one of them, Dr. Richmond, it wouldn’t do to take me for granted.”

Garrett laughed a little as he plopped down in the other chair.

“Yeah,” he answered. “But we both know that given the size of this job, you’ll be willing to put up with just about anything from me.”

“Fair enough,” Jay replied. “But even the money won’t make up for you being such a royal pain.”

Garrett turned and cast his gaze out over the restless Atlantic. Although he had been here for less than two minutes, he already felt at home again.

Jay Morgan was more than just the contractor whom Garrett tried to use the most; he was also one of his best friends.