He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look around. Didn’t seem surprised to be there. Emma frowned, scanning the front rows. Maybe a distant relative? Someone Vincent forgot to mention? She turned to him instinctively.
And the answer hit her all at once. Vincent knew him. Not recognition like family. Recognition like dread. The color drained from Vincent’s face as the man’s eyes met his. His mouth parted slightly, as if to speak—or warn—or beg—but no sound came out.