Page 188 of The Texas Sterling Collection
“James, you take the fruit from the refrigerator and stir the bowl so the juice coats all the pieces. Take a spoon from that drawer,” Rod pointed. “Put the bowl on the table when you finish.”
He turned to Wyl. “Babe, turn on the coffee, then freshen our mimosas.”
“Yes, sir,” the three responded as if in military unison. They chuckled as they tackled their assigned tasks.
The aroma of grilled French toast mingled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Everyone sat at the table ten minutes later, and the meal began.
“Wow…this is quite tasty, Rod. Where did you learn to do this?” Glenn asked.
“My husband is a genius in the kitchen,” Wyl said. “I’m surprised we both don’t weigh three hundred pounds!”
“I must say you are both quite trim,” James said. “Such a handsome couple.”
“We eat right,” Rod said. “Healthy eating is good eating. Like today. Fresh, and with only a minimum of fat.”
They finished the French toast, and Rod cleared the dishes while Wyl brought more coffee with the fresh fruit.
“How much experience have you two had in the field, Wyl?” James spooned fresh fruit into his bowl.
“I was a US Marine for 10 years,” Wyl said. “At one point, I was captured and held prisoner by a group of Italians who wanted me to break into their government computer system. I was shot during the abduction, but they didn’t give me medical attention. Fortunately, the bullet went all the way through my shoulder. It still aches when cold weather hits. They kept me in a dimly lit room with nothing but a bucket for a toilet. Even now, I experience occasional claustrophobia, and loud noises, gunfire in particular, give me a panic attack.”
“He worries about being captured, and with his history, it comes as no surprise,” Rod said. “He’s also fearful of other loud, unexpected noises. He can fire a gun, but taking a bullet in Italy affected more than his shoulder.”
“Captivity is definitely something I’ll avoid repeating,” Wyl said.
“That sounds like a gruesome experience,” Glenn said. “I’m sure it made you even more aware of your surroundings in unknown locations.”
“Like Ireland,” James said. “What about you, Rod?”
“I have no field experience, military or civilian,” Rod said. “It surprised us when they chose me for this role. I was in the corporate world until my first husband left me. After that, I moved into higher education, which is fulfilling but not exactly a thrill minute.”
James chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know. I heard about the shootings on campuses in the United States. It would appear safety on campus is misplaced.”
“No place is totally safe,” Glenn added.
“I got freaked earlier today,” Rod said. “Wyl saidstaying alive, then he used the worddead. It hit me that not surviving was a real possibility. I panicked.”
“One passionate kiss, and he forgot all about death and dying,” Wyl chuckled.
“Yeah…Wyl has this way about him.” Rod laughed.
“You two are amazingly tight,” Glenn said. “James said he noticed a unique bond when he first met you at the club. I can see what he meant.”
“We’re lucky to have found each other,” Wyl said.
“Glenn and I have a combined twenty years as agents. In London two weeks ago, they briefed us on this mission. We learned about you two, including your experience and expertise. Please realize that we are here to protect and support you. You have the right combination of skills and a relationship that is enviable. Getting close to MacGowan and Knowlan is key to determining MacGowan’s plan and shutting it down. Keep our phone numbers handy as we move through the next couple of weeks. We’re your first line of defense at any sign of danger.”
Rod sighed. “You don’t realize how much that means to us, James. The one thing worse than the fear of the unknown is the fear of being alone. Having you two at our backs makes me more confident that we’ll come out of this unscathed.”
“Things may get tough, Rod,” Glenn said. “But you and Wyl are aces. Nothing can beat the combination we four bring to the table.”
“Not even murder?” Rod’s voice trembled.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Monday morning, Chief Superintendent O’Brien read through the detailed report on the death of GMIT student Keenan Moynihan.Odd that a student should get murdered, O’Brien took a sip of his morning coffee. He was a 56-year-old man with 30 years of experience in An Garda Síochána. He established himself as an astute leader and a seasoned detective who could ferret out information others often overlooked. He loved good food and fine cigars, which accounted for his broad girth. His face was red and fat, and were it not for his gruff manner, he would appear almost cherubic to someone who didn’t know him.
O’Brien read on. The officer who responded to the 112 call noted a conversation with the dead student's friend, Fergus Rafferty. The note showed that the only evidence was smashed plastic in the street—no concrete evidence of a crime. Rafferty was a computer programming classmate of Moynihan at the university.
