His Feverish Embrace - Celia Kyle Page 0,2

change the subject. “Uh, who’s your friend?”

Blaise perked up immediately and threw an arm around the other, taller boy’s shoulders. “This is Trystin Wilson. We’re best friends!”

Blaise sported a shock of reddish-brown hair and his big brown eyes shone brightly out of his freckle-speckled face. His buddy was a little taller, and Thrett would have bet good money the kid was going to be quite the burly specimen once he was fully grown. He also had brown eyes, but they were a shade lighter than Blaise’s, and his hair was a pleasing strawberry blond.

“Yeah,” Trystin grinned, draping his arm over Blaise’s shoulders. “We’re in the same grade.”

Thrett had to admit, the simple kindness of kids could be heartwarming sometimes.

“Oh yeah?” He crouched down so he’d be at their eye level. “Hey, I was wondering if either of you have seen a black van driving around the school lately. Not a parent’s van, but someone who drives around and never comes on to the school grounds.”

The boys exchanged another glance. Apparently during their silent, instantaneous conversation, they’d agreed Trystin would explain.

“Yes, sir,” he said quietly yet without hesitation. “Blaise and I were digging up doodlebugs near the fence on the playground when it pulled up.”

Thrett’s heart jumped. A lead already?

“What happened then?”

Trystin’s face clouded with concern. “Nothing, really. As soon as the side window started going down, we ran to tell the teacher, just like Mom told me to.”

“I called Dad,” Blaise added, which was no doubt one of the reasons Thrett was there in the first place.

“Good job,” Thrett nodded. “That was the right thing to do. Now, when did—”

An ear-splitting ringing drowned out his next words and the hallway exploded as kids rushed for their classrooms. Blaise and Trystin looked at him expectantly, clearly not wanting to be late for class but not daring to walk away from an adult. He took pity on them and smiled.

“Okay, enough with the interrogation. You boys get to class and let me know right away if you see that van again. Deal?”

He held out his hand and Blaise’s small hand disappeared in it as Thrett pumped it melodramatically. When it was Trystin’s turn, Thrett was pleasantly surprised at the kid’s strong grip.

“Bye, Mr. Lacerta,” Blaise said as he darted away.

Trystin followed close behind but still made a point of calling over his shoulder. “Nice to meet you, sir!”

Thrett chuckled as they scampered off. Maybe kids weren’t so bad after all. Then again, maybe these were just extraordinary examples.

“Mr. Ratzenberger, if I’m not mistaken, you asked for this meeting to discuss Jacob’s scholastic performance, not to ask me out,” Rylan Wilson said with a not-too-friendly smile. She was barely holding onto her composure in the face of an extremely persistent and unwanted suitor.

It was a problem she’d run into before in her position as principal of the Benningford Preparatory Academy, and it had to be handled carefully. She was never surprised by the interaction. After all, she was a young-ish, attractive, very single woman in a position of authority—a position typically granted to male candidates. People often looked at her like she was some kind of strange anomaly, either demonizing her as some uptight schoolmarm or, conversely, an oversexed academic like the kind one might find in a cheesy adult movie.

That was actually even more annoying than the stuffy school matron stereotype as far as Rylan was concerned. Sure, it was always a blow to her confidence to be thought of as a shrew, but it had its advantages. At least if someone saw her as a sexless, emotionless headmistress supreme, they were far less likely to try and hit on her. And truth be told, she had way too many responsibilities, way too much to do, and never enough hours in the day. There was simply no time for entertaining suitors like Mr. Ratzenberger, who was in her office at least once a week under the guise of discussing his young son’s academic progress.

He was a nice enough guy and certainly handsome, as her secretary always pointed out, but Rylan was growing weary of his increasingly half-assed excuses to book an appointment with her. It wasn’t as if she had any choice about meeting with him since discussing the students’ progress with their parents was a big part of her job, and she was good at it. Most of the time, it only took a couple of meetings and some gentle assurances to placate concerned parents.

However, Mr. Ratzenberger’s motivation wasn’t his son’s