Taking it, she let him help her stand. “Seriously, stuff happens, Lance. I could have tripped just as easily as you did.”

“But you didn’t.” Self-reproach flashed in Lance’s eyes as he grabbed the suspect by the bicep and hauled him to his feet.

Stella cupped her aching face.

Lance’s frowned deepened. He swung the suspect around. His hands were cuffed behind his back, and his face slammed into the brick exterior of the building.

“This is police brutality. I didn’t do anything,” the man screamed.

The hood had fallen off his head during the chase. In the light of the streetlamp, Stella got her first full look at the man she’d pursued. He was about thirty and as thin as an aging rock star.

“You assaulted a police officer.” Lance jerked the suspect’s arms high up his back.

The suspect rose onto his toes and screamed, “You’re gonna break my arm.”

Lance’s body tensed even more.

Stella grabbed him by the shoulder. “Back off, Lance. We got him.”

“I’m gonna sue your asses,” the suspect screamed into the bricks.

Lance spun the man to face him and leaned closer to his face. The cords of his neck went as taut as steel cables.

“Lance!” Stella grabbed Lance’s arm, her effort barely budging him. His chest heaved, and his jaw muscles twitched. He wanted to hurt the man. Stella could see it in his eyes. He wouldn’t take his eyes off the suspect’s. Stella forced her body between them, pushing on Lance’s chest with both hands. “I’ll take him from here.”

Lance jerked his gaze from the suspect’s face to Stella’s. He blinked and took a step backward, frowning as if the level of his own aggression surprised him.

“I’m gonna sue this whole city.” The suspect licked his bleeding lip. A small cut on the side of his mouth dripped blood, as did an abrasion on his cheek. Rotten lettuce from a broken-open garbage bag hung from the shoulder of his hoodie. “I did nothing to warrant this treatment.”

“Then why did you run?” Lance picked up the wallet from the asphalt and opened it. “Noah Spivak.” Lance thumbed through the contents. “This is impressive. He has six hundred dollars in his wallet. That’s a lot of cash, Spivak.”

Spivak’s arrogant glare set off a warning in Stella’s head.

“Let’s take Mr. Spivak down to the station for questioning.” Stella steered him toward the street.

Lance was still limping as they escorted the suspect to the car and put him in the backseat. Stella turned around in the parking lot. She stopped the car and stared through the windshield. An older model blue Toyota Corolla sat in the light-puddle of a streetlamp. Stella used her computer to run the license plate. “That Toyota is registered to Missy Green.”