Page 190 of The Texas Sterling Collection
Rod shook his head. “I can feel my arteries clogging listening to you.” He turned off the flame under the oatmeal. “You promised to wrap your arms around me at Christmas. With all that fat, salt, and nitrates, I’ll be lucky you don’t spontaneously combust by Thanksgiving.”
“And I had to go and marry a college professor. I should have known better.” Wyl’s turn to shake his head.
“Hey…I was smart enough to snare you in my trap.”
“Maybe Iletyou snare me in your trap.” Wyl chuckled.
Rod made a beeline across the kitchen to Wyl, wiggling his fingers. Wyl turned and ran from the kitchen, laughing out loud, Rod in hot pursuit and catching him on the couch, tickling his ribs mercilessly as Wyl roared with laughter, and they both collapsed in each other’s arms. They got quiet and gazed into each other’s eyes.
“God, I love you.” Rod leaned in to capture Wyl’s mouth in a kiss.
The kiss broke. “I love you more,” Wyl wrapped his arms around Rod and locked their lips.
The kiss parted. “We need to eat, or we’ll be here all day,” Rod said.
“You’re on top of me, and I’m not about to move until you do.” Wyl chuckled.
“Only because I’m hungry.” Rod pushed off Wyl and got to his feet, offering his hand.
They returned to the kitchen, and Rod dished up the oatmeal while Wyl buttered the toast. They sat at breakfast.
“What’s on for today?” Wyl asked.
“I need to work on my presentation for tomorrow's evening lecture,” Rod said. “I’ve done nothing to prepare.”
“Now that you mention it, I need to focus on my presentation, too, babe. My engagement is on Wednesday at lunch. I’m a keynote speaker, so my speech needs to be entertaining and captivating.”
“Mine too,” Rod said. “Maybe we need to spend the day lounging around, working on our presentations, and relaxing.”
“Sounds perfect.”
The two finished the leisurely breakfast before settling down with their laptops to work on their speeches.
* * *
O’Brien left the station mid-morning and drove to the GMIT campus. Parking his cruiser in a no-parking zone in front of the building, he entered, found MacGowan’s office, and knocked lightly on the open door. “Dr. MacGowan?”
MacGowan looked up from his desk. “Yes. What can I do for you?” His voice showed his irritation at being disturbed.
O’Brien removed his hat as he entered. “I’m Chief Superintendent O’Brien with Garda. Do you have a minute?” He did not state the reason for his visit, but figured Ailbe already knew why.
“Of course, Chief Superintendent. Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you, Dr. MacGowan.” O’Brien unbuttoned his coat and planted his ample frame in a wooden guest chair.
“What can I help you with, Chief?” Ailbe was blunt and direct, a clear faux smile on his face.
O’Brien retrieved a small notebook and a pencil from his pocket. He opened the notebook to a clean page. “I’m following up on the death of a GMIT student, Keenan Moynihan. I believe he was one of your students.”
“That is correct. Mr. Moynihan was one of the best students ever to be in this program.”
O’Brien made notes as Ailbe spoke. He did this partly to remember and partly to unnerve the interviewee. He knew everyone was curious about his notes. The tactic worked for many perpetrators. “Do you have any idea why anyone would want him dead?”
Ailbe cleverly avoided answering O’Brien’s question by asking a question of his own. “Do you believe someone murdered the student?”
“Possibly.” O’Brien paused, primarily to up Ailbe’s tension a notch or two. “Evidence indicates foul play was involved, and I’m curious about what a college student would know that put his life in danger. Was he working on something that could have been criminal?”
A frown replaced Ailbe’s smile. The chief had a long history of interviewing individuals who habituated the territory south of the law. He could tell his questions got a little too close to home.
