His Feverish Embrace - Celia Kyle Page 0,18
narrowed, glossy lips pursed—and waited for the player jogging toward to mess with her head. No doubt he’d make up some lame excuse, try to make her believe they were supposed to meet at seven-thirty, or maybe even make her think it was all her fault somehow. She’d seen it before, especially with love-em-and-leave-em types like Thrett.
“You’re late,” she said without a hint of softness in her voice when he reached her.
“I know,” he said, a little out of breath and giving her an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Rylan. Practice for the school play ran long and I couldn’t leave until the last kid was picked up. You can call the drama teacher to verify, if you like.”
She gave him a little side-eye. “Why didn’t you call me to let me know?”
His smile grew mischievous. “Because you never gave me your number.”
“Oh.”
“I really am sorry.” He took a step closer and his musky, slightly smoky scent almost made her lose her balance.
“I—I’m surprised you stuck around for all of that,” she said, leaning away to clear her head.
His expression grew serious. “Not gonna lie, I wasn’t thrilled when my boss told me remain on campus until the last kid left the premises, but…” He scraped a hand across his whiskered cheek. “When I saw that van surveilling the school, I got it. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not about to put a single one of the students at risk just because it’s inconvenient or doesn’t fit into my schedule. Neither of us can protect them from the whole world, but at least we can keep them safe when they’re on school grounds.”
His dedication to his job and her students impressed Rylan. Maybe he wasn’t the self-centered, irresponsible playboy she’d built up in her head. If she’d been wrong about that, what else was she wrong about? Maybe nothing, but it wouldn’t hurt to find out.
“Thank you,” she said softly and then glanced at the restaurant’s door. “We lost our reservation, I’m afraid, but I do know of a great falafel place a couple of blocks away. You in?”
His smile nearly made her knees buckle. “Oh yeah. All in.”
She blinked rapidly at his response. What the hell did he mean by that? Didn’t matter. This was a business meeting, not a date—no matter how dizzy he made her. Time to get the conversation back on track.
“So what’s the next step?” she asked as she set off toward the falafel place.
Thrett fell in step with her. “Well, first of all, I need more access.”
“Access? To what?”
“Files, classrooms, staff. I need to interview the entire staff and wouldn’t mind talking to some of the students, if you don’t think it would be too frightening. I’ve already garnered some quality intel from a couple of particularly perceptive young boys.”
Rylan stumbled at that, partly out of surprise because she knew one of those boys was her—their—son and partly from not being used to walking in spiky heels. But Thrett’s reaction time was fast. She’d barely wobbled before he’d snaked an arm around her waist to steady her.
“Thanks, I’m…um, I’m good,” she sputtered as she tried to wriggle out of his hold.
He released her but took her hand and tucked it into his crooked elbow. “Just in case,” he murmured, resting his hand on hers a moment longer than necessary.
“Of course, I’ll need to review any security footage you have,” he continued as though nothing had happened. “Those cameras I’ve seen are active, right?”
“Yes, but there aren’t very many, I’m afraid. You can have whatever you need there, but I draw the line at interviewing students unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“I get that. If I feel the situation warrants it, I’ll discuss it with you first. Okay?”
“Sounds fair. I just don’t want to scare them, you know?”
He squeezed her hand. “I know. In the meantime, our team will install more cameras so we can keep all the blind spots these guys like to hang in full view at all times. Don’t worry, we’re really close to tracking them down.”
Rylan found herself relaxing into the conversation about Benningford’s security system to the point they almost walked right by their destination. When Thrett realized, his eyebrows shot up.
“A food truck?” he asked.
“What? Best falafel in town. The shawarma’s good too.”
“I dunno. You might be a little over-dressed,” he teased gently.
“And whose fault is that?” she teased back.
They ordered two big platters of food and took a seat at a rusty metal table. Twinkle lights had