Wren goes on to point out all the inconsistencies in the arguments of the prosecution.
Finally, after about an hour of back and forth, she gets one more vote.
Mine.
Everyone eyes me suspiciously.
“This was supposed to be an open and shut case,” whines Juror Number Seven.
“This is supposed to be about us using our brains and doing the right thing, Seven,” I say.
Arguments go on for another hour, until it’s time for a break and the bailiff brings us our food orders.
But neither Wren nor I can eat. I hate seeing her get verbally beaten down.
She’s right though. There’s not enough evidence to convince me beyond a reasonable doubt.
I still believe she did it. But I have enough doubt that I can’t convict her according to the instructions we’ve been given.
The deliberations continue after lunch. One by one, the jurors seem to come around to understand Wren’s arguments.
She’s one hell of an arguer. And she becomes more and more confident the more people decide she’s correct.
At 4 p.m., I call for another vote.
This time, it’s unanimous. I inform the bailiff and we are escorted back into the courtroom.
I deliver the verdict with shaking hands. “Your Honor, we, the members of the jury, find the defendant, Ellen Jacobsen, accused of the charge of murder in the first degree, not guilty.”
The defendant drops her head onto her forearms in relief and what appears to be grief. The prosecution team looks stunned. People in the courtroom gallery grumble in anger and some cry out in gratitude.
The judge pounds her gavel and demands order.
We, the jurors, are quickly escorted out of the courtroom, processed out, and told to wait together for the shuttle to take us back to the hotel so we can gather our things.
We get our phones back from Officer Max, who tells us we are free to speak to the media if we wish, but we’re not required to. Our jobs here are done.
But I have no interest in speaking to any members of the media. Instead, I call Smitty.
While we’re waiting for the shuttle van to take us back to the hotel, I realize Wren is not by my side. I have half a mind to hang up the phone and go looking for her, when she comes outside to join us. Late as always, I think.
She winks at me and I almost don’t notice Smitty has answered the phone. Before Wren is in earshot, I tell Smitty and the guys to take a few days off. I’m going to need some time to unwind and get Wren settled in at the ranch, and I want to keep her all to myself for a while.
Chapter Ten
Wren
“Whose permission do I need to get for you to marry me?”
The question comes as Sam and I are sharing peach pie for dessert.
It’s our first meal together outside of sequestration and it’s mercifully quiet. Free of the ever-present, ever-bored Officer Max.
Sam let me use his kitchen to cook us dinner, and he actually ate my stir-fried rice with tofu and vegetables, and liked it. Or so he said.
Now we’re eating pie together—one pan, two forks. It feels super cozy and romantic; I can’t remember feeling this content. Ever.
“Me,” I reply. “I’m the only one,” I reply.