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Informationen zum Autor 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. Klappentext "Daughter of a cold, controlling mother and an anonymous donor, studious, obedient Elizabeth Fitch finally lets 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. The events that followed changed her life forever. Twelve years later, the woman now known as Abigail Lowery lives alone on the outskirts of a small town in the Ozarks. A freelance programmer, she works at home designing sophisticated security systems. Her own security 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 intrigues local police chief Brooks Gleason, on both a personal and a professional level. He suspects that Abigail needs protection from something. Gleason is about to walk into the sights of very powerful and dangerous men. And Abigail, who has built a life based on security and self-control, is at risk of losing both"--Publisher. Leseprobe 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 ...
