The Wrong Man: A Novel of Suspense (25 page)

“Do you think you can finally trust me?”

“I think so. It’s been hard because everything went to hell, but I want to clear the air.”

There was a long pause, and she found herself holding her breath.

“Where? And when? We have to be careful.”

“I’m going to sneak out tonight to meet a client. In Tribeca. If you’re still at the same apartment, I could come by after that.”

“I don’t like the idea of you leaving wherever you are.”

“I won’t be going out a lot, but there are appointments I
have
to keep. Otherwise, there’ll be nothing waiting for me when the case is resolved.”

“What if I meet you downtown when you’re done. We can find a place to talk and then I can bring you home.”

“Okay, I should be finished at about eight or so.”

“All right, I’ll wait at a bar or restaurant in that area. Call me when you’re wrapping up.”

When she disconnected, she was surprised at how much relief she felt. So she would have another shot at seeing him after all. And maybe there was a tiny chance she could make him want to renew their connection. Because that was what she wanted. Weeks ago when she’d asked Baby how she could have done such a bad job judging X in Florida, Baby had told her to think back about the warning signs she’d missed, but in hindsight Kit had never seen any. She’d been drawn to him. She had wanted something from him. And she still did.

She spent the rest of the afternoon brainstorming with Baby about their meeting with Steven Harper and reviewing a shopping strategy for the bachelor apartment with the freelancer she would be using. At six, she changed for her meeting with Holt.

“Any tips you’d recommend on how I should play this?” she asked Baby.

“Yes, stay home,” Baby said. “Let
me
go.”

“You’ve already been doing far more than you should. And I don’t want to throw him any more curveballs.”

Baby sighed. “Okay, then I’d say you want to regain the power position. Be happy to help but not needy to please. And seem busy with work. Toward the end you might even glance at your watch and say, ‘I’m so sorry but I need to meet another client now.’”

“Do you use this same kind of technique with men, as well?”

“I would if I could meet one who didn’t write his Match profile in all caps or tell me that his main goal in life is to seize the day.”

They hugged goodbye and Kit took off. Though she’d managed to squash her anxiety as she’d worked and brainstormed that afternoon, the minute she was in the lobby, it began to bully its way back. She still meant what she’d said at FBI headquarters, that she wasn’t going to let her life be destroyed, and yet she felt far less nervy each time she actually went out into the world. This time when she surveyed the courtyard, she was on the alert not just for strange men but also for a tall, dark-haired woman with a less-than-sane look in her eyes.

She arrived ahead of schedule at the small café and took a seat at the counter, where she ordered a cup of tea. Lost in thought, she finally glanced at her watch and saw that it was ten minutes past when Holt was supposed to call. She drank more tea and recollected how good it had been to be back in her apartment, even if only for a short while. She thought about Kelman, too, and what she would say to him later. She didn’t want him out of her life.

Once again, she glanced at her watch: 7:22. She wondered if Holt might have been forced to contend with a patient emergency or if the two of them had gotten their signals crossed somehow. She was just about to call his office when her phone rang.

“So sorry for the delay,” he told her.

“Not a problem.”

“I was dealing with the real estate agent. She was originally going to accompany us, but then she couldn’t get away this early. She’s entrusted me with the keys so we can get in ourselves. I’m in the lobby right now, over on North Moore Street. Shall I swing by and pick you up?”

“That’s so kind of you, but it won’t be necessary. I’ll just run over there now.”

He gave her the exact address, and after paying her bill, she headed there, checking twice behind her, just making sure. North Moore was a charming street, just several blocks long, she realized, running between West Broadway and West Street.

The building itself was fairly nondescript but attractive enough, the limestone painted a creamy off-white. Kit guessed that before a major renovation, it once had contained small, floor-through factories or industrial offices.

As promised, Holt was waiting inside the foyer and he smiled in greeting. His gray-tinged hair had grown a little longer since she’d last seen him and he’d brushed it back against the sides of his head. He was wearing an overcoat today and thin, brown leather gloves. Dapper looking. Doctor in charge.

As Holt fiddled with the keys, she peered through the glass door into the lobby. A large roll of brown builder’s paper was leaning against one of the walls and sheets of it had been spread on the floor. Her guess: none of the apartments were even occupied yet.

Holt finally selected a key, inserted it into the lock, and when that one didn’t work, tried the other. He cursed under his breath. After a few moments of jiggling, the lock finally gave. Holt turned the handle, gave the door a push, and then turned to her.

“Sorry to seem so aggravated,” he said. “I just assumed the real estate woman would be helping us. She at least promised to stop by later.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been a bit crazed myself lately.”

He paused and looked at her.

“I have to ask. Are you still interested in the project? I’ve been concerned you’ve had too much else going on in your life.”

God, she’d been right. He
had
been pulling back in the last week, drawing certain conclusions about her ability to manage the job.

“Oh, no, I’m totally game,” she said, flashing a big grin that she hoped he wouldn’t read as forced. “I’m really looking forward to collaborating.”

“Good, so am I. And I could really use your input on this place.”

“If you’re seeing the apartment for a second time, it must have spoken to you.”

“It did,” he said, as they tramped over the sheets of builder’s paper toward the elevator. “Lots of light. Lots of walls for art. And the loft I’m looking at is on the sixth floor—the top one—so there’s access to a roof deck.”

“What about the commute from here, though?” Kit said as they boarded the elevator. “Even if you use a cab or a car service, it’s probably going to take close to forty-five minutes to reach the hospital.”

“True, it’s not as convenient as my current place, but I can always read in the cab each morning. My main goal is to find a space I love.”

When they reached the floor, she discovered there were just two apartments. Holt motioned to the one directly across from the elevator. He had a key for that door, too, but it turned out they didn’t need it.

“The agent mentioned it might be unlocked,” he told her, swinging open the door. “There were workmen here today apparently. It’s all been remodeled.”

The place appeared to be about two thousand square feet in size, with large windows capturing a vista of downtown roofs and old, shingled water towers. Because of the remodeling there wasn’t a lick of furniture, and that meant no floor lamps either. Holt reached for a light switch and flicked on a series of pin lights in the ceiling, which did a semi-decent job of illuminating the room.

She didn’t love what she saw. There was a shotgun feeling to
the main room, less of a loft, really, and more just an apartment that seemed to go back forever. One of the walls was exposed brick, which was a throwback to another era, when people wanted their living spaces to have the cozy feel of a brick-walled tavern. But based on Holt’s comments in the lobby, she decided to proceed carefully. She didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm or risk losing the job.

“Wow, you’re right,” she remarked. “The light in the daytime must be fabulous.”

“And the walls? Terrific for art, aren’t they?”

“Um, sure.” If he ever really bought the place, she’d recommend painting the brick white at least.

He narrowed his eyes, curious. “There’s something you’re not saying.”

“I’m just taking it all in.”

“Let me show you the rest then.”

She followed him to the rear of the apartment. Midway back on the right was a poorly conceived, windowless middle room, which she couldn’t imagine being good for anything other than a nursery; to the left were storage areas, a small laundry room visible through an open door, and a service entrance to the apartment.

At the far back, side-by-side, were the two bedrooms. The master, which he showed her first, was spacious, and yet there was something off about the dimensions. Too big a room for simply a bed and a couple of dressers and yet not quite big enough to also accommodate a reading chair and ottoman. The master bath at least was nice—floor to ceiling gray and white Italian marble.

“So what do you think?” Holt inquired, his tone not disguising how pumped he felt about it.

“It would certainly be a big change from where you’re living now. But that seems to be exactly what you’re aiming for.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“That’s it? I thought you’d have more to say.”

She felt momentarily flustered. She might want the business, but there was no way she could out-and-out lie and let him choose a place that ultimately wouldn’t suit his needs. She quickly searched for the words that would strike the right balance.

“Well, I’d be happy to give you my feedback. But I have the sense that you’re already leaning toward this place and you may not want me to throw a wrench in the works.”

“I do love the apartment, but I’m not an expert. I could really use your input.”

“Okay, to be honest, I think you could find something much more special than this.” She swung her arm around the room. “It feels a bit constrained, as if the walls are pressing in. I love the idea of you in a loft, but one with a truly spacious feel.”

He chortled. “Well, at least you’re not one to mince words. As long as we’re here, why don’t you check out the second bedroom? Then I’ll take you out for a bite to eat and we can discuss the pros and cons over a nice meal and a bottle of wine.”

“Um, I’m sorry,” she said. She had told Garrett she’d be free by eight. “That’s very nice of you, Keith, but I have to meet with a friend in a bit. What if we did lunch tomorrow instead?”

He looked at her, and to her surprise she saw the muscles around his eyes tighten, as if a screw had been turned on each side. “Oh, just like last time then,” he said, his voice strangely cold, almost hostile. “You had to dash off for a rendezvous.”

That’s right, she thought, wincing internally from his tone. She’d turned him down for dinner before, on the day they’d met for espressos at the café. Did he actually have a romantic interest in her? She’d wondered that briefly before, even entertained what it would be like, but had dismissed the whole idea.

“But like I said, we could grab lunch,” Kit told him. “If you really love this place, we can talk about how to make—”
Before she could finish, a noise startled her. Holt heard it, too, and they turned in unison toward the front of the apartment. It had sounded like the elevator being called back to another floor.

“What was that?” Kit asked, her heart skipping.

“Let me check.”

“Wait,” she said. What if, even after all her precautions tonight, she’d been followed to North Moore Street. “Maybe we should go together. I’ve had some problems lately. . . .”

“I’m sure it’s just the real estate agent.” He touched her arm reassuringly. “Take a look at the second bedroom and I’ll bring her back.”

“All right,” she said reluctantly. As he turned, something stirred in her, like water being swirled in a jar.

She watched for a moment while he hurried down the long hallway to the front. What if it
wasn’t
the real estate agent? she thought, feeling her body tense. But no, she was overreacting, she told herself. The woman had promised to come, so it must be her.

Grabbing a breath, she left the master bedroom and poked her head into the room next door. It was incredibly small, a space suited for either a child or a houseguest grateful just for a bed.

She backed out of the bedroom and looked back toward the front of the building. No sign of Holt. She wondered if he’d gone down in the elevator looking for the agent.

Something continued to stir in her as she stood there, waiting, wondering what to do. She realized how much she disliked the curt, icy tone Holt had used when she’d told him she’d have to pass on dinner. His remark had been weirdly proprietary.

Had she been reading him wrong these past couple of weeks, failing to suss out an attraction on his part that might be propelling him to work with her? When he’d asked her for dinner the first time—the day they met at the café—she’d been a little concerned
his intentions weren’t purely business, but no alarm bells had gone off. She’d been meeting Garrett that night, and when she’d explained to Holt that she had to run out at seven o’clock for a meeting, he’d seemed to take it in stride. No harm done.

And then, like a rogue wave, fear quickly engulfed her. Ever since Avery’s murder, an end that had been earmarked for
her
, Kit had been mystified as to why the killer chose to wait in the stairwell just before seven. Who could have assumed she was going out at that time?