The Wrong Man: A Novel of Suspense (26 page)

But there was one person who surely would have assumed it. Keith Holt—because she’d told him that was her plan.

No, she thought, shaking her head, it couldn’t be true. It was too absurd, too improbable. But memories tumbled forward in rapid succession: Holt popping up as a new client without a specific referral; Holt seeing her in the trench coat the day of Avery’s murder; Holt not taking her call the morning afterward, even though he was in the office. Was that because he’d assumed he’d killed her and was too stunned by the fact that she was on the line?

She recalled a comment that Garrett had made earlier, that there could have been more than one doctor involved in the insider trading situation. But Holt was an orthopedic surgeon, not a cancer doctor.

And if he’d lured her down here to kill her, why go chasing noises. Another thought rammed her. Maybe he’d arranged for a confederate to meet him here, someone from Ithaka.

Again, she told herself that it was all too farfetched. And yet the panic coursing through her overrode every argument her brain was making. She couldn’t take any chances. She had to get out of there.

She rushed the few steps back to the entrance of the master bedroom and glanced down the larger hall toward the front of the apartment. Holt was still not in sight, and the loft was utterly
quiet. She didn’t dare sneak out the front door—he would be coming back in. But there was the service exit.

She inched as quietly as she could down the hallway, past the laundry room and the storage units, until she reached the service door. Please be unlocked, she begged. She tugged and the door flew open. It was dark in the corridor and she had no clue where the light switch was. She patted the wall frantically with her hand without any luck. After a moment, outlines emerged. She could see a door that was clearly to the stairs. She rushed toward it, yanked it open, and began to descend, holding tight to the handrail.

On the landing she jerked to a stop—to listen, to get her bearings. If she just kept going, she would reach a door that opened onto the lobby and from there she’d be free. She thought of the phone in her purse. She needed to call Garrett, to get him to come, but she didn’t dare lose the seconds it would take.

She started to move again, quickly reaching the next floor. Just five more floors, she told herself. She listened again, straining to hear over her thumping heartbeat. A faint noise made a tear in the silence. It was the sound of a door being quietly opened and then sucked closed. Someone had stepped into the stairwell. But she couldn’t tell if it had come from above her or below.

Hide
, she commanded herself. She eased open the door to her right and tiptoed into the corridor. Once again she was engulfed in darkness, but after a moment she could make out the doors to two apartments. She prayed they’d be unlocked like the one upstairs. She reached the closest and twisted the handle with trembling fingers. It opened.

No lights were on, but the windows were curtain-less and there was just enough illumination from outside for her to pick out shapes. The place was nearly empty, no furniture. And floors here were laid with builder’s paper, too. She closed the
door behind her and started toward the back of the apartment. An aluminum ladder had been propped against the wall just outside the bedroom and as she rushed by, her elbow caught the edge of it.

She knew from the apartment upstairs that there was a walk-in closet in the bedroom and she hurried toward it. She opened the door and stepped into total blackness. Her body brushed against something hard and metal—another ladder she realized. She could feel paint cans with her feet, a cluster of them on the floor.

After tugging the door shut, she tore open her purse and searched for her phone. Where the hell is it? she wondered desperately. Finally she had it clutched in her fist.

But first she listened. Making sure the apartment was empty.

Kelman answered on the first ring.

“All set?” he asked.

“I’m in trouble,” she whispered, the words barely forming.

“
Where?
”

“North Moore Street.” In her terror she struggled to recall the number. “I think 22—” She realized she wasn’t alone in the apartment. She could hear footsteps advancing toward the bedroom, making a swishing sound on the paper that lined the floor.

“Kit?” Kelman called.

“Shhh—” she told him, dropping the phone into her coat pocket.

A bar of light popped beneath the door. Two more footsteps.

And then, horrified, she watched as the door swung open. Keith Holt was standing there.

“My goodness,” he said. “Are we playing hide and seek now?”

There was menace in his tone. She knew what she’d guessed upstairs was probably true, but she couldn’t let him see that in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice choked. “I was frightened.”

“Frightened?”

“I told you upstairs. Some things have happened to me. Then we heard that noise.”

He pursed his lips.

“I thought someone had gotten off the elevator,” he said, “but when I came back inside, I realized we’d simply heard the wind rattling the windows up front.”

“Well,” she said, forcing a smile that she knew looked fake, “another reason this might not be the perfect place to live.”

“Ah, yes.”

“What about the agent?” she asked, shifting a little to the left. She was still in the closet and she needed to get out. But he was standing squarely in front of her, like some kind of colossus. “Maybe we should see if she’s in the lobby.”

He pursed his lips again. “Actually, no agent was ever coming. To be perfectly honest, I needed a little time alone with you tonight. I’m still trying to figure out what kind of game you’re playing.”

Her knees went soft, ready to buckle. Yes, she’d been right. He was one of the doctors, in the middle of everything.

“You need to let me leave, Dr. Holt,” she said, raising her voice slightly in the hope that Kelman could hear her and realize who she was with.

“No, I can’t do that. Because I see you’ve figured it out now. I’m not sure how you did it, but I can read it in your face.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, yes, you do.” Holt’s whole body tightened. “If you’re smart, you won’t play any more games with me.”

Maybe, she thought desperately, there was a way to bargain with him.

“Please, I’m not playing any games. But tell me what you want.”

“For starters, I want the fucking flash drive,” he snarled.

There it was again. The freaking flash drive.

“Who told you I have that?”

“Matt Healy. And don’t dare tell me you have no clue what I’m talking about.”

She shook her head.

“No, I’ll be straight with you, I promise. But—but I want to understand.” She realized she needed to keep him talking, give Kelman a chance to try to reach her, to call the police. “You worked with Healy? You told him about the drug results?”

He scoffed, shook his head in disgust.

“To my utter regret, yes. Oh, he was all wine and dine and big bucks when we first met. Wanted to pay me nicely for my efforts. And then months later he ends up in a fucking panic. One of his co-workers had stumbled onto evidence of the illegal trades, wanted to take it to the SEC. Healy was trying to manage him, trick him, but then the guy suddenly admitted that he’d put all the evidence on a flash drive and some girl he’d screwed had stolen it. He swore there could be nothing about me on the drive, but I couldn’t take any chances.”

“And he told you my name. That’s why you called me that Friday, to set up an appointment.”

“Someone had to take charge. Healy was out of control. Losing it. I had no idea why you took the drive, but I had to get it.”

“But first you followed him to Florida.”

“He vowed he was going to try to shore up the situation. But I couldn’t trust him to do it. I parked by the place he was staying, asked him to come out and chat in my car. I could tell from what he was saying that he’d be more than willing to throw me under the bus to save his own hide.”

“And so you ran him down,” she said. The words emerged in little more than a whisper.

“Do you think I was going to let him
ruin
me?” She saw his hands clench, still in the brown leather gloves. “Make it so I could never practice medicine again?”

He paused, curling his lip malevolently. “And I wasn’t going to let
you
ruin me either, whatever your game is. You left me no choice than to hack my way into your apartment.”

“But I never planned to ruin anyone, I swear. I took the flash drive by mistake. I didn’t know anything about the trades.”

“Oh, is that right?” he said snidely. “The day after the break-in you were practically gloating that the thief hadn’t gotten what was most important. It was like you were sitting there mocking me as I fixed you a fucking espresso.”

She remembered the moment suddenly. She’d begun to sense at that point that the thieves had wanted more than her iPod speakers and she’d made a vague comment to that effect.

“I didn’t—”

“It was all I could do to resist reaching out and smashing your face in.”

She felt a fresh surge of panic. Had Kelman called the police by now? Couldn’t they trace her location through her phone?

“You killed Avery, thinking it was me.”

“Let’s just say you gave me quite a shock when you called my office the next morning. But I’ve said enough. I want to know what your little game is. Were you planning to blackmail Healy, or anyone else you could find?”

“No, like I said, I—I just stumbled into the whole thing. The flash drive was in a pen and I took it by mistake.”

She was scrambling now, trying to figure out how to buy more time. How to save herself.

“Oh, please. What do you take me for?”

“If you want the flash drive, I can give it to you,” she said hurriedly. “I have the pen with me.”

He narrowed his dark eyes, studying her intensely.

“All right,” he said, eerily calm now. But that wouldn’t be enough, she knew. He would try to twist her neck the way he’d done to Avery. That was why he’d worn the gloves.

“Let me get it,” she said. “Let me get it right now.” She jabbed her hand in her purse and started rooting desperately. Holt yanked one side of the purse toward him and peered in.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got something like a gun in there.”

“No, I just want to find the pen for you.” He let the bag snap back toward her. Finally, she felt the smooth, cool barrel of her father’s Mont Blanc.

“Here it is,” she said, yanking her hand from the bag. She held it out, showing him. He started to reach for it. And when he did, she stepped back and flung the pen in his face.

He jerked back defensively, but the pen still caught him in the left eye, then bounced off. His hand flew to his face.

In a split second Kit reached down and grabbed one of the paint cans by the handle. It was half full, still heavy. She hoisted it up and swung it hard at Holt’s head.

It hit with such force that it made a huge thwacking sound and ricocheted, almost hitting her, too. Holt moaned in pain. As he reeled back, Kit dropped the can with a thud, stepped around Holt and began to run, toward the door to the stairwell.

Within seconds he was behind her, grabbing her by the shoulder. As he yanked her backward, she swung around, striking him with her open arm. She started to run again, but he hurled himself at her, sending her sprawling to the ground. Pain shot from one end of her body to the other.

Before she knew it, he had her by both feet, dragging her backward, her arms outstretched. “Help!” she screamed.

“Shut up,” he said, “or I’ll make you regret it.”

She let her body go limp, trying to think. He’d nearly reached the bedroom, gripping her hard by the ankles. She could feel his rage surging through his hands. He was going to kill her, she knew, snap her neck in two.

She saw the ladder then, propped against the wall. She reached for it with her hand, bringing it toppling down on
both of them. It rammed into her head and her arm, sending a bolt of pain through her. Behind her Holt yelped and let go of her feet. She sensed him falling backward. She scrambled up, then bolted toward the stairwell door. This time she reached it. After flinging the door wide, she clattered down the stairs. Her lungs felt as if they were about to explode.

In no time he was behind her again—she could hear his feet pounding on the stairs. She made it down to one landing, and then another flight of steps, but as she reached the next floor, he caught up to her, yanked her hard again by the back of her jacket.

Her body lurched backward, the jacket choking her. She wrestled away from him and spun around. Blood was running into his eyes from a gash on his head.

Kit clenched her fist and tried to strike out, but the blow only grazed him. He grabbed her arm and shoved her against the handrail. With all the strength she could muster, she brought up her foot and kicked him hard in the knee. It thrust him backward. He reached out, trying to grab onto her for support, but he couldn’t reach her, couldn’t even see with the blood in his eyes. He staggered backward and went tumbling down the stairs.