The Witness

n her stunning new novel, No.1 New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts proves why no one is better when it comes to flawlessly fusing high-stakes suspense with red-hot romance.

In her stunning 200th novel, #1 New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts proves why no one is better “when it comes to flawlessly fusing high-stakes suspense with red-hot romance" ( Booklist , starred review). Daughter of a cold, controlling mother and an anonymous donor, studious, obedient Elizabeth Fitch finally let loose one night, drinking too much at a nightclub and allowing a strange man’s seductive Russian accent to lure her to a house on Lake Shore Drive. Twelve years later, the woman now known as Abigail Lowery lives alone on the outskirts of a small town in the Ozarks. A freelance security systems designer, her own protection is supplemented by a fierce dog and an assortment of firearms. She keeps to herself, saying little, revealing nothing. Unfortunately, that seems to be the quickest way to get attention in a tiny southern town. The mystery of Abigail Lowery and her sharp mind, secretive nature and unromantic viewpoint intrigues local police chief Brooks Gleason, on both a personal and professional level. And while he suspects that Abigail needs protection from something, Gleason is accustomed to two-bit troublemakers, not the powerful and dangerous men who are about to have him in their sights. And Abigail Lowery, who has built a life based on security and self-control, is at risk of losing both.

Acclaim for *The Witness
*Nora Roberts’s 200th Novel

“Roberts’ answer to The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.”—Kirkus Reviews

“Roberts is unrivaled, and her latest addictively readable novel is guaranteed to jangle readers’ nerves and keep them enthralled long past bedtime.”—Booklist (starred review)

“Taut, riveting drama that’s guaranteed to keep the adrenaline flowing. Another memorable page-turner from Roberts’s consistently remarkable pen.”—Library Journal

“One of Roberts's cleverest heroines yet, this intricately dramatic book only confirms that Roberts is a master of the genre.”—Publishers Weekly

“Legendary.”—Wall Street Journal

“Nora Roberts has done it again, proving once more that she is reigns supreme.”—thenewstribune.com

“Nora Roberts has done it again, proving once more that she reigns supreme.”—The Evening Sun (Hanover, NH)

“Romantic suspense fans can’t go wrong with this terrific blend of looming danger and unusual courtship. A really great read!”—RT Book Reviews

Auteur

Nora Roberts is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than 200 novels. She is also the author of the bestselling In Death series written under the pen name J. D. Robb. There are more than 500 million copies of her books in print. The Witness is Roberts’ two-hundredth book.

Résumé
In her stunning 200th novel, #1 New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts proves why no one is better “when it comes to flawlessly fusing high-stakes suspense with red-hot romance" (Booklist, starred review).

Daughter of a cold, controlling mother and an anonymous donor, studious, obedient Elizabeth Fitch finally let loose one night, drinking too much at a nightclub and allowing a strange man’s seductive Russian accent to lure her to a house on Lake Shore Drive.

Twelve years later, the woman now known as Abigail Lowery lives alone on the outskirts of a small town in the Ozarks. A freelance security systems designer, her own protection is supplemented by a fierce dog and an assortment of firearms. She keeps to herself, saying little, revealing nothing. Unfortunately, that seems to be the quickest way to get attention in a tiny southern town.

The mystery of Abigail Lowery and her sharp mind, secretive nature and unromantic viewpoint intrigues local police chief Brooks Gleason, on both a personal and professional level. And while he suspects that Abigail needs protection from something, Gleason is accustomed to two-bit troublemakers, not the powerful and dangerous men who are about to have him in their sights.

And Abigail Lowery, who has built a life based on security and self-control, is at risk of losing both.

Échantillon de lecture
1

June 2000

Elizabeth Fitch's short-lived teenage rebellion began with L'Oréal Pure Black, a pair of scissors and a fake ID. It ended in blood.

For nearly the whole of her sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days she'd dutifully followed her mother's directives. Dr. Susan L. Fitch issued directives, not orders. Elizabeth had adhered to the schedules her mother created, ate the meals designed by her mother's nutritionist and prepared by her mother's cook, wore the clothes selected by her mother's personal shopper.

Dr. Susan L. Fitch dressed conservatively, as suited-in her opinion-her position as chief of surgery of Chicago's Silva Memorial Hospital. She expected, and directed, her daughter to do the same.

Elizabeth studied diligently, accepting and excelling in the academic programs her mother outlined. In the fall, she'd return to Harvard in pursuit of her medical degree. So she could become a doctor, like her mother-a surgeon, like her mother.

Elizabeth-never Liz or Lizzie or Beth-spoke fluent Spanish, French, Italian, passable Russian and rudimentary Japanese. She played both piano and violin. She'd traveled to Europe, to Africa. She could name all the bones, nerves and muscles in the human body and play Chopin's Piano Concerto-both Nos. 1 and 2, by rote.

She'd never been on a date or kissed a boy. She'd never roamed the mall with a pack of girls, attended a slumber party or giggled with friends over pizza or hot fudge sundaes.

She was, at sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days, a product of her mother's meticulous and detailed agenda.

That was about to change.

She watched her mother pack. Susan, her rich brown hair already coiled in her signature French twist, neatly hung another suit in the organized garment bag, then checked off the printout with each day of the week's medical conference broken into subgroups. The printout included a spreadsheet listing every event, appointment, meeting and meal, scheduled with the selected outfit, with shoes, bag and accessories.

Designer suits; Italian shoes, of course, Elizabeth thought. One must wear good cuts, good cloth. But not one rich or bright color among the blacks, grays, taupes. She wondered how her mother could be so beautiful and deliberately wear the dull.

After two accelerated semesters of college, Elizabeth thought she'd begun-maybe-to develop her own fashion sense. She had, in fact, bought jeans and a hoodie and some chunky-heeled boots in Cambridge.

With cash, so the receipt wouldn't show up on her credit card bill, in case her mother or their accountant checked and questioned the items, which were currently hidden in her room.

She'd felt like a different person wearing them, so different she'd walked straight into a McDonald's and ordered her first Big Mac with large fries and a chocolate shake.

The pleasure had been so huge, she'd had to go into the bathroom, close herself in a stall and cry a little.

The seeds of the rebellion had been planted that day, she supposed, or maybe they'd always been there, dormant, and the fat and salt had awakened them.

But she could feel them, actually feel them, sprouting in her belly now.

"Your plans changed, Mother. It doesn't follow that mine have to change with them."

Susan …