Page 5 of Born Daddy

Chapter Two

“Sure.”

Tate couldn’t believe he’d had the nerve to show up at Cam’s service, let alone to approach Rogan. Now, another miracle had occurred, and Rogan had agreed to speak with him. He hadn’t snarled at Tate and told him what a sicko he was, or that he’d probably known all along what was happening and done nothing to stop the gruesome killings.

The police certainly had.

Rogan gave him a warm smile. That alone eased a portion of the agony he’d barely survived in the past couple of months.

“All right. Good.” Rogan glanced around the area. “Are any of these cars yours?”

Tate grunted. “No. I took the bus.”

Rogan’s brow creased. “From Northampton? That must’ve been a helluva journey.”

“Uh, no. I’ve been hiding out in Roxbury. I’d leave Massachusetts altogether, but the cops told me I couldn’t.”

Rogan pressed his lips together. “You’re aware I’m a cop, right?”

“Cam said you were a teacher, though. Right?”

Shit. Maybe this whole idea was as bad as he’d originally thought it was.

Rogan nodded. “Yes, that’s true. I’m no longer in the field, and I was never a detective or in homicide.” He sighed. “However, I know plenty of guys in the precinct who are handling this. I’m not a priest. Anything you confess to me I have to pass along.”

“There’s nothing for you to tell.” Tate swallowed down the anger that always rose whenever someone either directly or indirectly accused him of participating in the murders. “I didn’t take part. I didn’t know. Not a damn thing, I swear.” He scraped his teeth along his bottom lip. “Actually, that’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Rogan furrowed his brow. “How so?”

“I need to know if I was the only one who knew him well and who was also in the dark the whole time about what he was doing. His mom hates me and the other guys who used to come to the house…” Tate shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t know of anyone else I can talk to about him.”

“Yeah, okay.” Rogan sighed. “As long as you keep in mind what I told you.”

“I will.”

Relief washed over Tate, surprising him in its intensity. He’d been so damn alone throughout this nightmare.

“You feel comfortable enough to ride with me in my truck?”

Tate gave Rogan a tentative smile. “That would be great. Thanks.”

Rogan smiled back. “Good. Then let’s go.”

After a brief discussion about which coffee shop they should go to—with Tate reassuring Rogan it didn’t matter and that he should choose—they were on their way. With almost everything, it would be his Daddy… Tate screwed his eyes shut. If he didn’t stop thinking of Cam that way he’d go batshit crazy. Regardless, he’d never been the one to make the decisions.

The journey was mostly silent, which didn’t bother Tate a bit. Talking was going to be the problem. But he had to know, had to believe he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t had a clue. Because surely, if Rogan was this adamant about reporting him to the authorities, then he would’ve reported anything he’d suspected about Cam as well. The knowledge of that alone filled him with a strange comfort.

“Here we are.”

Rogan pulled into the parking lot of a non-descript diner. Tate had never heard of it, so it probably wasn’t a chain restaurant. Rogan had likely chosen a place that wouldn’t be too busy. At least, Tate imagined that’s what he’d done.

Once Rogan shut off the engine, he regarded Tate. “I’ve only been here a few times, but there’s a section in the back with some booths. Should be more private. If at any time you feel uncomfortable, we can find somewhere else.”

“Thank you.” His eyes burned. Rogan’s kindness was almost too much to bear.

After they’d made their way inside, Rogan asked the hostess for the section he’d described to Tate. When she protested that it was closed, he slipped her a twenty-dollar bill and made his request again. Already Tate felt as if he was a nuisance and they hadn’t even sat down yet.

She led them to the booth at the farthest end of the restaurant, handed them menus, then took their drink order. Tate glanced at Rogan. The man had come here to speak with him, and he didn’t want to waste his one opportunity to maybe get some answers, to receive permission to release the ever-present guilt that plagued him.

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