A Road More Traveled: Cumberlin Defense Intelligence Book 1 Read online

  A Road More Traveled

  Cumberlin Defense Intelligence, Volume 1

  Rebekah Dodson

  Published by Rebekah Dodson, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  A ROAD MORE TRAVELED

  First edition. August 9, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Rebekah Dodson.

  Written by Rebekah Dodson.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Cumberlin Defense Intelligence Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

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  Further Reading: A Bridge Less Crossed

  Also By Rebekah Dodson

  About the Author

  Cumberlin Defense Intelligence Series

  A Road More Traveled

  A Bridge Less Crossed

  A Path Twice Traversed (coming 2021)

  Chapter 1

  Eugene, Oregon

  Five years, six months ago.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN of the jury,” district attorney Alex Kepler announced before the panel of grim looking ‘peers,’ including stiff-looking judgmental women, and solemn, educated men alike. “I present to you the case of Diana Benson—murderer.” He paused for effect and pointed at Diana, who held her head high as she focused on the judge, and only the judge, at the front of the courtroom. “There are two things we know about Diana. One, she was a vengeful woman who wanted her boyfriend dead. Two, she has a reputation of violence. Today the court has shown her arrest record for bar fights and assaulting another student at her high school at the age of eighteen.”

  Diana wanted to scream, but her lawyer, the dashingly handsome George Cumberlin, laid his hand on hers, gently squeezing. It was the only thing keeping her sane. She adjusted her other arm, the one in a sling, so it rested on the long oak table before her.

  One bar fight she hadn’t started three years ago—wrong place, wrong time, on her twenty-first birthday— and in bad judgement, she had punched a classmate who had bullied her for three long years, were nothing close to the reason she stood in court today.

  Kepler continued, “Not to mention her multiple charges from the unsealed juvenile record which show her penchant for stealing and running away from her foster home at the age of sixteen. The court has proven Diana’s criminal background, showing the malicious murder of Francisco Gorbetti was not only premeditated, but also an execution.” Kepler paused, his palms resting on the bar in front of the jury. “With two precise shots to the back of the head, Diana extinguished Francisco’s life as easily as if he was just another one of her assault victims.”

  Every word was a spike driven through her chest. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t focus. Malicious murder? Extinguish? His voice wavered in her mind, a buzzing, annoying mosquito.

  But this ruthless district attorney with only two losses under his belt wasn’t going to be destroyed so easily, despite all of George’s hard work over the last twelve weeks.

  “Now, as you know ladies and gentlemen, the state of Oregon has eradicated the death penalty. However, Diana’s record shows she is a violent individual who deserves to spend her life behind bars for taking Francisco’s life.”

  The courtroom buzzed with whispers of journalists lined up near the back.

  Diana tried not to look behind her at the hordes of media crowded into the small courtroom every day. She gulped hard as he swung into his closing statement with all the gusto he had mustered the last three months.

  He turned to face her; his accusing finger pointed straight in front of him. “This is why, ladies and gentlemen, I hope you make the right decision today in convicting Diana Benson of Murder in the First Degree for taking the life of Francisco Gorbetti.” He turned to the jury for effect. “Anything less would be a gross mistake of justice and allow a violent murder to roam free on our streets in the great state of Oregon.

  “Haven’t we fought to keep people like her out of our state? Let the rest of the country know Oregon will not stand for it, that these people cannot get away with such vile crimes on our lands. It is thus I beg you, jury, to condemn Diana for her crimes against humanity and the state, not only for the safety of our people, but also for the example we can set for future generations. Thank you.”

  With a slight bow, he returned to his seat adjacent to George and Diana.

  “Thank you, District Attorney Kepler,” the judge nodded respectfully. He nodded to George. “Cumberlin, your closing statement?”

  Another squeeze of her hand under the table, then he pushed his chair out slowly and stood. Over six feet tall, lithe, with a head of wavy black hair, he towered over the DA. He wandered over to the jury, tapping his chin with his index finger. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, it’s no secret Oregon isn’t my homeland,” his soft British accent rang through the confined courtroom, “but for the last five years it has been my home. I would do anything to keep my fellow Oregonians safe. It is for this reason I believe the only decision to be made here is to acquit Diana Benson.”

  The mumbles of the media grew to a frenzy behind Diana, drowning whatever George said next. She gripped the arms of her chair, her eyes fluttering shut then open again.

  “That’s enough!” The judge called loudly, banging his gavel once. He looked at George. “Continue, Cumberlin.”

  “Thank you, your honor.” George turned back around to the jury. “Let’s look at the facts presently, shall we? Miss Benson languished in a relationship with Mr. Gorbetti for eighteen months; during which time, she was repeatedly choked, beaten, and forced into sexual acts without her consent. The jury has seen the pictures of the extent of Miss Benson’s injuries and read the reports of all the domestic abuse. If—and that is surely a big one—Miss Benson’s actions justified her means, then we might be able to convict her today. However,” he paused dramatically and looked around the courtroom, “this broken woman before you just wasn’t capable of such a demented act.”

  The jury members awkwardly peered at each other and several shifted in their seats.

  George paced, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing the length of his face. He spun abruptly to face the jury.

  His voice spread through the tense room. “Aye, you’ve heard the testimony from her professors, her classmates, and members of our community. Yes, Diana was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and three years ago an unfortunate event led to the assault of a fellow human at a bar downtown, but as you have heard this was neither her fault, nor caused by her.” He paused again, looked at Diana, and nodded slightly.

  Starting his path over, he went on, “As for her juvenile record, I urge every one of you to examine your own teenage years and let thee who has not committed a sin at age sixteen be the first to cast a stone in Miss Benson’s direction. Indeed, her life has not been an easy one, and she has made some wrong decisions. However, h
er exemplary status as a four-point-oh law student at the University of Oregon and clean record for the last three years has shown her ability to overcome her past and strive toward a better future.”

  A few journalists murmured loudly, but a harsh look from the judge cut them off immediately.

  Diana could barely hear them by now. She was focused on George, and nothing else in the room. The way his immaculate three-piece suit hung from his thin shoulders, the tightness of his black tie at his throat, and the shine of his shoes reflecting the bright lights of the courtroom enraptured her.

  Even more than that, the sharp squareness of his jawline, his dark-set eyes and high forehead, all English features she was told, kept her captivated. A few weeks ago, when the press had mobbed them outside the courtroom, one had asked her how she remained so calm and composed. She had shrugged and said she didn’t know.

  But with absolute clarity, she knew it was George. Somewhere between all the long nights they spent at his condo, legal documents and paperwork stacked on tables, stools, and the floor, as he poured over the case for weeks on end, working tirelessly until sometimes she found him passed out with his head spread over endless amounts of legal folders, Diana had grown to love him.

  “Miss Benson is not our murderer, oh no, in fact, quite the opposite. For a year she endured the unspeakable.” He paused and turned to look at her.

  She gave him a slight nod.

  “Look at her, ladies and gentlemen, even now recovering from her trauma.”

  That was the keyword Diana needed to remove the scarf around her neck. The people of the jury gasped when she revealed the blue and purple bruises, the remnants of Francisco’s abuse, still around her neck. She didn’t need to point to the black lines under her left eye from where he’d punched her, or her healing broken arm in the blue sling. They saw it all—had been looking at it for months.

  This time, George was doing his job. He was driving it home.

  George shook his head and turned to the jury, leaning on the pew. “Not only did Francisco beat her to within an inch of her life, but she was cruelly isolated from her peers and friends, to the point where her grades started to slip. She endured abuse after abuse, until she was finally able to escape. And what happens next? The unthinkable! Her ex-boyfriend winds up dead. But not at her hand, no, though the evidence my colleague has brought to our attention should be so convenient. I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, why would a woman with a bright career in law ahead of her, with a firm grasp on the consequences of the violation of the law, commit such a crime? Surely her gun, an item of self-defense, should not condemn her alone!”

  George continued for ten more minutes, a practiced, rehearsed closing argument Diana had heard him recite a dozen times or more.

  She drowned him out this time, but the passion he poured into saving her warmed her heart. Oh, how she loved him.

  How had they fallen so hard and fast for one another? Their sweet love was something Diana was unfamiliar with, and it scared her. Her life since her parents died when she was fifteen had been a whirlwind of near disasters. She craved sex with whoever was willing and drugs when they were available, all to drown out the loneliness from foster homes who wouldn’t take her, separation from her sister who didn’t want her, and finally a rocky start to a college determined to see her fail.

  Francisco, whom she met the night of the bar violence, had been a welcome distraction, and when he lavished expensive gifts on her and offered her some semblance of stability, she hadn’t been able to say no.

  The morning she woke to find his bloody body next to her was something she would never forget. But in the dead of the darkness when it haunted her, and she woke screaming, clutching at the sheets, George was there, always holding her tight, a silent and firm support.

  George’s words from that morning floated through her mind, as slow and calculated as the man himself, “I’ll never stop fighting for you, Diana, ever. Even if the jury makes the wrong decision, I’ll never let that appeal go. I know you didn’t do it and I’ll fight for you until my last breath.”

  Hard, cold, and ruthless in his professional life, no one would have guessed law intern George Cumberlin was so sweet and passionate. Never in a million years would she have guessed the shy boy with an accent who sat behind her in business law three years ago would be this powerhouse in the courtroom today.

  Her hand flew to her stomach as she watched George pace around the courtroom, his calculated argument lasting nearly three times longer than Kepler’s.

  I’ll never stop fighting for you, Diana heard his voice in her head again.

  He stopped in front of her before spinning on his heel to face the jury one last time. He paused, inhaled, and with three steps his long legs carried him directly into the faces of the jury. “If not for Miss Benson, then please, for God’s sake, consider for the life of her unborn child, the innocent remnant of abuse Diana plans to carry to full term and love as her own!”

  As soon as George said it, the courtroom exploded. Journalists clamored above the din and DA Kepler was out of his chair, screaming an objection.

  George’s words were a small lie, Diana knew, and she hid the smile as best she could. She’d only discovered a few weeks ago she was expecting, and George had been elated. So elated, in fact, he didn’t question the parentage, nor did Diana wish to discuss it, or rightly know herself. It was now her smoking gun, so he called it, the final piece of pathos they needed to secure the acquittal.

  Forcing her face straight, Diana mirthlessly watched the jury’s response and nearly gasped when she saw George had been right in his assumption on how the jury would respond. Gasps, members fanning themselves, and awkward looks between them had exactly the intended effect George wanted it to. The jury began to chat among themselves, their hushed voices drowned out by the journalists yelling from the back of the room.

  The judge banged his gavel. “Mr. Cumberlin, have you submitted proof of this to the court?”

  George turned to the bench. “Yes, your honor. Exhibit 21-A, a pregnancy confirmation from a local doctor’s office.”

  The judge rifled through some paperwork on the bench. The moment he spotted it, the entire courtroom knew, watching as his jaw dropped and his face mildly blanched as he turned to George.

  “You may continue,” the judge motioned.

  Between the crowd and DA Kepler, the room was chaos.

  George’s voice rang out over the clamor, strong and sure. What was it about his British accent that made them all suddenly shut up and listen? As soon as he spoke, a hushed silence dropped full force across the entire courtroom.

  “And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is why Diana Benson deserves the right decision today. To be absolved of this crime and be allowed to continue to live her life, and that of her unborn child’s life, free of this senseless accusation. Thank you.” He joined Diana behind their table and wasted no time in reaching for her hand, not caring this time who saw.

  The judge banged his gavel six or seven times and finally the courtroom was absolutely silent. He looked between the lawyers and then to the jury. “You’ve heard the cases of both these men today,” he said softly. “Now I urge you to make a swift and just decision during deliberation. I will be in my chambers when you reach a decision.” The judge stood, as did the jury, who were dismissed, and then court was adjourned.

  “Do you think it worked?” Diana whispered.

  He dragged her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, then covered it with his other hand. “It’s in the jury’s hands now; I’ve done all I can.” He glanced at the door in the back and frowned slightly. “Whatever you do, say nothing to them, especially about the baby.”

  “Do you think they’ll believe you?”

  “The journalists or the jury?”

  “Both.”

  “Well, thanks to what I leaked to the press early this morning, and your doctor’s appointment, they already know. The jury is another matter, my love.”

&
nbsp; I love you, Diana mouthed, and he returned it just as silently.

  “You ready?” he asked as they stood.

  She smoothed down the front of her stifling pencil skirt. She wished she’d worn something more comfortable for her last day as a free woman. She turned to George. “As I can be.”

  His hand pressed to the small of her back, they made their way out of the courtroom, pushing through the throng of press screaming for interviews.

  Head held down, Diana tried desperately to ignore it all, but panic rose in her throat no matter how she concentrated on George’s hand pressing into her lower back. When they finally escaped into the open court hallway, she was finally able to breathe. A small team of sheriffs escorted them to a small waiting room just off the court, opposite the jury deliberation room, where Diana could finally pace and wring her hands, anything to alleviate her anxiety.

  George studied his iPad for a moment, flipped through a few screens, then switched it off and eyed Diana. “Calm down, love, they’ll make the right decision.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small bottle of rum, the kind they served on airplanes, popped off the top and downed the entire thing.

  Diana paused then. “Really, George? It’s barely noon!”

  He scoffed at her. “I think you Americans say it’s five o’clock somewhere, right? And did you see what I just did in there? I deserve this!”

  Diana shook her head but mostly ignored him. George drank more than anyone she knew, but somehow it always seemed to focus him. She wanted to shrug at him, but her shoulders were a tight bundle of nerves at the moment.

  As if George could read her mind, he sat his bag aside and stood. His hands dug into her shoulders, rubbing the stress away the best he could.

  Diana moaned against him; her head pressed backward into the crook of his neck. She was grateful he was so much taller; Francisco had been shorter than her, which was awkward on more than one occasion.