Daryl was halfway back to the station when he noticed the commotion.
A woman was running down the sidewalk, her breath ragged, arms outstretched as she tried to catch a man sprinting ahead of her.
The man clutched a brown leather bag close to his chest, weaving through pedestrians, his eyes darting back to check if she was still chasing him.
She was.
And she was losing.
Without thinking, Daryl slammed on the brakes, pulled over, and jumped out of his car.
"Stop!" he barked.
The thief glanced at him for a split second before picking up speed.
Bad move.
Daryl was already moving.
His legs burned as he chased the man down the crowded street. The guy was fast, but Daryl was faster.
Years on the force had trained him well, and the moment the thief made the mistake of cutting into a
