Page 19 of The Woman on the Jury

“The brothers,” she said, voice a whisper, like said brothers might be eavesdropping.

“Which brothers?”

“Nicholas Myers’s brothers,” she whispered, before jerking upright as the waitress returned. Aware of the tension at the table, she was quick to set down the cup, carafe, and little bowl of creamers before rushing away.

“Nicholas Myers’s brothers are after you?” I asked, brows furrowed. “Why would you think that?”

“Because they beat the shit out of my grandfather!” she exploded, slamming her arm down hard enough on the table that everything jumped.

“Calm down,” I demanded, aware of the eyes suddenly on us. The place wasn’t busy in the mornings, but there were a few of the guys who worked overnight shifts who stopped in for a drink before heading home to sleep. “Start from the beginning.”

“I was at the shop,” she started.

“The antique shop,” I said, recalling her saying it during voir dire.

“Yes. And my friend came to take me to dinner. When I got back, the shop should have been closed for the night, but the gate was up and the lights were on. I figured maybe my grandfather fell asleep inside. He… does that sometimes. But when I went in, he was on the ground behind the counter, unconscious and beaten to high hell.”

“It sounds like a robbery,” I said, shrugging.

“Nothing was taken!” she snapped, eyes burning. “I went to the hospital with him. When I got back to go open the shop again, I saw them.”

“The Myers brothers,” I said.

“Yes. Across the street. Staring at me.”

“You’re sure it was them?” he asked.

“They were in the courtroom every day. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Why would you assume that they were there because of you?”

“Because they found out that I was the holdout,” she concluded.

“That’s a bit far-fetched,” I said, shaking my head.

“It was them, damnit,” she said, eyes suddenly looking glassy.

And, yeah, I wasn’t good with tears.

“Pull yourself together,” I said, watching flames chase away the tears. Her eyes narrowed at me as her jaw clenched. “If you genuinely believe it was them, why are you bringing this to me instead of the police?”

“Because they aren’t going to believe me.”

“Baby, I don’t believe you,” I said, shrugging.

“Fine,” she snapped, slamming her hand on the table as she started to rise from her seat.

“Stop,” I said, tone low and calm as my hand closed over the top of hers, stopping her movement.

As crazy as this shit was, I swear there was a fucking spark at the contact. Like a static shock, but times ten.

“Sit your ass back down,” I demanded in the same voice.

I saw that defiant jut to her chin again, but she lowered back into the chair.

“Good girl,” I said, sighing. “Alright. Say I believe you. Say it was the Myers brothers—“

“Itwas,” she cut me off.

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