Page 9 of Ranger's Justice

Gripping my wrist with an iron-hard hold before I can react. “You just lost your vote,” he growls, yanking me forward.

I struggle against him.

“Not now.” He pulls me in close, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re coming with me, whether or not you like it.”

A cartel gunman pops out from behind a crate, rifle raised—The Ranger spins, shoving me behind him. One shot. The man crumples.

My stomach knots, but I don’t have time to process it before the Ranger grabs me again. “Move. Now.”

I should fight. I should tell him to go to hell. Survival wins out, and I follow his lead, my boots pounding against the concrete as he maneuvers us toward the loading dock. More cartel thugs shout in Spanish, trying to regroup, but the ranger team is cutting them down with precision strikes.

I steal a glance at the carnage as we run—bodies on the ground, blood pooling beneath crates.

Jesus.

We reach the side door, and the Ranger slams it open, dragging me into the humid night air. The heat is suffocating, thick and heavy after the gunfire-filled warehouse. A black SUV sits idling at the curb. The Ranger doesn’t slow down, he wrenches the door open, spins, and before I can react… he lifts me off my damn feet and shoves me inside.

I curse, scrambling upright as he slams the door behind and heads around the front of the SUV to the driver’s side.

I twist toward him, furious. “For the second time, how the hell do you know anything about me?”

The Ranger flips a file onto my lap as he drives. “That’s everything we have on you. And trust me, it’s not light reading.”

I glance at the worn manila folder, then at him. “Does this flatter me or worry you?”

“Cassidy Elaine Marlow,” he says, eyes fixed on the road. “Grew up in Houston, moved to Dallas after your father died.Your mother married Joseph Hollister a couple of years later. You and your sister weren’t thrilled about it.”

“You don’t know that.”

He shoots me a look. “Neither of you took his name.”

My fingers tighten around the folder. “And?”

“You work for a top-tier insurance company specializing in executives in the oil industry, including K&R. Handle numbers, risk assessments, financial tracking. You’re not in the field, but you’re the reason people get home. You find patterns others miss. You’re damn good at it.” His grip flexes on the wheel. “But you’re not trained for what’s coming, and you don’t belong in the middle of this.”

I flip open the file—financial records, company reports, even an old internship contract. My breath catches at the last page. My father’s death certificate.

The Ranger’s voice drops lower. “We know you suspect Hollister had a hand in his death. We know you’ve been looking into him for years. This is bigger than you think.”

I keep my focus on the pages, willing my pulse to stay steady. “So what? You’re here to warn me off?”

His exhale is slow, measured. “I’m here to tell you that if you go after this alone, you won’t get another chance. The cartel isn’t just after money. This is personal. And whether or not you like it, that makes you my problem.”

I snap the file shut, turning toward him. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Good,” he murmurs, gaze locked on the road. “Because I’m not here to hold your hand. I’m here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

“What the hell is your problem with me? And what the hell is your name?”

“Zane Rushton. People mostly call me Rush.”

“So what now?”

The Ranger grips the wheel, muscles tight as steel cables. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. Because the moment he looks at me again, his eyes burn.

And I know—I just made a very big mistake.

CHAPTER 3

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