Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission

Merchant stop and point the gun at me. When you yelled and came out into the open, he turned to face you. That distraction may have saved my life.”
    “Look, Kate. The shooting probably would have happened whether you stayed with me or not. Nobody is responsible for what happened to John Merchant except John Merchant. There’s no need to blame yourself. He had the gun. He had the dope. He decided to make a fight of it. And I think when the smoke finally clears, the shooting will be ruled lawful, and we’ll both be back to work. Besides, I love the notion of having a beautiful woman feeling indebted to me.”
    I was talking with more confidence than I actually felt. I subscribe to the old saying that anything that can go wrong, probably will. Pessimism runs deep in my blood.
    She smiled. “Yeah, well, don’t make a habit out of it. It can be downright dangerous.” Our conversation drifted away from work and into our personal lives. “Sorry to hear about your divorce. I’m sure the adjustment must be emotionally painful. How are you doing?”
    “Where did you hear about my divorce?”
    “Take a guess. The police rumor mill, where else?”
    “I’m actually doing okay, all things considered. Mostly, I don’t have time to sit around feeling sorry for myself, which is a good thing. I’ve got an eight-year-old daughter to raise. She really misses her mom, and I know she doesn’t fully understand why it happened. Between this job and playing Mr. Mom, I don’t have much time to sort through my own issues.”
    “I knew you had a child, but I had no idea you had custody. How did that happen?”
    So I gave her the lowdown, trying carefully not to sound like a whining martyr or an angry, blameful ex-husband. I wondered, though, why it mattered. But somehow, I felt like it did.
    The conversation had started to make me uncomfortable, so I attempted to change the subject. I discovered, however, that McConnell was not only attractive and engaging, but persistent as well. She wasn’t having any of it.
    “Have you been dating since the divorce?”
    “Not really,” I said. “Actually, friends have tried to set me up a couple of times, but it hasn’t felt right, so I just don’t do it. I figure when the time is right, I’ll know it. Until then, I’m staying on the sidelines. Besides, I don’t have a lot of leisure time. When I’m not working, I try to spend as much time with Sara as I can.”
    “Sounds to me like you’ve got your priorities straight.”
    “I hope so. Since you brought the subject up, I haven’t heard anything about you in the police rumor mill.”
    “That’s simple,” she said. “I just refuse to date people in the police fraternity. Cops are the worst kind of gossips. You know that. Sleep with one and it’s apt to be all over the department.”
    She was right about that. Somehow Kate had managed to keep her private life private—a nearly impossible feat.
    “Since you refuse to date inside the police fraternity, how is it that I saw you at a Jazz game last spring with Tom Stoddard from the D.A.’s Office?”
    She smiled and said, “You are the observant one. Tom has been my one and only exception to the rule. I’ve been seeing him on and off now for almost two years. We try to keep it very low-key. The truth is that I don’t date much at all. The career has always come first. But I must admit to having moments lately where I wonder whether putting career over my personal life is such a good decision.”
    “Tom probably has some feelings about that.”
    “Tom would like us to be a lot more serious, but that’s not going to happen, at least not now.”
    ***
    Even with the dose of caffeine, sheer exhaustion finally took over. We left the bar just ahead of closing. As we parted, Kate turned and said, “Hey, Sam, don’t plan on an extended vacation sitting at home on your backside. It’s not going to happen.”

Chapter Fourteen
    By the time I made it home, it was after two. I parked in the driveway so I didn’t have to raise the garage door and risk waking Sara and Aunt June. I entered quietly through the front door and tip-toed into the kitchen.
    The light above the stove was on, and I found a note from Aunt June reminding me that Sara’s parent-teacher conference was scheduled for this morning at seven-thirty. She wanted to know if she needed to go in my place. Aside from the early morning hour, the time was actually good since I had just been placed on administrative