Chapter 23

The following day, Russell Ingram called a meeting of all the pros and celebrities. There’d been no more incidents since Jenna Lanier opened the baby-powder-laced envelope and Cassidy hoped that maybe that would be the end of them. Maybe Barry Nelson or whoever was tormenting her had given up. But she wasn’t counting on it.

Russell wasted no time getting to the point. “Marcus Howe’s family set the funeral arrangements for tomorrow. Viewing will be from ten to one. The funeral will be next, with a procession to the cemetery. I want us all to be in attendance to show our support. Marcus was one of our own.”

“Even Cassidy?” Irina asked cattily. “Is it not her fault?”

“That’s enough,” Russell boomed, and everyone jumped back. Irina’s eyes widened in shock. Russell never raised his voice. He was calm and collected. Always. For him to get this emotional, it had to be monumental. “I’ve had enough of your insinuations, Irina. You do not represent a professional on this show. I’ve overlooked many of your spiteful remarks and juvenile stunts over the years, but no more.” He slashed a hand through the air. “This will be your last season. And if you even attempt to blame Cassidy, I will throw you off the show right now. This has nothing to do with her. This is all me.” He stabbed a thumb in his chest. “I’ve had it with you. You’re done.”

Irina gasped. Harlow reached for Cassidy’s hand and squeezed. Trey wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and Glen clasped a hand on her shoulder. Emma slinked over to thread her arm through Cassidy’s. Several of the other pros gave her encouraging smiles. The support and sense of family she felt right now was overwhelming. Tears crowded her eyes.

“As I was saying,” Russell continued. “I’d like for all of us to make an appearance. I realize this will cut into your practice time, but this is important. I’ve chartered a bus to transport everyone to the funeral home. It will then proceed to the cemetery for the burial. If you wish to decline, let my assistant Belinda know.” His narrowed eyes raked the group, making it obvious that no one dare decline. “Otherwise, I’ll see you there tomorrow.”

As the group broke up, Irina scurried after Russell, probably to beg for her job. Cassidy didn’t care.

The following day, after showering, she dressed in a tasteful black Calvin Klein dress and black pumps. When she exited the bedroom, she almost swallowed her tongue. Mason wore a charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie. He looked positively drool-worthy.

Instead of riding with the others, their group drove separately, but arrived at the same time. Cassidy took a deep breath when they entered the church. Marcus’s casket rested in front of the altar, the top half open. She forced down the nausea that threatened to consume her.

Russell wanted each pair to sit together since most of the celebrities didn’t know Marcus, so she and Trey slid into a pew beside Harlow and Glen. A dozen people eulogized Marcus to the point of sainthood. Russell spoke last, delivering a poignant speech that brought everyone to tears. Once it was over, they filed to the front of the church for a viewing. She relied on Trey’s strength, since she could barely make her feet move forward. She wished it was Mason at her side, but he’d stayed in the back of the church with Kellan and Sawyer.

She was almost afraid to peer into the open casket. The last time she saw Marcus, his face had been contorted into a mask of horror. Gathering her courage, she peeked inside. The funeral home makeup crew had done a good job. He looked normal—peaceful, even. This was the face she wanted to remember. She said a prayer for his soul and then stood in line to pay respects to his family. She’d met his parents once when they dated, and the couple had been chilly towards her. She wondered if they would remember her.

When it was their turn, she stepped forward. “Mr. and Mrs. Howe, I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

Mrs. Howe’s jaw dropped open and she ignored the hand Cassidy presented. “What is she doing here?” she screeched. “She killed my son!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Get out! You killed him!”

“Mrs. Howe, Cassidy did not have anything to do with your son’s untimely demise.”

It was Cassidy’s turn to gape in shock as Irina came to her defense.

“Get out now!”

Trey urged her away from the family and out the door. “Sorry about that, Cass. She’s just grieving.”

She sighed heavily, holding back the tears. “I know. But she does have a right to resent me. He died in my apartment. Whoever killed him wanted to hurt me or frame me. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. He’s dead because of me.”

“You had nothing to do with it,” Trey argued. “Stop beating yourself up.”

“Cassidy.”

She turned to see Russell hurrying towards her. “Honey, I’m sorry. I had no idea she’d react that way. Please don’t take it personally. In her heart, she knows you didn’t kill Marcus.”

“It’s okay. Really. I understand her grief.” She squeezed Trey’s hand. “I think it’s better if I don’t go to the burial.”

#

Cassidy had been feeling down after the scene at the funeral, but Mason made her forget all about it…and everything else. The next morning, she was back to herself again. Dress rehearsal days were hectic, and tomorrow would be the first eliminations of the season.

She and Trey watched tapes of their practices in her trailer, looking for ways to improve. Frankly, she saw little room for improvement. He was sensational. He was even suggesting moves that worked into her choreography perfectly.

Once they finished, she followed him outside. She spotted Mason chatting with Kellan, Sawyer, Harlow and Glen and headed in their direction.

Boom!

The ground shook, causing her to stumble into Trey. His arms gripped her, steadying her. With a gasp, she spun around to see a fiery orange ball of flames lick high into the air. Mason rushed over, guiding them to where Sawyer, Harlow and Glen were standing. “Stay with Sawyer,” he commanded. Then he was gone. Sawyer herded them inside the auditorium. She glanced over her shoulder to see Mason sprinting towards the fire, Kellan close behind. Dammit, did he always have to put himself in the line of danger?

She knew the men wore comm devices to keep in touch. “What’s happening?”

“An explosion,” Sawyer informed her. “Sounds like it might’ve been a car bomb.”