Page 45 of Born Daddy

“The subject has a name,” Rogan snarled.

“Jesus.” Dan muttered. “Listen. It’s very simple.” He rubbed his forehead. “Sort of.” He gestured between Tate and Rogan. “They’re…friends. Tate needs a friend for…” He switched to rubbing the back of his neck. “Reassurance.” He regarded Agent Phillips. “Can we just leave it at that? Otherwise, we’re going to be here all fucking night.”

“If you make him leave, I won’t talk.” Tate crossed his arms, too. They weren’t the only ones who were frustrated. “I said I’d talk if Rogan came down here. Detective Sullivan agreed. Rogan is here, and that’s all there is to it.” He pressed his lips together. “Take it or leave it.”

Agent Phillips scowled at them all in turn. Then he narrowed his eyes as he regarded Rogan. “I’ll be going over your statement, the one you gave after we took that sadistic bastard out. Got it?”

Took him out.

The grisly pictures of a blood-soaked, bullet-riddled Cam jumped into his head. The police had burst into the home of the final victim after receiving a tip. The news reports had described the victims as all being the same type. The tipster had called the hotline to say that a man matching the description of the suspect had been seen leaving a dance club with a tall, slender, platinum blond man.

Previously, Cam had been seen, yet not recognized, as having been in the company of some of the previous victims. That night, the investigators had interviewed enough people at the club to get a name of a blond man. However, it had been too late for the twelfth victim of Cam’s sadistic spree. Tate still wrestled with the guilt of being glad the cops had filled Cam’s body with lead, had made sure the man who’d once been his trusted Daddy, his protector and lover, would never hurt anyone else again.

But whenever he recalled Cam’s death photos, what stood out to him were the lifeless eyes staring up at nothing. Had they always been that cold? Had his yearning for a forever Daddy clouded his judgment, made him overlook the dark, dead soul that had made up the monster that Cam was?

“Tate, would that be okay then?”

Tate blinked a few times, Rogan’s voice piercing through the haze of his mind. “Huh?”

“Special Agent Phillips says I can stay. Why don’t you sit down so we can get started? I can also run and get you some water or a soda before we begin.”

Tate grabbed Rogan’s hand with both of his own. “No!” He eased off the pressure on Rogan’s fingers. “Don’t go. I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”

His cheeks heated as he became aware of everyone’s eyes on him and Rogan. Why he should care, he didn’t know. Except that Rogan hadn’t signed up for Tate’s neediness. He wasn’t supposed to be caring for him as if he was Tate’s Daddy. Master Zane’s advice from that morning drifted into his thoughts.

Then Rogan placed an arm around Tate’s shoulders and his heart skipped. He banished the Master’s advice from his mind, reveling in the warmth of the gentle touch that had been freely given. Tate hadn’t reached out, hadn’t stolen the touch or asked for consent. Rogan guided him toward the chair and Tate smiled up at him. When their eyes met, Tate’s throat closed, the dire nature of the impending interrogation no longer filling him with terror.

No matter what else happened, Rogan cared. Rogan believed. It wouldn’t matter if he was arrested or if the accusations continued. Even if they weren’t in the same room, Tate wouldn’t be alone.

After he took his seat, and while everyone except for the agent took theirs, Detective Sullivan pulled a small item encased in a large plastic bag from the covered box he’d brought in with him. He placed the black book on the table between them, and Tate regarded the object marked ‘evidence’. When the room remained silent, Tate lifted his gaze to ask what it was supposed to be and was taken aback by the intensity of Detective Sullivan’s stare. He shifted his attention to the agent leaning against the wall, who was also staring daggers at Tate.

If only the investigators would quit playing games with him, they might be able to discover whatever it was they were seeking. Tate had already given them everything he had to give, yet they either couldn’t—or wouldn’t—accept the truth.

“What’s this?”

The question seemed silly since it was clearly a book of some sort, but Tate couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Why don’t you tell us, Tate?” Detective Sullivan answered.

“Obviously, he has no idea what it is, or he wouldn’t have asked,” interjected Rogan.

Detective Sullivan scowled and folded his hands on the table as he regarded Rogan. “Don’t make me sorry I allowed this. Don’t interrupt again, or you will have to leave.”

Rogan let out a low growl as Detective Sullivan sighed then turned back to Tate. “Tate? When was the last time you saw this?”

The frustration and anger that always built inside him when he was interrogated about something he knew nothing about resurfaced. Without thinking, he reached for Rogan’s hand but Rogan was already halfway there. Rogan laced his fingers with Tate’s and Tate exhaled a long breath.

“I’ve never seen it. I don’t know what it is.”

The agent spoke up. “Never? Cam never spoke to you about the contents? Or maybe, when you were doing your slave boy duties for him, you know, following his every command no matter how gruesome it might be, you happened to stumble across it while doing your everyday mundane chores?”

“I was not his slave! I’ve told you over and over, he never forced me to do anything—especially if it was gruesome!”

The force of Tate’s anger made his body shake, the adrenaline ticking up his heart rate and Rogan tightened his grip, rubbing his thumb along Tate’s skin. Tate sensed Rogan’s struggle to remain quiet so he wouldn’t be forced to leave Tate to fend for himself.

Tate’s attorney seemed to come back to life. “He doesn’t need to be berated. Especially since he’s an innocent party in this whole mess, as you’ve been repeatedly reminded of.” His attorney leaned in and whispered, “Don’t say anything else if you don’t want to. I wasn’t made aware of this evidence, so they’re playing dirty pool.”

Detective Sullivan cleared his throat. “I can hear you, Mr. O’Hara. This isn’t a trial, so you don’t have the right to discovery. As I stated when you arrived, Tate came here willingly and agreed to answer our questions.” He rolled his eyes. “With certain caveats in place.”

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