The New Detective

Chapter 7: The Chase

Samantha’s POV

The suspect I chased into the alley wasn’t giving up as easily as I expected.

He hit the fence, realized he couldn’t climb it fast enough, and when I grabbed his jacket, he spun around and swung at me.

I ducked, the punch slicing through the air above my head.

“Oh, we’re doing this?” I muttered.

He lunged again, trying to shove past me. I blocked him with my forearm and pushed him back, keeping everything controlled and safe. He stumbled but didn’t fall — instead, he came at me harder, desperate.

I stepped aside, letting his momentum carry him forward, then hooked my foot around his ankle. He tripped, caught himself on the wall, and swung again.

This time, I caught his wrist, twisted, and pinned his arm behind his back. He struggled, but I kept my stance solid, using leverage instead of force.

“Chicago PD,” I said, breath steady. “Stop fighting.”

He didn’t listen.

He tried to elbow me, but I shifted my weight, pushing him forward and safely guiding him to the ground. He hit the pavement with a frustrated grunt, still trying to wriggle free.

“You’re only making this harder on yourself,” I warned.

He kicked out, but I moved my leg just in time. I tightened my grip, keeping him controlled without hurting him.

“Stop resisting,” I said firmly.

Finally, he stilled — breathing hard, defeated.

I cuffed him quickly and safely.

Only then did I hear footsteps behind me — heavier, slower, but steady.

Voight.

He appeared at the mouth of the alley, chest rising and falling, knee clearly bothering him, but his eyes were locked on me.

Not the suspect.

Me.

“You good?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded. “Yeah. He put up a fight, but I handled it.”

Voight’s gaze flicked to the suspect, then back to me. “I saw.”

There was something in his voice — not surprise, not concern… something closer to respect.

Ruzek’s voice echoed from the street. “We got the second one!”

Voight stepped closer, eyes scanning me again. “You didn’t wait for backup.”

“I had him under control.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

I frowned. “Sarge—”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re good. Really good. But don’t make a habit of running in alone.”

I held his gaze. “You didn’t wait for backup yesterday.”

His jaw tightened — not in anger, but in realization.

Touché.

He exhaled slowly. “Get in the truck.”

I followed him back, but before I climbed in, he spoke again — quieter this time.

“And Walker?”

I turned.

“You impressed the hell out of the team today.”

My chest tightened. “What about you?”

He paused — just long enough for me to notice.

Then, softly: 
“You did good.”

He got in the truck before I could respond, leaving me standing there with my heart doing something it definitely shouldn’t be doing on my first week.