Rex has never done anything without a reason, she thought. He wasn’t young. He wasn’t untrained. He didn’t panic. He assessed. So what had he seen? She tried to replay it—the gift table, the way he’d barked, the urgency in his movements—but her thoughts snagged on something else. Vincent’s hands. They were clasped in front of him, knuckles pale.
His jaw was set, the muscle there twitching as he stared past her shoulder. At Daniel. Daniel stood a few feet off to the side, pretending to straighten his jacket. His posture was rigid, shoulders high, eyes flicking repeatedly toward the church doors.