Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission

gently caressed her right breast while kissing her neck and ear. Her hand moved lower until she felt the hardness through my jeans. Slowly I began to unbutton her shirt. Under the denim, she wore a lacy white bra that only partially concealed small but firm breasts. I felt her stiffen as she pulled away and stood up.
    “Sam, we’ve got to stop. This can’t go any further. Christ, think about it. We’ve got a murder investigation on our hands. We’ve got to stay focused. Besides, you’re trying to get over a divorce and I’m involved with someone else. This just isn’t going to work.”
    I quickly got up off the couch and offered an awkward apology. “Sorry, Kate. You’re absolutely right. I’m glad at least one of us had the good sense to put the brakes on before something happened that we both might regret.”
    “Hey! We’re both adults. I’m the one who invited you here in the first place. It was an impulsive thing to do, and I usually don’t behave impulsively. And please don’t misunderstand. It isn’t that I don’t enjoy being with you because I do. It’s just too complicated right now. We need to call a timeout and think about this.”
    “I understand what you’re saying and I agree.” I thanked her for a nice evening and headed home to take a cold shower.

Chapter Thirty-two
    As I drove home and my libido returned to something approaching normal, a couple of thoughts occurred to me. The incident at Kate’s, while awkward, probably turned out for the best. Sleeping with someone changed things significantly. I hoped our impromptu interlude wouldn’t interfere with our ability to work together effectively. Besides, I’d have to be a couple bricks short of a full load not to recognize that Kate’s relationship with Tom Stoddard had progressed well beyond the casual dinner-date stage. The guy kept his beer in her refrigerator and probably some of his clothes in her closet. And what, if anything, would Kate say to Stoddard about her relationship with me? Perhaps, nothing. I was glad I didn’t have to deal with that one.
    Since the divorce, providing stability for Sara has been my number one priority. A relationship with Kate, or anyone else for that matter, would only be a distraction.
    ***
    I spent Sunday morning with Sara and Aunt June. I drove everybody over to Prospector Square, where we had brunch at a local favorite, the Ore House restaurant. During the meal, Aunt June asked about Baxter Shaw. “I know you’ve been busy. You probably haven’t had time to call that dear Baxter Shaw you were telling me about to arrange a little get-together?”
    “Not yet. But let me see what I can do this week. I think Baxter might be one of those retired types who enjoys spending some of his spare time at the court house watching whatever interesting trial might be in progress. Would lunch be okay? And would you like me along as chaperon?” I teased.
    “Well, I can sure put his time to better use than sitting around in some court room,” she said. “Lunch at Little America would be nice. As far as your acting as chaperon, thanks for the offer, but I think we’ll be just fine.”
    After brunch, I dropped Aunt June back at the house and spent the rest of the morning with Sara at the local duck pond, you guessed it, feeding the ducks.
    ***
    By mid-afternoon, I was off the mountain and in search of the three forgery suspects I had been assigned to interview.
    Of the three—Walter Gale, Wendell Rich, and Vaughn Gardner—Gale looked to be the most interesting. Recently released from the Utah State Prison, where he had served five years on three concurrent one-to-fifteen-year forgery sentences, Gale had the look of a first-rate forger.
    Gale was middle-aged, with no prior criminal history. He had billed himself as a legitimate buyer and seller of historical documents. Trouble was, most of the documents he sold as historic originals turned out to be high-quality forgeries.
    Apparently, an experienced collector of historical documents became suspicious about a letter he’d purchased from Gale, allegedly written by legendary mountain man and scout, Kit Carson. He turned the letter over to a nationally renowned document examiner in New York City, who determined that it was an exceptionally well crafted fake. Gale’s world crumbled around him as victim after victim came forward with a variety of forged documents. His Department of Corrections file showed that the Board of Pardons had slapped him