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