thighs, he balanced his own cup between his palms.
Abby smiled begrudgingly. “I think I’vegot enough adrenaline surging through these veins to forgo the caffeine. It’s not good for you, you know…caffeine. Does a job on the pancreas…among other things.”
Ben shot her a glance as he took a deliberate sip from his cup. “So they tell me,” he murmured in amusement. “Is the nurse a crusader?”
“This is the woman speaking…and I’m certainly no crusader.” She gave a pert shrug. “Feel free to drink whatever you want.” Then she paused to watch him swirl the cup, lift it to his lips, scowl, and lower it again without so much as a sip, and she stifled a smug grin. “I’ll bet you down plenty of that stuff when you’re working to finish a manuscript.”
His gaze was enigmatic. “A manuscript?”
She rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “I keep coming up with China…was that it?”
“…It was.”
Hearing the hesitation in his voice, Abby eyed him quizzically. “You seem disturbed. Is something wrong?”
“No…Not really. I’m just…surprised. That book wasn’t exactly a best-seller.”
“Andre seemed to think it was great.”
“Who’s Andre?”
“A friend.”
“A fiancé type of friend?” he asked, a bit of the old humor returning.
Abby couldn’t help but chuckle. “No. A friend type of friend. He owns a bookstore, and I happened to be around when your books first arrived. I got the impression that they sold well.”
“China’s an ‘in’ topic.” He shrugged. But he’d straightened in his seat and was far from nonchalant.
“Don’t tell me your book is a travelogue,” she teased.
“No.” He seemed hesitant to discuss it though, somehow uncomfortable.
“Well…” she prodded softly, allowing curiosity to get the better of her.
Overcoming reticence, he spoke at last. “It’s an analysis of transitional politics in the People’s Republic. China has fascinated me for years. When the opportunity to visit it finally came up, I knew that I’d have to write the book.” It was as though he were excusing himself. Abby couldn’t understand it.
“That’s great, Ben. You must be proud of the book. Was it your first?”
“First significant one…yes.”
“Have you written others since?”
“One other.”
Her eyes lit up. “Finished?”
“Uh-huh.”
There was something that wasn’t beingsaid. She could see it in the depths of his eyes, feel it in his quiet intensity. While she waited expectantly, he sat perfectly still.
Suddenly the wheels of her mind fell into gear and began to turn. Yesterday morning, here in this same jury room, they’d shared something none of the others had felt. It had been a mutually favorable bent toward serving on this jury. Abby knew her reasons for welcoming the experience. As of this morning, Ben knew them too.
But as yet the tables hadn’t been turned. She was still in the dark as to his motives. Now…to learn he was a writer…She stared at him with growing awareness. Could he…would he…
At that moment, the break was declared over, and the jurors stood to file back upstairs. “Ben…?”
A long forefinger touched his lips as he signaled her to silence. “Later,” he murmured, guiding her before him, out into the hall toward the stairs. Hopelessly immersed amid the others, Abby had to be satisfied with the quiet promise.
Back in the courtroom, David Weitz put on his first witness, a woman who testified to having seen the abduction. It had been dusk. She’d been driving home from work when she’d seen a man step smoothly from his parked car and grab the arm of a passingwoman. There had been an argument, then a tussle. The man had finally pulled the woman around the car to the driver’s side and had forced her in before slipping in himself and driving off.
On direct examination, the witness identified photographs of the victim, Greta Robinson. She also described the assailant as a man of the same height,
Abby smiled begrudgingly. “I think I’vegot enough adrenaline surging through these veins to forgo the caffeine. It’s not good for you, you know…caffeine. Does a job on the pancreas…among other things.”
Ben shot her a glance as he took a deliberate sip from his cup. “So they tell me,” he murmured in amusement. “Is the nurse a crusader?”
“This is the woman speaking…and I’m certainly no crusader.” She gave a pert shrug. “Feel free to drink whatever you want.” Then she paused to watch him swirl the cup, lift it to his lips, scowl, and lower it again without so much as a sip, and she stifled a smug grin. “I’ll bet you down plenty of that stuff when you’re working to finish a manuscript.”
His gaze was enigmatic. “A manuscript?”
She rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “I keep coming up with China…was that it?”
“…It was.”
Hearing the hesitation in his voice, Abby eyed him quizzically. “You seem disturbed. Is something wrong?”
“No…Not really. I’m just…surprised. That book wasn’t exactly a best-seller.”
“Andre seemed to think it was great.”
“Who’s Andre?”
“A friend.”
“A fiancé type of friend?” he asked, a bit of the old humor returning.
Abby couldn’t help but chuckle. “No. A friend type of friend. He owns a bookstore, and I happened to be around when your books first arrived. I got the impression that they sold well.”
“China’s an ‘in’ topic.” He shrugged. But he’d straightened in his seat and was far from nonchalant.
“Don’t tell me your book is a travelogue,” she teased.
“No.” He seemed hesitant to discuss it though, somehow uncomfortable.
“Well…” she prodded softly, allowing curiosity to get the better of her.
Overcoming reticence, he spoke at last. “It’s an analysis of transitional politics in the People’s Republic. China has fascinated me for years. When the opportunity to visit it finally came up, I knew that I’d have to write the book.” It was as though he were excusing himself. Abby couldn’t understand it.
“That’s great, Ben. You must be proud of the book. Was it your first?”
“First significant one…yes.”
“Have you written others since?”
“One other.”
Her eyes lit up. “Finished?”
“Uh-huh.”
There was something that wasn’t beingsaid. She could see it in the depths of his eyes, feel it in his quiet intensity. While she waited expectantly, he sat perfectly still.
Suddenly the wheels of her mind fell into gear and began to turn. Yesterday morning, here in this same jury room, they’d shared something none of the others had felt. It had been a mutually favorable bent toward serving on this jury. Abby knew her reasons for welcoming the experience. As of this morning, Ben knew them too.
But as yet the tables hadn’t been turned. She was still in the dark as to his motives. Now…to learn he was a writer…She stared at him with growing awareness. Could he…would he…
At that moment, the break was declared over, and the jurors stood to file back upstairs. “Ben…?”
A long forefinger touched his lips as he signaled her to silence. “Later,” he murmured, guiding her before him, out into the hall toward the stairs. Hopelessly immersed amid the others, Abby had to be satisfied with the quiet promise.
Back in the courtroom, David Weitz put on his first witness, a woman who testified to having seen the abduction. It had been dusk. She’d been driving home from work when she’d seen a man step smoothly from his parked car and grab the arm of a passingwoman. There had been an argument, then a tussle. The man had finally pulled the woman around the car to the driver’s side and had forced her in before slipping in himself and driving off.
On direct examination, the witness identified photographs of the victim, Greta Robinson. She also described the assailant as a man of the same height,
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