Page 9 of Born Daddy

Chapter Three

The day had got off to an unsettling start when Rogan had been awoken at six a.m. by the author who’d been hounding him. He’d banged on Rogan’s door, using the excuse that if Rogan had only returned his calls he wouldn’t have had to go to such extreme measures. Now, he found himself on his lunch break in his friend, Detective Dan Sullivan’s, office.

Rogan sighed as he flipped through the notes one of the officers had made when he’d arrived on the scene of the first murder. Normally, he wouldn’t be allowed access to the files since he had nothing to do with the investigation, but his status as a teacher at the Academy afforded him the excuse. His friendships at the station were what afforded him the opportunity. Undercover work and serial killings didn’t exactly go together, but if anyone were to question he could probably make a case for his right to be rifling through the files.

After the author ambush incident, he’d gotten dressed and headed out early so he could take out a restraining order against the over-zealous writer. Then, he’d headed to the special class series he’d been holding on concealed weapons before using his two-hour break to drop by the station. However, the hundreds of thousands of words and hundreds and hundreds of photographs weren’t a couple hour endeavor. He’d need weeks to go through it all.

Rogan closed then tossed the file from the first murder back onto Dan’s desk, rubbing his forehead in a vain effort to push the graphic images of the murders away. He and Dan rarely got together anymore, but when they’d first begun their careers they’d been close, had hung out a lot. The camaraderie that was borne from both being rookies had gone a long way in forging their bond.

Thoughts of Tate drifted through his head, and he wondered how the poor kid was doing since their meeting the day before. He couldn’t get Tate off his mind, couldn’t help but worry whether he was okay. Would that rat bastard of an author hunt Tate down too? Rogan didn’t think Tate could handle much more after all he’d suffered through.

I’ll see him Wednesday.

Rogan forced himself to leave it at that. Tate wasn’t his responsibility, even though his instincts screamed that the kid needed someone to watch out for him. He leaned forward and plucked another file he’d set aside, the one with the initial reports from the second murder, then leaned back in the office chair with a groan. If only there was something that would make it clear to the detectives and agents working the case that Tate couldn’t possibly be involved, he’d feel so much better.

Except I’m not a detective and their finest have already combed through these same files.

Yet, Rogan couldn’t stop himself from at least trying.

His buddy Dan wandered through the open door and acknowledged Rogan with a dip of his chin. As the lead homicide investigator, he’d been assigned his own office. For the time being, the boxes of evidence files were being kept in there now that the task force had been dismantled in the aftermath of Cam’s killing. Once they’d prepared and presented their final report on the case, everything would be carted down to the evidence room and locked away.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” said Dan. “I thought you said you had a class this afternoon.”

Dan dropped onto his large padded office chair directly across from Rogan on the other side of his desk. Suddenly feeling awkward holding the task force file in his hands, Rogan closed the folder then returned it to the pile.

“I’ve got a little time left, but I should probably put these back in order now. Sorry. I sort of got lost there for a while.”

“It’s easy to get lost in.” Dan sighed. “This isn’t even all there is. The FBI still has several files sealed. I only have access to them myself if I sign them out.”

Rogan nodded. “Yeah, I figured.”

The task force for the Kink Killer case had been massive. Still couldn’t believe all those news reports he’d read and all the talk among his colleagues had been about Cam that entire time.

Dan regarded Rogan with a compassionate stare. They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since the day after the shootout that had taken Cam’s life, when Rogan had been brought in for questioning. He’d never been under any suspicion—at least he didn’t think he had—but once they’d discovered the identity of the Kink Killer, they brought in everyone who’d ever been associated with him. Rogan remembered how Lenny and Mitch had about shit themselves when they’d gotten the call.

“How you been holding up, man?”

Rogan scratched behind his ear. “Eh, you know. All right mostly.” He folded his hands in his lap, one leg crossed over his knee. “I went to the funeral yesterday.”

Dan’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn. Why?”

Rogan clenched his jaw, more grateful than ever that Tate had approached him. No one. No one could possibly understand the emotional storm that raged inside them both.

“It was something I had to do. Everyone crapped out except—” He stopped himself from blurting out Tate’s name. “Well, except his mom, of course. I couldn’t leave her there to face that alone.”

Dan shook his head. “I guess.”

“You gotta understand, Dan. We grew up together. The woman made fresh-baked cookies for us after school, came to all our games, used to knit me a new scarf every year for Christmas.” Rogan grunted. “Jesus. You can’t imagine the shock this has been for all of us, Lenny and Mitch included.”

Dan inclined his head. “Did they go?”

“No.” Rogan shifted in the chair. “Like I said. Everyone crapped out.”

Why the hell had he brought up the subject of the funeral?

That false sense of security the personal relationship with someone provided was the basis of his success as an undercover cop. Inadvertently blabbing information that you shouldn’t because that person was your friend was much too easy.

“Even the boyfriend?”

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