““Freeze!” he yelled, but why did he bother? The kid he was chasing, on this warm spring day—white, maybe twenty, surfer-blondness undermined by the dopey dragon tat running down his left arm—was way out in front, running as effortlessly as a track star among wannabes. This was probably due in part to the perp’s better aerodynamics—after all, he wore only Reebok running shoes and a red leather thong. Mark had ten years on the freak, but even so was still the youngest detective on the Cleveland P...D, only recently promoted. Right now, he felt like the oldest, lungs burning, legs aching, as the mismatched pair entered block three of the pursuit. The detective had his gun in hand, but that was mostly just a threat, and might have been a baton he was hoping to pass to a relay runner. Charging hard, Mark entertained the thought of shooting the perp—he was barely closing the distance between them—but that was only a fantasy. The paperwork and condemnation that would follow, even if he just winged the guy?MoreLessRead More Read Less
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