Juror No. 7

Juror No. 7

by Mallory Kane

Paperback(Mass Market Paperback - Original Large Print)

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780373887668
Publisher: Harlequin
Publication date: 05/08/2007
Series: Harlequin LP Intrigue Series
Edition description: Original Large Print
Pages: 320
Product dimensions: 4.22(w) x 6.22(h) x 0.87(d)

About the Author

Mallory Kane has 2 great reasons for loving to write. Her mother, a librarian, taught her to love and respect books. Her father could hold listeners spellbound for hours with his stories. His oral histories are chronicled in numerous places including the Library of Congress Veterans' History Project. He was always her biggest fan.

She has published 26 books for Harlequin Intrigue. She lives in Tennessee with her Renaissance husband and two very smart cats.

Read an Excerpt

Something was wrong. Lily Raines knew it as soon as the door closed behind her. It was too dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside her living room window. Hadn't she left the light on over her sink? She set down her purse and keys and listened.


The light must have burned out. She puffed her cheeks in a weary sigh and shrugged out of her jacket, the rustle of silk echoing in the silence.

Her scalp tingled with that creepy spider-onyour-skin feeling—as if someone were watching her. She'd had it ever since the trial started.

Stress. That's all it was. Goodness knew she had enough reason.

She reached for the living room light switch. "I wouldn't do that."

Lily shrieked.

A dark figure rose up in front of her.

She tried to scream but her throat seized; tried to turn and run but her legs wouldn't carry her.

Hard hands grabbed her shoulders, twisted her violently and shoved her onto the couch.

Gasping for air, Lily bounced back up and swung her fist at the dark shape. She connected with flesh.

"Ouch! Maudit!" The owner of the voice grabbed her and shoved her again, hard. She fell across the arm of the couch and onto the floor, bumping her hip and elbow painfully.


Different voice. There were two of them. Panic clawed at her throat and she scrambled to regain her footing. She screamed for help and tried to get up but her head hit the end table and she saw stars. She tried to crawl away but there was nowhere to go. They were between her and the door.

"Get her!"

A different pair of hands closed around her upper arms from behind and lifted her with no effort.

"Let go of me!" she cried, kicking backward. The hands turned into steely arms that wrapped around her, immobilizing her. This one was big, tall, solid. His breath sawed in her ear.

She stomped but missed his instep. His hold tightened. She clawed at his forearms, but he squeezed her so fiercely she could barely breathe. She gasped for air.

The first man stepped in front of her and into the faint light from the window. She squinted. He was skinny. Her height, maybe. Shorter than the one who held her. She'd need that information later to tell the police—if they let her live.

Desperately she kicked, using the second man's hold for leverage. He squeezed her until her ribs ached and whispered something close to her ear. She didn't understand what he said, but the feel of his hot breath on her skin sent terror streaking through her.

The skinny guy laughed as he dodged her kicks. Then his laughter stopped and he grabbed her chin. He stuck his face in front of hers. His breath reeked of garlic. "Calm yo-self, Lily."

He knew her name? She froze, horrified. These men weren't burglars. This was personal.

"Who are y—"

The fingers moved from her chin to her throat.

"Good girl. Now you gon' be quiet for me?"

His fingers pushed painfully into her neck as she tried to nod. Tried to stop her brain from imagining what they planned to do to her.

Frantically, she searched her memory. She didn't recognize the voice or the accent. Cajun,

"What do you want?" she gasped.

The Cajun bared his teeth and his fingers tightened. Her larynx closed up. He was crushing it. He was going to kill her.

"Di'n I tell you be quiet?"

She struggled for air. She didn't want to die. She made a strangled sound and clawed at the arms holding her. Her vision went black.

"Careful," the man who held her rasped. "She can't breathe." The punishing pressure on her chest relaxed slightly.

"You shut your face!" the skinny guy hissed, but he loosened his hold.

She sucked air through her aching throat. From behind her the rock-hard arms loosened a bit more.

Her eyes were beginning to adapt to the darkness, but she still couldn't distinguish features or clothing. There was too little light and she was too afraid. She swallowed, her throat moving against the Cajun's hand.

"Just tell me what you want. I don't have much money—"

He released her throat and snagged a handful of her hair, twisting roughly.

Tears of pain sprang to her eyes.

From somewhere he pulled out a long, thinbladed knife. He held it up before her eyes, then touched its point just beneath her chin. She automatically lifted her head, cringing away from the deadly blade.

"Come on, Lily, don't make me hurt you. I will, and I'll enjoy it."

The man holding her tensed up. His forearms, strapped under her breasts, tightened.

She strained backward as far as she could. The Cajun grinned at her fear. She swallowed and felt the point of the knife prick her skin. Between the hand clutching her hair, the knife and the other man holding her, she was totally helpless. Totally at the mercy of merciless men. They could do anything to her. She was powerless to stop them.


She nodded jerkily. Tears slid down her cheeks. They were going to kill her and she didn't even know why.

"You're on the jury for Sack Simon's murder case."

She stiffened in surprise. The trial! Her pulse thrummed in her ears.

"Aren't you?" "Yes," she whispered. Her fists clenched automatically and her fingernails dug into the arms holding her.

"My boss, he wants the trial over. He don' want Simon convicted."

Lily stared at the shadows of his face. Sharp chin. Long nose. Eyes that were nothing but black holes.

"I—don't understand." She didn't. The trial was half over. The prosecution had presented ample evidence to put Simon away for life.

"Den I make it simple, Lily. The jury can't convict Simon."

The way he kept saying her name terrified her. "Can't convict—?" she repeated, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Her brain wouldn't work. How could they not convict? "But he's guilty."

The Cajun pressed the knife blade harder, just enough to sting her neck. "Damn it, woman. I know you ain't that stupid. 'Cause if you are, I might as well just kill you now."

Suddenly, she got it. They wanted her to hang the jury. "But I can't—"

He let go of her hair and grabbed her throat again, squeezing.

She coughed. "Pay attention, Lily. The only thing you can't do is tell anyone we was here. My boss wants to know that you will vote not guilty."

"Not guilty? That won't work. There's too much evidence. There's DNA."

"Shut up." He tightened his hold on her throat. She gagged and lost her footing as the man holding her pulled her away from the little guy's punishing hold.

"Stop choking her," he snapped.

"Hey, bioque. You don'give the orders. I do." The skinny Cajun turned his attention back to Lily. He grabbed her jaw again.

"Evidence can be wrong. Do you understand, Lily?"

One juror out of twelve. A hung jury. They wanted her to force a mistrial. She nodded.

"Tell me!"

"You want me to vote not guilty." She coughed again, her throat raw and sore.

"You understand why?"

"To deadlock the jury. A mistrial," she croaked.

"Good girl." He patted her cheek. His fingers smelled of garlic and cigarettes—a nauseating, stomach-churning mixture.

By contrast, she had a vague sense of soap and mint from the man behind her. He'd bathed and brushed his teeth before coming here to terrorize her? She almost giggled hysterically.

The garlicky fingers slid down her neck and past the vee of her shirt to touch the top of her breast in an obscene caress.

Lily's stomach turned over. She recoiled, straining backward against the other man. "Please—please don't hurt me."

The man holding her backed up enough to pull her away from the Cajun's probing fingers.

Of the two of them, she'd rather be at the mercy of the bigger man. He seemed to be trying to keep her safe from the little Cajun's pawing.

"Wh-why me?" she stammered, turning her head away from the man's leering gaze.

"My boss, he's a very smart man. He studied the jury. Then he picked you. You the perfect juror."

She didn't have to ask why. She knew. It was because she lived alone and her interior design business was at a virtual standstill since her biggest client had declared bankruptcy. She'd cleared her schedule to design the interior of their high-rise and now she was out of a job.

There were eight men and four women on the jury. The other women had children, husbands, jobs. The attorneys had asked each one about family.


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