Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission

went down hard and came up with a bloody nose, cursing.
    “You fucking bastard. You want it the hard way, I’ll give it to you the hard way.”
    I tried to keep her down by using my legs to kick. It didn’t work. Glowering from above, she kicked me until I lost count of the blows. I remember instinctively trying to protect myself by getting into the fetal position, but I was quickly losing consciousness. I heard Sara crying. I vaguely recalled hearing the pop-pop sound of gunshots.
    ***
    The bathroom window was just wide enough for Kate to slide through. Once inside, she stood perfectly still and hoped that Stimson hadn’t heard the noise she made.
    She quickly removed her shoes and slipped quietly into the hallway leading to the stairs. She heard the faint sound of voices, but wasn’t close enough to make out who or what was being said. With gun in hand, she slowly ascended the stairs. About halfway up, one of the hardwood steps groaned loudly enough that Kate was certain it must have been heard on the main level. She momentarily froze, dreading the next step and the one after that. The female voice was loud and clear, a voice that must have belonged to Carol Stimson. The top of the stairs opened into an entry foyer near the front door of the residence. The hushed voices were close now, probably not more than twenty feet away, and appeared to be coming from what Kate thought was the living room. It had momentarily grown quiet, so quiet that Kate stood frozen, afraid to move. Then all hell broke loose.
    As Kate came around the corner and stepped into view, Stimson looked up and saw her. The shooting corridor was extremely narrow, with two hooded hostages seated to one side on the living-room couch and Sam curled up on the floor at Stimson’s feet. Before Kate could order her to drop the weapon, Stimson fired two wild shots, both narrowly missing her. Sara was crying hysterically, and Aunt June had rolled partially on top of the child in a futile attempt to shield her body. The risk of hitting an innocent hostage was a possibility, but Kate had no choice. The first shot struck Stimson in the left shoulder. She howled in pain, but didn’t go down. The second one struck her in the neck, hitting the carotid artery. This time she went down as blood pulsated from the neck wound like a fountain.
    Kate heard breaking glass at the front door and turned in time to see Vince and Terry burst into the home, weapons at the ready. Patti, following instructions from Kate, had notified them of the likely hostage situation.
    ***
    In a matter of minutes, my home, already in shambles, was turned into a major crime scene. There were enough police and fire officials on the premises to open a doughnut store. It became a repeat performance of what I’d encountered that first night at the home of Levi Vogue. Cops from several agencies, crime scene techs, fire and emergency medical personnel were everywhere. Within an hour, print and television media groups were crawling all over the place.
    Despite Terry’s effort to stem the flow of blood, Stimson died from shock and blood loss on the helicopter flight to the University of Utah Medical Center. Sara and Aunt June, though badly shaken, were not seriously injured. For Sara, however, the terror of this day would not soon be forgotten. As for me, a cut above one eye, a couple of cracked ribs, and assorted bumps and bruises were about it. I would be sore for a few weeks, but the sanctity of my home had been violated, and my family terrorized. Now it was personal. Alone, or with Kate’s help, I intended to end it tonight.

Chapter Forty-eight
    An ambulance transported Sara and Aunt June to a Salt Lake City hospital. I rode with them, and Kate followed. Aunt June’s condition had suddenly taken a turn for the worse, and I was worried. Shortly after we arrived at the hospital, she had begun to complain of chest pains. The hospital ran a series of tests to identify the problem. A traumatized Sara was examined, given a mild sedative, and had fallen fast asleep. Both were held overnight for observation. As soon as Sara had fallen asleep and an emergency room physician stitched the cut above my eye, Kate and I left the hospital and drove to the Salt Lake City Police Department. The hostage incident and subsequent shooting of Stimson had occurred after the local evening news. It would be the lead story on every television news station at the nine and ten o’clock hours. If we wanted to