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

  At the thought of him her throat closed again, and she spun around and hugged George tightly.

  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer. Tears streamed from her cheeks as she looked up at him. “You’ll take care of her, right? Get her everything she needs? See she goes to private school? A fancy one. A real fancy one. And Stanford maybe, in the future. Promise me?”

  George kissed her before she could ramble any farther. “You’re already convinced we have a daughter,” he chuckled, holding her at arm’s length. “And you don’t have to worry about that, because you’re going to be there for every moment.”

  “But what if...”

  “Hold that thought, love.” George reached for his bag and rummaged in it for a moment before he pulled out a small, blue velvet box. He popped it open and displayed a beautiful square cut sapphire, offset by tiny diamonds. “Marry me?”

  “George!” Diana gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. “But what if I go to prison? What then?”

  “Then your wedding dress will be prison orange and you’ll still look as beautiful as you do right now.”

  “Won’t the firm...”

  “Fuck the firm. I’ll create my own. My father has connections. I’m not worried about it. Please, Diana, marry me. Even if this all goes south, which I don’t think it will, it will help me with the appeal, and raising our daughter.”

  Diana eyed him. “Are you sure you aren’t just asking me for legal reasons?”

  “Would I make love to a ‘legal reason’?”

  Diana chuckled, blushing as she thought about their time together just last night. “Then yes, George Cumberlin, I will marry you.”

  He smiled widely as he slipped the ring on her left hand. “By the gods, I love you, Diana.”

  Before she could return the sentiment, the bailiff poked his head in the door. “The jury’s ready.”

  “Already?” Diana and George exclaimed at the same time.

  The bailiff nodded curtly and let the door shut.

  Diana turned to George. “It’s only been fifteen minutes!”

  George pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. “This could be good,” his eyes darted around the room, and Diana knew he was, at the least, partially lying.

  “Or I’m going away for a long time,” she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek.

  George thumbed it away. “Stop that, love. You are not. Let’s hope our daughter was enough to sway them.” He snatched up his satchel in one hand. “First, I need another drink.”

  Diana glared at him but said nothing as she watched him empty another tiny bottle.

  “Ready?” He dabbed his lips gently with the handkerchief and tucked it back into his back pocket.

  She nodded. She couldn’t speak. She’d gotten this far without losing it—in public, anyway—and she wasn’t going to give in to hysterics now.

  Her life was about to change forever; acquitted, she would spend the rest of her life with George.

  He’d expressed to her more than once if they won this, he’d be famous, and they’d be set for life. Money, house, car. Everything she’d ever dreamed.

  Guilty, she’d never see the world outside the Oregon State Prison, but she’d still have their child, she’d still have him. The first was Heaven, the second was Hell, but she’d survive both.

  She’d been through worse.

  The courtroom was morbidly silent, quieter than a funeral. Opposite George and Diana, DA Kepler leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled with a smug look on his face.

  Diana almost laughed at the way he looked like a cat who’d just caught his first bird.

  The jury ushered in from the back door. The judge entered and sat down, and so did the jury and the rest of the packed courtroom.

  “Have you made your decision?”

  A heavy-set woman on the end, dressed in a smart lavender skirt and blazer complete with scarf, stood. “We have, your honor.”

  “And what is your decision, Madam Forewoman?”

  “The jury unanimously finds Diana Benson not guilty of all charges.”

  An ethereal gasp flew through the room, the loudest of which came from DA Kepler, but not to be overshadowed by the whispered and mumbles of the journalists at the back.

  It seemed everyone reacted in that unbelievable moment, except Diana.

  She froze, brought to life only by the comfort of George’s hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, blinking back tears, but failing.

  He pressed a finger to his lips briefly.

  “Very well,” the judge admitted, shaking his head slightly. He turned forward as the forewoman sat down. “Diana Benson, please stand.”

  Both her and George rose to their feet.

  “In light of the jury’s decision, I hereby pronounce you are acquitted of the charges of aggravated murder in the first degree. Furthermore, I order your juvenile records to be further sealed permanently. Do you understand the orders of this court?”

  Diana nodded slowly, hardly able to contain her relief. “I do.”

  The judge raised his gavel. Before he brought it down, he sighed. “Young lady, it is the wish of this court you continue your studies, though you realize a career in law may not be your best option after this rigamarole?”

  “I realize that, yes, your honor,” Diana responded honestly. She looked at George. What did she need a career for when she had him, anyway?

  “Very well. This court is hereby adjourned.” The judge brought down the gavel with a quick tap, and as if someone had hit resume on a pause button, the courtroom reanimated.

  After a flurry of press requests, of which this time Diana was allowed to answer some questions, George pushed her into a private car at the front of the courthouse and knocked on the glass for the driver to pull away.

  They settled back against the leather, Diana’s body weak from the anxiety of the last twelve weeks. Relief and nausea flooded her system at the same time, thought the latter was likely morning sickness. Still, she breathed easier than she had in weeks.

  George wasted no time flipping open the mini bar next to him and sloshing warm, amber scotch into a glass. He downed it quicker than he had the rum in the courthouse. His hand curled around hers, and she leaned into him.

  George kissed the top of her head. “Prison orange is really a terrible color for a wedding.”

  Diana agreed softly as their car took them home.

  Chapter 2

  The dark, lonely California interstate stretched out before Diana Cumberlin as she pushed the gas pedal and urged her crimson convertible faster down the deserted road. It was strange not to see another car, but given it was four in the morning, and they were in rural Northern California, it didn’t really surprise her.

  Even with the black top stretched over her car, the road noise was insufferable, thrumming nearly as fast as her heartbeat. She reached out and turned the plastic knob on the radio but was only met with static. Of course, this far out of the city and into the mountains, it would be hard to find a signal. Even her satellite radio was having trouble staying connected at this point.

  In her rearview mirror she could faintly make out the skyline of San Francisco to the southwest. They had been on the road a little over an hour, and in the small hours or the morning, the traffic had been light and manageable.

  I don’t remember ever having traffic this good.

  But now without oncoming lights to guide her, the highway was a place where dreams go to die.

  George’s words still haunted her, just hours before, “You’re leaving me, aren’t you? Oh my god, you’re really leaving me.”

  She’d never seen a grown man cry, but he was drunk, and he cried often these days.

  “Stop,” she admonished him, her back turned, shoving a curling iron and three shirts into her suitcase. “I’m not having this conversation with you at two in the morning, George.”

  “I’m sorry I came in late.”

  “Every night th
is week?”

  “What?”

  “I said, I’ll be gone two weeks.” Diana gritted her teeth. “Just a drive to clear my head, is all. Maybe see my sister.”

  “You haven’t seen your sister in five years.” He swayed on his feet and grabbed the dresser next to him for support. “You haven’t even talked to your sister in five years.”

  “You never let me!” Diana shouted at him.

  Startled, George only pressed his lips together.

  “I’ll be back,” Diana continued, her voice more measured and even this time. She really was trying to stay calm and collected. For Clara.

  “You promise?”

  “Yes, George.” She didn’t make eye contact and turned to zip up her suitcase.

  “And you’ll take your phone?”

  “Yes.” She sighed and turned to him. “Clara starts kindergarten in two weeks.” As soon as Diana uttered the words, she looked up to see the bright pink, sparkled backpack hanging in her closet, across from the four-poster bed she and George shared.

  George had spared no expense; everything baby girl wanted she got, including expensive tuition at one of the top preschools on the West Coast. What five-year-old needed rhinestone headbands, Gucci lunch boxes, Dolce and Gabbana butterfly dresses, and Burberry holographic boots?

  Diana sighed as she threw more clothes on the bed. This was what she had wanted. Her and Clara were taken care of, and then some. They had everything they ever wanted.

  Except the one thing Diana needed—a husband who wasn’t a drunkard and gambler.

  She didn’t know exactly when it happened; George had always been a drinker, while Diana never touched the stuff. Not since Francisco. But when their finances slipped and their credit card debt—totaling over half a million dollars—started coming in, and George came home with lipstick on his collar and positively reeking of perfume, Diana knew something had to change.

  She didn’t count on George’s embezzlement charges, however, and that was her last straw. It was time to get away before everything fell apart.

  “Yes, we’ll be back.” In the last five years she’d learned how to lie effortlessly, so she put a smile on her face, and acted like life was ripping apart at the seams on many an occasion. Being married to a lawyer had that effect, she supposed.

  “You’re taking Clara?” George’s slurred whine ripped her out of her reminiscing.

  “Yes. You have ... well, I suppose you don’t have work anymore, but you’ll have obligations here, nevertheless.” She slammed the suitcase, firmly zipping the side with one motion. She prayed he didn’t see her hands tremble.

  “You won’t be safe out there,” he begged softly, attempting to wrap an arm around her from behind. “Please don’t leave me.”

  “We’ll be fine. I’ve got friends all over Oregon. Places to go, people to visit.” She picked up the suitcase and started toward the door. “Goodbye, George.” She didn’t dare look at him.

  “Diana...”

  “Goodbye.” She shut the door and left him standing in the bedroom, his face a twisted, painful mix of shock and sadness.

  In a way she was glad he was too drunk to realize he had almost convinced her not to leave. He was an expert at this, negotiating, but not when he was knackered. Six years ago, it was his tenacity in negotiation that had made her fall for him, after all. And they had a good few years before life unraveled, and those years were happy. Diana paused in front of her daughter’s bedroom, her hand pressed to the cold, white surface.

  What am I doing? she asked herself for the millionth time today. I can’t leave. It’s not safe.

  But you have to. Another minute here will kill you. What happened the last time you didn’t leave when you had the chance?

  I know.

  With a heavy sigh, she pushed the door open.

  Clara didn’t even cry when Diana took her from her bed, just looked at her with wide eyes when Diana explained they were leaving and helped her dress. “Where are we going, Mommy?”

  To which Diana just forced a smile and announced, “On an adventure, sweetheart.”

  Two hours later, Diana smashed the knob on the radio with the palm of her hand, the quiet snores from the backseat interrupting her thoughts. She threw a glance behind her to see Clara curled in her car seat, fast asleep. As well she should be, since the bright green clock on the dash read just after four in the morning. A few tendrils of her daughter’s dark, bobbed-short hair lay against her cheek and partially over her mouth, briefly whipped from her face by her quiet snores, only to fall flat again.

  She would have started kindergarten in two weeks, Diana thought to herself, wiping the tears from the corner of her eye. How could George be so selfish? She almost laughed, remembering he had called her selfish for leaving. But she had no other choice, not after what happened.

  The road curved to the right as she merged to the interstate that would take her home.

  Finally, home.

  Toward Portland.

  GEORGE SLEPT TILL PAST noon for the first time in years. He still had an empty tumbler of scotch gripped in his right hand, and the bed next to him was empty. He sat up, carefully setting the tumbler on the edge of the nightstand, where it rolled to the floor. He shook his head at it.

  Where was Diana?

  Oh, shit.

  She was gone.

  Everything from two in the morning slammed into his head harder than his hangover. Stumbling out of bed he wandered to the window to see her parking spot in front of their condo was empty.

  So, he had failed. His mind tumbled with their screaming match, and finally, the door slamming behind her as she dragged a terrified Clara to the car.

  She had really left him, maybe for good this time.

  He thought she’d come back in the middle of the night, but he’d passed out soon after her convertible tires screeched out of the parking lot. He didn’t think she had it in her. The very thought of his timid little wife and his daughter out there alone was enough to turn his stomach. He stumbled to his daughter’s empty bedroom. Shaking his head, he went back to his own room and plopped down on the side of the bed.

  “Bloody hell!” he screamed to no one and pulled the bottle of scotch off the dresser next to the bed. He half-filled another tumbler and downed it. He collapsed backward on the bed, rage and sadness filling him. Why didn’t he see this coming? Ever since the news broke about his charges, he suspected she was going to leave, and there was nothing he could do to stop her.

  It was over.

  She said she’d be back, but he didn’t believe her.

  Yet he loved her with all he was, even now. Even after he had disappointed her, ruined her life, and destroyed everything they had built together. It was all his fault, and he knew it.

  She would go find greener pastures, because that was how she was. Diana was never grounded, merely waiting to capitalize on the moment.

  A shrill ring in his ear made him roll over and frantically grab the phone by the lamp next to the bed. Maybe it was Janice at the office, or even his boss, Mr. Gerard. Maybe they had made a mistake, and this whole thing was just a terrible nightmare.

  “Hello? George, boy, are you there?”

  George sighed. “Yes, Father, I’m here.”

  “I’m out at the range with Herb and just heard the news. How are you doing?”

  George just laughed, a sarcastic, pitiful sound he didn’t know he possessed. “I don’t even know how to answer that, after all that has happened.”

  “What about Diana? Clara? How are they taking it?”

  “Diana’s gone.”

  A pause. In the background, George could hear someone yell, “Fore!” then his father’s heavy Oxford accent drawled slowly, “Gone ... as in she’s left you?”

  “I don’t know. She said — well, she needed a road trip, to think things through.”

  George’s father sighed. “My second wife, Melody, you remember her. Of course, you do, you would have been in about third grade.
Well, anyways, she did that. Went to clear her head in France of all places.”

  “You told me Melody ran off with her chauffeur.” George rubbed sleep from his eyes. He glanced at the alarm clock and saw it was five minutes ‘til one in the afternoon. Where had the day gone?

  “Aye, well, the chauffeur was French. Not to alarm you, George,” his father continued, “but eventually she ended up in Paris with some chef named Marcois or some shit.” George could almost see his father shaking his head, no doubt demonstrating how foolish women could be.

  “Are you saying I should let her go?” George was still a bit too hungover to concentrate.

  “Bloody hell boy, I didn’t raise a failure.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means, son, you put away Gorbetti and his mob officers, you settled a thousand murder cases, and you married your highest profile client, got her acquitted even. I didn’t raise a failure, George Cumberlin. Plus, we have an agreement, son, or did you forget?”

  George grumbled. “No, I didn’t forget the ... arrangement.” A migraine poked around his left eye.

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, particularly not following Melody when I should have.”

  “You got remarried a few months later, Dad.” George pinched his nose to ward off his pounding headache. “I did your divorce, remember.”

  “I know, but I shouldn’t have let her go. Melody was the love of my life.”

  “So, should I go after her? Diana, I mean?”

  “I think maybe you should sober up first,” his father lowered his voice, “and get your shite together. But yes, go get her. Before something bad happens, or someone else finds her first.”

  “You mean before they find her first.”

  “There’s more than one Gorbetti out there, son.”

  George scrubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right. Even with Marco behind bars, that still leaves...”

  “Look, I’ve got to go, we’re moving down the range,” his father interrupted. “Call me after tomorrow. I’ll be at the office.”

  “Okay, thanks.” But his father had already hung up. It was all business with Harold Cumberlin. Twenty years in British parliament, ten years as a lawyer at a prestigious firm with offices in Portland, New York, and London. There was no try with him, just do it or don’t do it, it was the frank British way after all.