Page 7 of Born Daddy

She arched her eyebrows. “That’s it?”

Rogan took Tate’s menu and added it to his own before handing them to her. “For now.”

After she left, Rogan regarded him again. “Jesus.” With a sigh, he rested his arms on the table. “I want to say I’m shocked, but I’m not. That’s normal procedure when they’re trying to shock a suspect into admitting something.” Rogan locked eyes with him. “But I’m sorry it happened to you. They’re gruesome, disturbing. I’m a seasoned officer and they upset me for days afterward. They’ll haunt me the rest of my life, so I can’t begin to imagine how awful that was for you.”

“Why did they show them to you?”

Rogan winced. “I asked to see them.”

Tate’s gut tightened. “W-why? Why would you want to…to look at something that horrible?”

“I needed to know…” Rogan rubbed his forehead. “It’s hard to explain. I had this compulsion, this bizarre idea that the murders couldn’t possibly be as horrific as they’d been characterized by the media.” He shook his head. “Any murder is horrific of course, but this was done by someone I’ve been close to for fucking years, decades even. Cam couldn’t possibly be the monster he’d been portrayed as, could he? Jesus fucking Christ, there are already two books being written, one of the authors has even been hounding me for interviews.”

Tate gasped. Would those authors find out where he was? If only the authorities would let him leave the state, if only he could go so far away no one would ever know where he was.

Rogan’s eyes shone. “I thought I could handle it, Tate. I really did. But instead of proving to me he wasn’t as sick as everyone said he was, I saw that no words would ever be strong enough to describe the evil that had been my friend. No words.” He returned his gaze to Tate. “I’m so sorry, Tate. I wish I could take that moment back for you, erase those memories so you wouldn’t have to suffer the emotional scars of seeing what he was capable of.”

They sat in silence as Tate digested what Rogan had shared. What a fucked-up mess. How would either of them get beyond the trauma Cam had inflicted? Even reminding himself that he was the so-called lucky one didn’t help. He hadn’t been tortured, mutilated, terrorized. He’d been spared whatever sick compulsion drove Cam. He wasn’t a family member or friend of one of the victims. What right did he have to be so upset?

The server arrived with their coffee first, then the soup on the heels of that. Once she’d left again, Tate stared at the steam lazily rising from the ceramic cup set on a saucer, two packages of soda crackers tucked on the side. The scent of the soup had a dual effect on his system. It both enticed and repelled him. He was hungry, hadn’t been eating much overall, but his anxiety would always get to him after only a few bites and make it impossible to continue.

Rogan had chosen wisely, though. Perhaps he could make it through the broth and noodles.

“Just try, Tate. Even if you can’t finish the whole thing, it’s not healthy to go without eating. That can affect your mood in addition to your physical health.”

Tate inclined his head as he regarded the small meal. He hadn’t thought of that, but Rogan was probably right.

They both took a few mouthfuls of their food, Tate following Rogan’s lead when he opened the first package of crackers. Mimicking Rogan’s actions gave Tate an odd sense of calm, helped him to refocus on performing one small task at a time. This was the only thing happening. Eating. Staving off hunger. Nothing else.

Rogan paused his soup consumption. “So, you said you’re staying in Roxbury? Is that where your family is?”

Tate took a nibble of a cracker before setting it down. “I don’t have any family. That’s what Cam was supposed to be. I mean, he was before…” He sucked in a deep breath. “Before.”

Tate decided to stick to the coffee. At least he’d made it through most of the soup.

Rogan let out a sigh. “Sorry. I thought I’d found a less upsetting topic.”

Tate let out a chuckle with no humor. “Not your fault. My life has been a mess for a long time. The latest development is just the cherry on top.”

“Hey, listen.” Rogan pushed his soup away then brought his coffee mug closer. “We can talk about whatever the hell you want, it’s cool. If puppies and kittens are the subject of the hour, so be it. My personal favorite are German Shepherds, although I don’t have a dog right now. I wasn’t able to have pets when I was undercover, wouldn’t have been fair to the animal.”

Tate picked up the half-eaten cracker. “Yeah, I’d like to hear about that.”

“German Shepherds?”

Tate laughed—an honest to God laugh. It felt weird. “No, I meant your undercover work. Was it dangerous?”

Rogan gave him a lopsided grin. “Very. It hadn’t been my initial dream career, but damn. Once I was approached early in my career, the idea grabbed me and took hold. I recognized that my original goal of becoming a detective would likely never happen, but this seemed more exciting.” He grunted. “That barely scratches the surface of what it was like. But it was fulfilling for a number of years. I have no regrets.”

“What kind of cases did you do? Any famous ones?”

Tate added more sugar to his coffee. They weren’t discussing what he’d come there to discuss, but maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe all he’d needed was to hear Rogan say he hadn’t suspected Cam either. They could probably leave it like that, then Tate could move on to the next thing.

Whatever that thing might be, he had no clue.

“Well, most weren’t. But the most famous one would have to be the Diaz gang bust. I was deep undercover for three years on that one.” He chuckled. “That’s what brought that phase of my life to a conclusion and made me switch to teaching, though. Not only had I become too well known within the drug and money laundering circles, but I’d had enough of that life.”

Tate’s eyes widened. He’d heard about that case, had read the stories of how ruthless that gang had been.

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