Born Daddy (Command & Care #2) - Morticia Knight Page 0,1
hadn’t worked out so well.
The first thing he’d noticed as he pulled into the lot was the lack of vehicles. Not that he’d expected a huge crowd to turn out to mourn the passing of a sadistic killer, but he’d thought there might be other family members or…?
He turned off the truck’s engine. What the hell had he been thinking? Although, at least one of his fears hadn’t been realized. There weren’t any protestors, hordes of media or angry citizens crashing the service and adding to Mrs. LeBlanc’s agony.
Rogan sat frozen, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he stared at the propped open door, one of the two black panels guarding the entrance. The scene seemed to invite those few remaining souls on Earth to come inside and pay their respects, the mourners who dared to cross the threshold.
Rogan lowered his head. He hadn’t gone to any of the victim’s funerals.
Every time he’d told himself he would go, that he should go, that he had to go—something had always stopped him. Maybe he didn’t have the right, as if he’d be desecrating the services by attending. Guilt by association was perhaps a title he deserved. Even though he hadn’t worked the case—or for that matter, had ever been a homicide detective—he was still a cop. An undercover cop for fifteen years who was now a teacher at the academy, but a cop, nonetheless.
But here he was, and he couldn’t turn his back on Mrs. LeBlanc when she needed him the most. Rogan steeled himself, sucked in a deep breath then exited his truck. He adjusted his belt, checked that his plain white dress shirt was still tucked in—ignored the damn tie—then made his way inside.
Once he’d stepped into the small reception area, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The late spring skies were mostly clear with the unusually strong humidity high enough he could feel the sweat building in his pits and the back of his neck. He glanced around the lobby area. Rogan noted that two service rooms were available, and while both easels that would normally announce which room belonged to which family were blank, the room with the open door made it clear where he should go.
He entered the small chapel that contained rows of padded, wood folding chairs that were ten rows deep with a center aisle. His gaze went directly to the front of the room, to the large, rectangular table covered with a mauve cloth. His stomach lurched. An urn sat atop the surface that contained the ashes of someone who, up until a month ago, was a man he’d known for decades, someone he’d once considered his best friend, but who was now forever sealed in a non-descript, metal container.
Rogan ran a hand across the top of his head and sighed. He then turned his attention to Mrs. LeBlanc, who was seated up front in the first chair to the left of the aisle. As he tentatively stepped forward, his gaze traveled to a young man—small in stature—who was sitting near the wall on the right in the very last row.
The man was dressed all in black, but the lighting in the seating area was too dim for Rogan to make out much more than that. His head was bowed, his shoulders slumped. Rogan had the impression he was trying to make himself invisible.
His eyes wandered to the other side of the aisle as he moved forward, and he frowned. The only other person attending was a man sitting in the middle of the rows, note pad and mini recorder in hand. If he didn’t think that grabbing the guy, who was clearly a reporter, then tossing him out on his ass would upset Mrs. LeBlanc, he would do just that.
Rogan reached the front then leaned down, keeping his voice to a whisper so as not to startle Cam’s Mom.
“Hello, Mrs. LeBlanc. I’m sorry for your loss.”
The words were a cut and paste funeral greeting and he mentally chastised himself the moment he’d uttered them. The fuck was he thinking? There were so many losses because of Cam. He lifted a hand to rest on her shoulder, then drew it back. He wasn’t sure how she’d respond to touch. Hell, he wasn’t sure about much these days.
She still hadn’t responded, hadn’t even flinched. Her gaze remained fixed on her son’s ashes, staring silently through the black veil that covered her face and head. She took in a quick