Burden of Proof: North Security And Investigations, #3

By Clara Kendrick

This is the third book of the North Security And Investigations series containing 89,000 words of romantic suspense.

 

Framed for murder. Escaped from Prison. Her only hope lies in the one man determined to prove her innocence…

 

What begins as a perfect romantic evening—one in which Paige Dawson hopes is the start of the healing process of her marriage—turns into a terrifying nightmare that spins Paige's life into chaos as she is suddenly the prime suspect in her husband's brutal murder. Sent to the worst prison in the state, Paige discovers hell on earth as she is assaulted, not by the other inmates, but the guards themselves. With no way out and no one who believes in her innocence, Paige has given up hope of making it out of this nightmare that has become her life—until a sudden freak accident opens a way of escape with an unlikely partner.

 

Liam Salinger, of the NSI agency, is shocked and troubled when he finds himself romantically drawn to alleged murderer, Paige Dawson. As he becomes convinced of her innocence and aids her escape, he begins to question his own motives and actions: Does he really believe she is innocent? Or is he just placating his heart?

 

Hiding Paige from the law, Liam joins detective Hannah Ramsey in the investigation of Paige's case. As evidence surfaces concerning the death of Paige's husband, the investigation takes them on a rollercoaster ride that leaves them dazed and confused and faced with more questions than answers.

 

ADULT CONTENT WARNING: This story is not suitable for readers below 18 years old. The content of this book may be emotionally challenging and contains references to sex, abuse, and trauma.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clara Kendrick
• Release date: Jun 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9798224739752

Clara Kendrick

Discover the captivating world of Clara Kendrick's romantic suspense. With her masterful storytelling and skillful blend of intrigue, romance, and passion, Kendrick draws readers in and keeps them hooked until the very end. Get ready to be swept away by her thrilling and steamy tales of love and suspense. Signup and follow at: Books2read.com/ClaraKendrick Facebook.com/AuthorClaraKendrick

Book preview

Prologue

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For thirty-two years, Kip Monroe lived a heterosexual lifestyle, dated women, even had sexual relations with a few of them merely to maintain his hetero image. He didn’t have many close friends—just two—and those two had no idea he was in the closet.

On his 32nd birthday, Kip decided to come out with a bang, so to speak. His two friends threw him a party and when he made his birthday speech—he dropped the bomb. Following their initial shock, they returned the favor and shocked Kip by taking him to a gay strip club to really celebrate.

Although Kip had slept with women, and despite having a few clandestine encounters in his youth with a neighborhood boy, he was still a gay virgin and his friends intended to remedy that this night. After a few lap dances by some very hot, young oiled-up boys, Kip was jacked up and ready to take the next step. He turned his attention away from the dancers—who only danced and nothing else—and began to survey the other patrons. Surely at least one man in here was interested in more than just lap dances.

What about him? Greg pointed out a handsome, shirtless young man wearing a cowboy hat, leather vest, and skin-tight jeans that tucked into red cowboy boots. Giddyup.

Rick laughed. Hi-oh, Silver, away. The two men cracked up.

Kip shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. You two aren’t helping.

What? Greg grinned. You don’t like cowboys?

I like them just fine, Kip laughed low. But... he shrugged and sighed. Maybe I came out too late. I’m probably past my prime.

Is gay prime different than straight prime? Rick smirked. Because hetero-lly speaking, you’re just coming into your prime.

But what about this? He ran his fingertips over the scar on his chin, the result of a childhood daredevil act involving a go-cart and a very steep hill. Does it ruin my image?

Shit, Greg snorted. It adds character to your already gorgeous Cuban face.

Kip chuckled. Thanks. He meant it sincerely, though mention of his Cuban blood never failed to put a knot in his gut. He thrust away unpleasant thoughts before they could take root, and focused on the task at hand.

Once Kip started looking, he realized there were a hell of a lot of looks being returned. He’d always considered himself good-looking enough, without being anything spectacular. Maybe he was wrong about that. He’d never gotten looks from the ladies like he was getting here tonight. Maybe in this world he was a real catch. Where he’d been hoping to find just one guy willing to get up close and personal with him, now he realized he might just have his pick of the litter.

You see it, don’t you? Greg chuckled and nudged him.

See what?

The looks you’re getting. If these guys could undress you with their eyes, you’d be naked as a jaybird.

Maybe you should go with that look, Rick grinned. Then you’d be swarmed.

Greg laughed. He might get more than he bargained for.

How old are you two? Kip wondered.

Clearing his throat, Greg smiled. Okay. So, tell us, what’re you looking for? What gets your jeans steaming? We’ll help you look for that perfect specimen.

With all these options, Kip tried to decide what his type was. Though the younger college-aged men were damn nice to look at and the thought of being made a man by one of them certainly fired up his cylinders, he began to think he might be more comfortable with a thirty-ish man, someone closer to his own age, at least for his first time out.

His excitement turned to nervousness when he spotted a man of appropriate age and attractiveness sitting at the bar watching Kip sift through the crowd like it was a buffet line. He’s perfect. The man flashed him a discreet smile that hooked Kip and reeled him in.

Ooh, Rick nodded, eyes flashing with mischief. I do believe Kip hooked him one.

I think it’s Kip who got hooked, Greg grinned.

"Would you guys quit using the word hooked, Kip mumbled. Makes me feel like a prostitute."

Well, you are out looking for a lay, Greg reminded.

True, Kip said, a coy smile forming. "But I’m not going to make him pay for it."

The two men busted up. So, you’re just going to be a whore not a hooker?

Kip nodded. Exactly.

That’s our boy! Rick laughed and patted his back.

Kip was shocked how comfortable his friends were in this place. They didn’t even take offense or become uneasy when they were hit on. Instead, they turned it into a contest to see who got the hottest guys to hit on them.

Kip’s gaze drifted back to the man at the bar, and his heart began to thump against his ribs as heat spread through his loins. He definitely wanted this man to be his first. Yet he couldn’t make his feet carry him over there. He was suddenly terrified to make a move.

What’re you waiting for? Greg asked. The guy’s already fucked you at least a dozen times in his head by now. Why don’t you go on over there and make his dreams come true?

Kip released a shaky breath and wiped his mouth with an equally shaky hand. Yeah, he whispered. His feet didn’t move. Give me a push.

Rick and Greg laughed—and gave him a light shove, sending him a few steps across the floor. Once his feet were in motion, he kept going with his friends cheering him on—which caused a flush in his cheeks.

Decked out in a nice suit and unfastened tie, the man’s enchanting eyes swept over Kip’s body with enough force to send pleasant chills skating up and down his spine. The man casually stood when Kip approached. He was Kip’s approximate height and build. It excited Kip that they were so evenly matched. Did they share other...similarities in anatomy? Kip hoped so. He was confident this man wouldn’t be complaining about him.

I would offer to buy you a drink, the man murmured with a svelte tone that did all kinds of wonderful things to Kip’s insides. But that isn’t what you want, is it? The corner of his tempting mouth tugged with a teasing smile.

Kip shook his head, his throat suddenly too tight to speak.

Good, the man winked. Me, neither. He motioned toward the entrance door. Shall we?

When Kip Monroe walked out of the club with the handsome stranger, nervous and excited about the moment he’d been waiting for since he was fifteen and realized he liked boys a hell of a lot more than he liked girls, he thought he was embarking on an exciting new chapter of his life.

He received no internal warning, no gut feeling that his life was in mortal danger and that before morning...he would be brutally raped and murdered by the handsome stranger with the enchanting eyes.

Chapter 1

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The night Paige Dawson’s husband was murdered began in a semi-normal fashion. There were no internal warning signs to signal that a storm was about to devastate her life and leave her buried beneath the rubble.

The semi-normal aspect of the evening was that Norman came home from the office on time, rather than working late as he typically did any other day—and that he brought with him wine and roses, proposing a romantic dinner at home. Along with the roses and wine came an accompanied apology for his recent neglect of Paige, both in the bedroom and out.

It had been a long time since the two of them had made love. A quick session of sex had ensued from time to time, but deep, passionate lovemaking had seemed a thing of the past. So much so, that Paige—not without guilt—had found herself, more and more, noticing other men and wondering at their bedroom skills. Yet, she had never taken that final forbidden step and slept with another man. Despite her husband’s lack of interest in her of late, she couldn’t make herself become the unfaithful wife...though she often wondered if Norman was cheating on her. She’d never asked and didn’t want to know.

On this fateful night, she became convinced that he was not, in fact, being unfaithful. Or...if he had been...it was over now, and he was ready to be her husband again. Either of which she could live with. Life was hard and so was marriage; she could forgive him his indiscretions if he was willing to try to make things work between them. There was much stress in the life of a criminal attorney, and their marriage had started its downhill spiral two months ago in Chicago when Norman lost the case of a prominent client. He’d become increasingly agitated immediately following the failed trial, began receiving personal phone calls at all hours of the night that left him on edge and paranoid. Soon after, he abruptly uprooted their life and moved them to New York. Paige had hoped things would go back to normal after the move, and they had...for a while. Yet the stress set back in and Norman couldn’t seem to shake the effects of that monumental loss.

So, yes, Paige understood the strains it was having on their relationship and she did her best to be a good wife though she’d often felt as if she were alone in the marriage.

Until tonight. Everything felt back to normal and her relationship—and sex life—with Norman felt brand new and exciting.

They made love throughout the early evening and she couldn’t remember a time when it was better than this. Norman had always had an aversion to performing oral sex on her, but not tonight. He brought her to multiple orgasms with his skillful tongue before sliding his engorged member deep inside her and bringing her to climax a few more times. When he came, it was powerful and intense and left him exhausted, yet satisfied. As it did Paige.

They showered together, washing one another’s bodies as they kissed and fondled. This was new as well; Norman usually preferred to shower alone.

"Now that we’re refreshed, Norman murmured in her ear as they left the bathroom, his arms wrapped around her body, how about that dinner? You can make your famous salad I love so much, and I’ll prepare the main dish."

You haven’t requested my famous salad in quite some time, she smiled, reveling in the warmth and strength of his arms.

Forgive me? He kissed her neck softly. For everything? I’ve been a deplorable husband since we made the move.

I wouldn’t say deplorable, Paige countered. She paused as they entered the kitchen, and faced him, sliding her arms around his neck. Things have been tense and rough. It can wear on a person. I understand. She kissed him. And I forgive you.

Norman smiled. You’re the best, Paige, he whispered. Definitely too good for the likes of me.

Paige laughed softly. I think maybe we’re just right for each other.

Well, I won’t try to discourage such thinking. He chuckled and kissed her deeply.

She drew back and caressed her palms down his arms to his hands, her fingertips grazing the gold watch on his right wrist. Her wedding gift to Norman. It warmed her heart and gave her hope that he still wore it after five years.

Our love will stand the test of time, Norman murmured.

Paige raised her eyes, a soft smile forming. Those were the words she’d had inscribed on the back of the watch. After the fact, she worried that he might find it cheesy, but he’d loved it. It will, she whispered and leaned up, brushing a tender kiss on his lips.

Norman sighed contentedly. Now...about that salad...

All right, Paige laughed and patted his chest. I’ll make your salad.

Norman went into the other room and turned on some soft music. A little romantic melody to set the mood, he smiled when he returned. He moved around behind her and lightly grasped her hips as he swayed to the rhythm. Mm. Maybe we should have dessert first.

We already had dessert, Paige murmured playfully. "Lots of it. I’m surprised you don’t have a tummy ache."

Norman chuckled and slipped his arms around her slender waist and nuzzled her neck. "The ache isn’t in my tummy." He pressed his crotch against her, his arousal evident.

Norman Dawson, she scolded teasingly. You are a dirty, insatiable man.

I know, he grinned and kissed her ear. And you love it.

She did but refused to admit it. Paige laughed lightly and shrugged him off. Get to work on dinner.

•

Paige was nearly finished with the salad when her cell phone rang from the bedroom. She groaned and laid down the knife, then hurried out of the kitchen. She usually kept her phone on her or within reaching distance but had forgotten it after leaving the shower.

I’ll start setting the table, Norman hollered after her.

Okay, she hollered back and entered the bedroom. She snatched up the cell from her nightstand and answered without checking the caller’s ID. Hello?

The line was open, but no one replied.

Paige frowned. Hello? Is someone there?

Welcome to hell. Male voice; deep, coarse.

What—? The lights went out. Panic shot through Paige and she spun around and dropped the phone when she heard a crash in the kitchen. Norman? She hurried for the bedroom door, frantically feeling her way in the thick darkness.

A sudden scuffle broke out in the kitchen as more items crashed to the floor. Her husband swore and struggled with an assailant.

Norman! Paige cried and felt her way down the hallway. Norman, what’s happening?

A hard gasp—of pain?—then a heavy thud as someone fell to the floor.

Paige froze, her palm flattened against the wall, heart pounding wildly. Norman? Labored breathing pushed up the hall from the kitchen, like someone exerting themselves...and a dull repetitive sound she couldn’t identify. Tears streaked her face. Norman...? she whispered shakily as she started moving forward again, slowly, her legs trembling. Please...answer me...

She turned the corner in the hallway—and something hard and solid struck her in the face.

•

The pain pulsing through her face and skull was the first thing Paige became aware of as she returned to consciousness. The second thing was that the lights were back on. The third...deathly silence throughout the house.

Norman.

Paige choked on a panicked sob and rolled onto her elbow, the movement sending a blinding pain through her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed up on her arms, then dropped back to the carpet as the hallway rocked and swayed around her. "Norman... she whimpered and managed to get up on her hands and knees. The kitchen doorway was just a few feet away and she crawled that way. Norman..."

The bright kitchen lights stabbed her eyes like daggers, magnifying the sharp pain in her skull. She squinted and crawled forward, wobbling back and forth. Oh God, Norman...please be okay...please be ok—

Paige yelped when her palms suddenly slipped out from under her, dropping her flat on her chest in a mess of sticky wetness. Her eyes snapped fully open and she was engulfed in the horror scene before her as a strong coppery odor surged up her nostrils.

Blood—everywhere.

Oh God... Paige scrambled back, her chest and arms smeared in blood. "Oh God...oh God... Her throat closed, and she gasped for air as darkness suddenly pressed at the edge of her vision. Norman! she screamed. Norman!"

His body was nowhere to be seen—just a thick blood trail where he’d been dragged from the kitchen through the outer patio door.

No... Paige shoved her back against the wall, her hands shaking as she clutched her head, her husband’s blood caking her hair. "Norman...Norman...no-no-no..." Tears streaked her face and distorted her vision as her eyes moved around the kitchen, subconsciously noting her special salad scattered across the bloody floor, and the knife...hanging half off the counter...blood dripping from the coated blade. She followed each drop as it struck the caked tiles in tiny crimson explosions.

Paige felt her mind slipping as she stared blankly at the falling droplets, her bloodied hands buried deep in her blond strands, gripping her throbbing head.

Call the police. You have to call the police.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t take her eyes off the blood. So much blood. Too much blood. Too much. Her face remained expressionless as fresh tears formed and drained down her cheeks.

Too much blood loss. Norman was dead. Wherever he was...he was dead.

A sudden muffled thump in another room instantly paralyzed Paige. She held her breath as her heart beat frantically against her ribs until she was forced to gasp for air and panic seized her.

The killer’s still here! Oh God—oh God!

Paige’s frightened eyes locked on the bloody knife—and she bolted up from the floor, lunged toward the counter as she grabbed for the knife. Her feet slipped on the slick, bloody tiles as her hand wrapped around the handle. She yelped sharply and hit the floor with a grunt, splattering blood on the lower cabinet doors.

Oh God... she choked, crying, and scrambled to get on her feet again, clutching at the edge of the counter. Her hands and feet slipped in the blood, but she finally managed to get upright, chest heaving, eyes wide and wild. She clutched the knife in a death grip and moved forward unsteadily as the kitchen swayed and rocked. She gripped the counter, steadying herself, trying to listen over her own rapid heartbeat and wheezing breath.

Her phone; she had to get to her phone and call the police. Where...?

The bedroom—you dropped it in the bedroom when the lights went out.

Her face throbbed and pain racked her skull. She released the counter, took a step toward the kitchen doorway and her legs buckled, dropping her to the floor yet again. Paige burst into uncontrollable sobs as she lay on her back in the mess of her husband’s blood. She shoved the heels of her palms into her wet eyes and cried harder.

She lost all sense of time, faded in and out, then just lay still, staring at the kitchen ceiling, her mind numb—frozen—as her wet, sticky clothes pasted to her body. She was vaguely aware of the knife still gripped in her fist. She knew she had to get up, call the cops...find Norman. But she was frozen in place, her limbs refusing the commands of her mind.

This isn’t real...I’m having a nightmare...

Outside the haze closing in on her mind, she heard the sirens.

Police cars speeding up the drive.

Doors slamming and officers shouting.

Her paralysis breaking, Paige began to shake. "Help... she rasped, hardly more than a whisper. Help...help... A hard sob broke in her throat, freeing her voice. She cried out, then screamed, Help...help! Help!"

The front door burst open and a cacophony of heavy footsteps reverberated through the house.

Help me! Paige came alive and pulled herself up off the floor, grasping the edge of the counter as the sudden movement left her dizzy and wobbly. Please help me!

Two officers appeared in the backyard and rushed through the patio door into the kitchen, weapons drawn.

Please help, Paige cried. My husband...Norman—

Drop the weapon!

Please... Paige’s head swam as she stumbled toward the officer.

"Drop the weapon!"

Paige froze. The cop was a blurry haze before her—his gun aimed at her head. What...?

Someone grabbed her from behind and she cried out, then gasped as she was slammed face down on the counter and the knife wrenched out of her hand. Her fragmenting mind came together abruptly when her arms were twisted forcefully behind her back—and she was handcuffed. What...?

The officer holding her down spoke, You have the right to remain silent...

What... Paige trembled, her mind coming apart again. "Wh-what’re you doing? I didn’t do anything!"

The arresting officer ignored her and continued reading her rights as he jerked her upright.

No... she cried. I didn’t do this—I didn’t! Please don’t do this...please...it wasn’t me...it wasn’t me!

•

Welcome to hell.

The words—spoken by the deep, rough voice—haunted Paige Dawson as she huddled against the rear passenger door of the police cruiser, a mesh-wire barrier between her and the two officers up front. The handcuffs pinched her wrists, cinched tight against her bones. She could smell Norman’s blood on her body, feel the tackiness in her hair and on her hands.

Welcome to hell.

She pressed her head against the window and squeezed her eyes shut. The tears flowed nonstop and she choked on her sobs. Who had called the cops? Why would they think she had murdered Norman? That’s why they arrested her, wasn’t it?

This can’t be happening? It’s just a nightmare...it has to be. Norman can’t be dead. None of this is real.

She repeated the mantra over and over in her head, desperate for it to be true. But the scent and sensation of the blood caked between her fingers and on her chest and arms, in her hair...it bore a cloak of realism that refused to be denied.

Her stomach suddenly lurched and mouth filled with bitter acid. I’m gonna puke... the words were hardly out before she doubled over and vomited on the floorboards.

"Goddamn it, muttered the cop in the passenger seat. He was near Paige’s age—twenty-six—give or take a year. He cranked down his window and Paige welcomed the blast of cool night air against her damp, fevered face. She laid her head against the glass again and closed her eyes, taking deep gulps of the fresh air as strong nausea continued to grind her guts. It was merely a temporary aid as, moments later, she wretched again, though little came up this time. Holy shit, the officer growled. The whole freaking car is gonna reek for a month."

The driver grunted irritably but said nothing.

The least of Paige’s concerns was how long the cruiser would smell like puke.

The instant they reached the precinct station, the younger cop thrust open his door and quickly exited the vehicle. He yanked open the rear door and Paige nearly tumbled out. The officer’s face twisted with disgust as he dragged her out of the backseat. Disgusting, he muttered and grabbed her by the cuffed wrists and shoved her forward.

Paige stumbled but caught her footing. Barely. Her throbbing head hurt worse than ever and her equilibrium felt off as everything around her swayed and rotated, creating a sense of the surreal. Maybe she was just having a nightmare and she would wake up in the morning, wrapped deep in Norman’s strong arms.

For now, the nightmare continued as she was taken inside and booked. Everyone who passed nearby gave her a look of disgust and muttered about the stink. She was taken to the showers and hosed down then was given clean attire to put on.

She was led from there to an interrogation room that was nothing like what she saw on TV. This one resembled a miniature conference room with decently comfortable chairs around a polished wood table. The walls were paneled, and pictures hung on three of the four walls. On the fourth was a mirror. A two-way mirror. Spiffed up or not, this was still an interrogation room, and there were eyes on her from behind that mirror.

The female officer remained in the room with her until the detective arrived; a tall, slender woman in her early-to-mid-thirties. She wore no makeup, yet possessed a subtle natural beauty that one didn’t often encounter these days. Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight French braid and the look in her crisp blue eyes attested to a no-nonsense personality.

She retrieved Paige’s information file from the officer then excused the other woman from the room. The detective stood opposite Paige and looked over the info sheet, then raised her eyes. I’m Detective Ramsey, she said. I’m going to read you your Miranda Rights again. She commenced with the recitation, then asked, Do you understand your rights as they have been read to you?

Yes, Paige whispered shakily, her throat working. What was happing?

Do you wish to have an attorney present during questioning?

Paige flexed her hands anxiously. I didn’t do anything, she cried quietly.

Do you waive your right to have an attorney present? the detective asked.

Having a husband for an attorney, Paige was quite familiar with due process and understood the perils of not exercising her right to an attorney. But she was innocent. Norman had assured her that innocent until proven guilty was more illusion than reality. And she should have taken that into consideration at this moment, but she couldn’t force her mind to comprehend that she could possibly be convicted of Norman’s murder. Once she was allowed to tell her side of it, they would understand that there had been someone else in the house and she wasn’t guilty. They would.

Mrs. Dawson, the detective pressed. Do you waive your right to an attorney?

Paige blinked and, against her better judgment, nodded. Yes, she whispered brokenly. I didn’t do anything.

Chapter 2

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Why was I arrested? I didn’t... Paige forced the words out through a constricted throat, ...kill my husband. Her vision distorted with tears. Who called the cops?

A concerned neighbor, the detective said. They claimed that they overheard you and your husband in a heated argument and you were making threats on his life.

Paige stared at her dumbfounded. What...? she swallowed hard. We weren’t fighting. We were fixing dinner...spending a romantic evening together. There...there were no arguments or shouting. Who called in?

I can’t disclose that information at this time—

"They were lying, Paige choked. I didn’t...I wouldn’t harm my husband. I love him. Please... she whispered. You have to believe me. I didn’t hurt him."

The officers found you covered in blood and clutching a knife, the female detective stated. Can you explain that?

Paige tried to think but her mind was fragmented. I...I slipped in the...blood when I came into the kitchen, she whispered thickly. I heard something...I-I thought the killer was still in the house. She swallowed unsteadily. I grabbed the knife...for protection...

Releasing a low, controlled breath, the detective said, Now repeat that in your head and imagine you’re in front of a jury.

Paige stared at her. What...?

What’s the likelihood they would buy that story?

I don’t... Paige frowned.

"Unless you come up with something