No, not staring. Glowering. He tapped at the screen—once, twice, three times in quick succession. Then stilled. Waiting. His eyes never wavered. Heavenly could feel the tension pinging off him.
Seriously, what was up with him? A glance proved Grace still hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.
Suddenly, his whole body went rigid, shoulders pulling back like someone had lifted him upright by yanking on his spine. His brow furrowed with agitation. Fury locked his jaw.
Heavenly’s breath caught. If Gene wasn’t a cop, she would have sworn he had murder in his eyes.
Then suddenly, his face went blank, his anger disappearing behind a flat, unreadable mask. Except his sharp eyes. They looked hyper-alert. Almost burning.
Carefully, he pocketed his phone and paced, pausing behind Carl’s and Beck’s recliners. Then he stopped. Stilled.
Braced?
Heavenly’s stomach knotted. Everything about his behavior felt off. Wrong. Almost…menacing.
She clenched her hands in her lap. If Gene was upset about something, why wasn’t he going outside to make a call? Or leaving to deal with whatever it was? Why stew in anger in the middle of Grace’s family room with his face a mask that didn’t quite hide the seething rage in his eyes.
Heavenly swallowed, her throat suddenly tight, and glanced at Beck again, who was leaning forward, focused on the TV as the Giants lined up for another play.
Since Gene hovered behind him now, Beck couldn’t see the man’s face.
Heavenly’s pulse kicked up another notch when Gene started typing again. Even faster than before. Aggressive. His thumb stabbed at the screen. Then he stopped.
He stared. Waited. His jaw flexed.
Heavenly’s hands twisted tighter in her lap. Her chest felt too tight, her breathing shallow.
She didn’t know what was going on. But everything in her gut was screaming that Gene’s behavior had crossed a line from odd to…something she was afraid to put a name to.
With trembling fingers, she opened her phone and started to text Seth, ask him about Gene. Tell him she was afraid.
She hoped like hell he’d reassure her with a few simple words. Or better yet, come strolling through the door and restore her sense of safety.
Before she could, Beck and Carl both jumped out of their seats, high-fiving each other. “Touchdown!”
Despite her unease, Heavenly paused mid-text, a little smile tugging at her lips.
Men…
Then she noticed Gene. He wasn’t celebrating. He wasn’t even looking at the TV. His face was white with rage and a dark determination that terrified her.
And he was holding a gun.
Heavenly tried to process what she was seeing, tried to make sense of the Coopers’ oldest family friend pointing a weapon at Seth’s loved ones. She couldn’t. Instead, she tried to scream, but she only gaped, fear flooding her veins.
“Gene?” Grace sounded confused, her warbled voice detailing her struggle to reconcile what she was seeing with the man she’d known for decades.
“What the fuck?” Hudson shouted, scrambling back against the couch cushion.
Gene ignored them both, his face cold. Deadly. Unwavering.
Carl and Beck stiffened and turned—but it was too late. Gene moved fast, swinging the butt of the gun viciously down onto Carl’s head.
The crack was sickening.
The big, burly man dropped like a stone, his body crumpling, his head hitting the hardwoods with a horrible thud as blood ran down his temple. He didn’t get back up. Didn’t move.
Heavenly yelped, her heart lurching. Fear gripped her belly, stole her breath. Was Carl even alive?
