All Chapters of Beyond Reasonable Doubt (Full Series): Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Chapter 11Maddox POVI didn’t like being challenged in front of my people.Not because my pride couldn’t take it—I’d had pride beaten out of me by responsibility years ago—but because leadership optics mattered. They mattered the way locks mattered. You didn’t notice them when they worked, and you only cared when they failed.Jordan Carter had just called my pack coordinated like it was a dirty word, and she’d done it with a calm face and a steady voice while Rowan stood in the doorway looking like he wanted to snap the room in half.I could feel the tension in them. Kane trying to keep the peace. Rowan trying to protect the pack in the only language he trusted. Jordan refusing to be intimidated, because she didn’t know how, or didn’t believe it would work.I held her gaze and kept my tone level. “We’re not criminals.”Jordan didn’t flinch. “Then stop acting like men who rehearsed how to sound innocent. And give me the truth.”Rowan made a low sound under his breath—disgust, warning,

Chapter 13Jordan POVBy the time I got back to my suite, I’d learned three useful things over dinner:One, Maddox Mercer ran the table without raising his voice.Two, Tessa Rhodes could smile like a beauty queen while sharpening a knife under the napkin.Three, Elaina watched people the way I watched juries—like the smallest flinch meant something.All of that would’ve been entertaining if there wasn’t a dead man on Mercer land and a prosecutor with a reputation for loving headlines.I locked my door, set my bag on the table, and opened my laptop like it was a ritual. Then I pulled out the portable tri-fold board Nina had packed for me when she realized I was serious about working in the packhouse.“Because you’re incapable of being normal,” she’d said while shoving it into my arms.“Yes,” I’d replied. “And you love that about me.”The suite’s sitting area became my war room in less than ten minutes.I cleared the coffee table, dragged a chair closer, and opened the board across the

Chapter 15Jordan POVRowan knocked on my door at six a.m. like he was trying to teach the wood a lesson.I opened it in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair piled into a messy knot that screamed I’m working, don’t perceive me. He stood there in the hallway already dressed like an apocalypse might break out at any moment.“You’re coming,” he said.“Good morning to you too,” I replied, rubbing sleep out of one eye. “Where am I being marched to like a disgruntled princess?”“Training room,” Rowan said. “Alpha wants you.”My brain, still half asleep, offered me a stupid flash of the shower from last night—water, steam, and Maddox Mercer appearing in my mind like my hormones had filed a motion to embarrass me.I shut that down so fast I practically heard the courtroom gavel in my head.“Of course he does,” I said brightly. “Tell him I’m flattered.”Rowan stared at me like he didn’t understand humor and didn’t plan to start today. “Shoes.”“I know how feet work,” I muttered, and shut the door lo

Chapter 17Jordan POVRowan tried to “escort” me the way a bouncer escorted someone out of a bar.Close enough to make a point. Silent enough to make it feel like I was the problem.It was mid-morning, the kind of cold that made your nose sting and your hands ache if you didn’t keep them moving. I’d dressed for it—boots, thick socks, dark jeans, a sweater under a heavier coat. I’d even put my hair in a braid to keep it from whipping into my eyes, which felt like an act of cooperation I deserved credit for.Rowan did not give credit.He met me at the base of the stairs like he’d been waiting. Not leaning, not lounging, not casually existing like a person with a day off.Standing. Watching.“Where are we going,” he asked, like I was a teenager sneaking out after curfew.“We?” I echoed. “That’s optimistic.”Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not walking the property alone.”“I didn’t ask to walk alone,” I said, slipping my phone into my pocket and tightening my gloves. “I asked to walk the p

Chapter 19Jordan POVI picked the diner because it was the kind of place where people talked without realizing they were talking.Not in confession-level detail. Not in a way that would hold up in court. But in the way that gave you the real temperature of a town—who everyone feared, who everyone owed, and what subjects made the room go quiet in the wrong way.The “wrong way” was important. The wrong way was where cases lived.Rowan didn’t like the idea.He didn’t say that. Rowan rarely said what he meant unless it was an insult or a warning. He just stood at the packhouse door, arms crossed, watching me tug my gloves on like he was waiting for me to admit I needed permission.“You’re leaving the property,” he said.“I’ve noticed,” I replied. “That’s typically how ‘going to town’ works.”Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”“Because I’m tired of being handed rehearsed answers inside a house full of cameras,” I said, tone light enough to be polite and sharp enough to be true. “And because to