Page 3 of Ranger's Justice

Bullshit.

A hand touches my back, and I know without looking that it’s my mother. She will be Claire Hollister in short order, although nothing has been said… yet. Her nails graze over the silk of my dress in what’s meant to be a soothing gesture, but I feel nothing but a chill. Her presence is a reminder—a warning.

“Cassidy,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not here.”

As if that’s supposed to make a difference. As if holding my tongue here, among the polished headstones and carefully arranged mourners, will change the fact that my father is gone, his car obliterated in a so-called accident that left too many questions and not enough answers.

I glance around, taking in the sea of people dressed in black. Men my father did business with, women who had always pretended not to see the danger lurking behind their husbands’ polite smiles. The air is heavy, and it looks like the storm clouds are rolling in, promising rain. It should feel somber, but the only thing I can focus on is how many of these people are waiting to see what Hollister does next.

He’s already won. My father is dead. And whatever secrets he was unraveling before the explosion took him—Hollister will bury them just as deep.

I turn my gaze back to the man at the podium. He has the gall to look solemn, to press a hand to his chest as if he’s actually mourning. I can feel the anger rising, scorching the back of my throat like bile.

The ceremony ends in a shuffle of murmured condolences and forced smiles. Sadie grips my hand tighter as unfamiliar hands touch her shoulder, stroke her hair. “So sorry for your loss,” they say. “Such a tragedy.”

No one says anything real. No one asks the questions that should be asked.

Mom is standing beside Hollister, her expression vacant. She hasn’t cried once. Not at the hospital. Not at the house. Not now.

I don’t recognize her anymore.

“A terrible loss,” Hollister says, his voice a purring reassurance as he squeezes my mother’s hand. “But we’ll get through this. Together.”

I step between them; Mom barely reacts. She just nods, as if we’re discussing the weather, as if she doesn’t see the way Hollister watches me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved.

Sadie follows me without question, her steps quick, her grip unrelenting. We make it past the crowd, toward the tree line at the edge of the cemetery, where the smell of freshly turned earth is less suffocating.

She swipes at her eyes. “I hate him,” she whispers.

I glance down, startled. “Who?”

She glares at the podium, where Hollister is shaking hands, smiling like a politician who’s just won the vote.

Sadie sniffles beside me. I squeeze her hand. “Almost done, kiddo,” I whisper.

She nods but doesn’t lift her head.

Hollister’s voice drops, taking on that oily tone he uses when he’s manipulating a room, but I can hear him. He’s speaking to a group of oil executives. “But though we grieve, we must also look to the future. We honor Thomas by carrying on his vision, by ensuring that his work does not go unfinished. His family, his daughters…” His gaze sweeps toward me and Sadie, his expression carefully schooled into something that mimics warmth. “I will ensure their protection and their well-being.

Cared for. The words land like a slap.

I want to scream. To lunge for him, to rip that mask off his face and make him confess to what I know he has done, or at the very least, had a hand in. But I can’t. Not here. Not yet.

A strong hand clamps around my wrist, stopping my thoughts from becoming actions. I whip my head to the side and meet the steady gaze of Marcus Kane, my father’s closest friend and the head of Kane Global Assurance, a company specializing in insurance for oil executives. The only man in this cemetery who doesn’t look like he’s playing a role.

“Steady, Cass,” he mutters under his breath. “The time isn’t right, but the day will come.”

I look at him sharply.Steady,he says. Like I haven’t spent the last two weeks unraveling, drowning in the knowledge that no one is going to do a damn thing to find out the truth.

“What are your plans for college?” Marcus asks.

“I was accepted by the university in Dallas. I thought to study finance.”

“Good. Come see me when you graduate. I think with your background and the right schooling, you’d be an asset to my company. Please promise me you’ll think about it at least.”

“I will. Thank you. My father considered you a good friend.”

He releases my hand. “And I considered him to be one of mine. Do not fail to look to me if you are ever in need.”

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