Page 46 of Born Daddy

Tate’s attorney sniffed loudly then darted his eyes in the direction of the agent. “Fine. As long as the questions don’t include unwarranted commentary.”

Tate might not care for his attorney on a personal level, but he’d always seemed like he knew what he was doing for the most part. It wasn’t as if he could afford to hire an attorney from a top criminal law firm. And he’d always assumed it wasn’t necessary anyway. He shouldn’t worry if he had nothing to hide. Tate swallowed hard. He’d never been able to convince himself of that, no matter how hard he’d tried. He wasn’t that deluded.

“May I continue?” Detective Sullivan arched his eyebrows at Mr. O’Hara.

The attorney gave a curt nod. Tate let out another long breath, grateful that Rogan hadn’t stopped stroking his thumb along Tate’s hand. The repetitive motion had helped to calm him. Tate also batted away the random thought of how Rogan seemed to have an instinctual Daddy nature.

“All right, let’s get back to the book.” Detective Sullivan shifted in his chair. “Did Cam have a planner or diary of some sort that you were aware of?”

Tate nodded. “Yes. He used some software program to keep track of things because he was on his computer all the time doing his stock market and investment stuff.” He lifted his shoulder in a small shrug. “I can’t remember the exact name of it since I didn’t need anything like that. But I told you before, he never gave me any of his passwords.”

“We were able to access all his accounts through various means, so we’re fine on that.” The detective scribbled some notes in a small notepad while the agent continued to stare through narrowed eyes at Tate, his arms still firmly crossed.

Detective Sullivan continued. “So, nothing he used to record other more personal things, like a diary?”

Tate shook his head, wondering how many different ways he could say the same thing. Of course, that’s how it had been ever since the first time he’d been barraged with the same questions over and over. He’d been in shock, still not believing Cam could possibly be behind all those grisly murders. Then they’d shown him the pictures. The disgusting, horrifying pictures. They’d laid out all the evidence against Cam until at some point, the sickening reality had clicked into place.

Cam had tortured, raped and killed a dozen young men. Had bound then whipped them until the flesh had been flayed from their skin. The detectives had yelled in his face, shouting at him when they’d asked how he thought it felt when Cam had poured chemicals in the gashes, when he’d violated them with sharp objects, sliced up their faces until they were unrecognizable.

That was when Tate had vomited on the floor.

Tate pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep from chewing on his lip, and swallowed down the bile that always made an appearance whenever he recalled the graphic images. He didn’t want to give the agent more ammunition against him. He’d assume Tate was nervous because he was guilty as hell.

The detective continued to peruse the pages of his little notebook. He paused then lifted his gaze. “What about Jace?”

Tate frowned. “Who?”

“Cam’s former boy.”

Tate’s heart jumped in his throat. “Was…was he one of the victims?”

The shaking began again in earnest. Had he been next?

“No.” Detective Sullivan drew his eyebrows together. “You never read about the victims, saw their names in an article or on the news, social media, anything like that?”

“God, no.” Tate cringed, his gut churning. “Even before Cam was caught, I avoided the reports, or any news like that. Violent stories upset me. I don’t like horror movies either. Then after…” Tate inhaled on a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t. Just…I couldn’t.”

Rogan’s arm went around his shoulders and he drew closer to Tate’s side, the light scrape of the metal chair legs on the floor the only sound in the room. Rogan’s warmth, the solid strength of Rogan’s frame pressed against Tate’s body was the only thing keeping him from coming unraveled.

“Cam’s past partners weren’t a topic you ever discussed? Wouldn’t that have come up at some point in your three-year relationship?”

Tate could’ve sworn he’d been asked this same question already, back at the very beginning of the repeated interrogations. Of course, that first week after Cam died, he’d struggled to maintain any focus. Everything had changed overnight. Every fucking thing. He’d barely been able to function.

“Well, yeah. He was in his forties when we met, so obviously he’d had other boys before me. He never went into detail, which was fine as far as I was concerned. All I cared about was whether he was committed to me going forward. The past is the past.”

Tate shifted in the seat as his suspicions over Cam’s faithfulness drifted through his mind. But cheating wasn’t the same as commitment. At least that’s what he’d kept telling himself to make it through the nights when Cam wouldn’t come home.

“And he never brought anyone up more than the others? You know, the one that got away?”

Tate ran through the files in his mind. Only one thing stood out. “Not one that got away, but a boy who’d been very beautiful and sought after, and how Cam had been the envy of all the Masters for having snagged him. Although, he seemed to have cared about that one the least.”

Detective kept his pen moving as Tate spoke. “What made you think he liked that boy the least?”

“Well, back when we were first getting to know each other, he made it clear he wasn’t interested in any brats. He only wanted obedient, unquestioning boys.” Tate ignored the agent’s arched eyebrows and derisive smirk. “That’s a…thing in our community. Some Masters, or Daddies, like the challenge of a brat. The push-pull. But Cam said he wasn’t going to waste his life on bratty…” Tate’s face heated. “…little bitches anymore, that he’d put up with that shit for too long with that boy.”

“I see.” Detective Sullivan scribbled away. “Could that boy have been named Jace?”

“I guess he could’ve, but Cam never said what his name was.”

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