The Christmas Child by Linda Goodnight Page B

to interrupt.” Kade heard his tone—a cross between a growling dog and a meat grinder—and realized he spoke through clenched teeth. He couldn’t say why, but the sight of the school principal in Sophie’s classroom set his nerves on edge.
    â€œWe were just about to leave.” Sophie stepped away from the principal’s grasp. “Is everything all right?”
    Would have been if he hadn’t just been hit with a sharp pain in his solar plexus. “I came to pick up Davey. You’re late. Sheba was driving me crazy.”
    That was true enough. The dog had paced, whined at the door and had dragged Davey’s pillow into the living room. The minute they’d barged into the classroom, Sheba had made a beeline for her new charge. Davey had fallen on her neck with obvious adoration. A man could get jealous about losing his dog that way if the sight wasn’t so rewarding. Davey needed Sheba in his corner.
    â€œI think you’ve met my principal, Mr. Gruber.”
    Kade gave a short nod. “We’ve met.”
    â€œMcKendrick.” Gruber was stiff as a two-by-four. “Back again so soon?”
    â€œWalked right in.” Kade itched to tell the stuffed shirt how easily he’d entered the building with no challenge, no visitor’s card, no one to stop him if his intentions were evil.
    To Gruber’s credit, he only said, “You can be assured, it will not happen again.” He turned, again stiffly, to Sophie. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sophie. Good night.”
    As soon as Gruber was out of hearing range, Sophie said, “You’re full of sunbeams this evening. Want to go Christmas shopping? Santa is making an appearance at Benfield’s Department Store. You can tell him your wish.”
    He glowered at her, but he wasn’t annoyed. Not at her anyway. Sophie was the bright spot he needed after a discouraging day. Even though he was glad to be focused and working again, he’d hit enough dead ends to make him wonder if Davey had dropped from the sky. “This school is an open invitation to trouble.”
    â€œBiff said he’s working on it.” Jingle bells dangled from her earlobes and a small reindeer pin blinked from her shoulder. She arched a sassy eyebrow. “Seventeen seconds?”
    The muscles in his back relaxed. “He told you?”
    â€œAbout your ninjalike visit to his office? Uh-huh.” Face alight with amusement, she hitched an overstuffed school-bag over the blinking Rudolph. “You made quite an impression.”
    â€œI might have exaggerated a few seconds.” He jerked his chin toward the giant clock on the wall. “It’s long past three.”
    She grimaced. “I should have called you. There’s so much to do this time of year. I have trouble leaving on time.”
    â€œAs long as Davey’s all right.” And you.
    He felt stupid to have been worried, but after surveying the poorly secured building, his mind had run scenarios all afternoon from black-cloaked teens with AK-47s to kidnappers in cargo vans snatching kids from the soccer field.
    â€œHe’s done well today, Kade.” Sophie lowered her voice, even though Sheba and Davey were several yards ahead, bopping down the hall toward the exit. “The special-needs teacher did some preliminary testing.”
    He slid her a glance. His eyes wanted to stay right there, focused on that sweet, gentle face. “Bad?”
    â€œHe has some basic skills, but he’s nowhere near grade level. He tests at late kindergarten, early first grade, although we suspect he should be in second or even third.”
    â€œFigures.” The kid hadn’t been in school. Period. Wherever he’d been, whatever someone had been doing with him, academics had been ignored.
    By now, they were outside. The wispy, swirling clouds and tempestuous wind threatened a weather change. They made him edgy, stressed, as if a storm was