Page 5 of Ranger's Justice

His expression doesn’t change, but I know better than to think he doesn’t have an opinion.

“And what do you expect?”

I glance back through the glass doors. Hollister is still there, shaking hands, spinning his web. My mother laughs at something he says, her hand curling around his arm.

My gut clenches as I hear my father’s voice as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

“Follow the money, sweetheart, and you’ll always find the truth.”

“Trust your gut—most people aren’t as honest as they seem or as we’d like them to be.”

My gut has been screaming at me for five years.

I look back at Marcus. “I expect to tell him to go to hell.”

A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Good.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a business card, flipping it between his fingers before holding it out to me. “There’s an office at Kane International with your name on the door.”

My fingers tighten around the card.

He lets that sink in before adding, “We do things my way. You learn the business from the inside out. No shortcuts, no reckless plays.” His voice drops, deadly soft. “We take our time. And when we make a move, we don’t miss.”

I don’t hesitate.

I don’t ask for time to think.

I don’t play it safe.

I slide the card into my clutch, meet his gaze, and nod.

“I’m in.”

CHAPTER 2

CASSIDY

Present Day

Dallas, Texas

I drop the file onto Marcus Kane’s desk with more force than necessary. Papers scatter, spreadsheets slide across the polished wood, and my pulse thunders in my ears as I cross my arms and glare at him.

“That’s it,” I say. “That’s the proof.”

Marcus doesn’t flinch. He never does. He leans back in his leather chair, an unreadable expression on his face as he steeples his fingers and looks down at the documents like they’re a minor inconvenience. Like I didn’t just hand him a smoking gun.

I wait.

He stays silent.

Impatience flares in my chest. “Marcus...”

“I’m reading, Cassidy.” His voice is even, inscrutable, too calm.

I press my lips together and let him work, pacing the length of his office. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him cast long shadows as the late afternoon sun sinks behind theDallas skyline. Outside, the city hums with life—cars and people moving either with purpose or as if they don’t have a care in the world.

Inside, I feel like I’m drowning in stillness.

Marcus flips through the last page, exhales slowly, and closes the file. Then he looks at me, and I already know—it’s not enough.

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