From the way the two of them spoke, Mitch guessed they were planning an after-hours rendezvous when suddenly the girl's eyes caught his. In the brief span of their eye contact, he felt something odd in her stare. Had she recognized him, or in some uncanny way know what he was up to? There had been a sudden burst of something he couldn't quite place his finger on before their gazes broke. No, he was just being paranoid. It was part of the rush that accompanied his thefts, something he had to control. When he was stealing, Mitch always felt he was on the verge of being caught. If he was honest with himself, he would acknowledge that that was part of the thrill.

When he glanced back at the girl, he saw that she was back in deep conversation with her beau, forgetting about him completely. That was the way Mitch liked it, the lower the profile, the better. Mitch walked out of their direct sight and approached a busy counter where several customers were vying for a lone salesman's attentions. Perfect.

He crowded his way to the counter, and after several minutes of waiting, managed to catch the man's attention. Mitch asked to see three sets of expensive diamond earrings and one set of inferior jewelry most likely brought into the store just for the sale. Pretending to ponder the choices, Mitch ignored the bustling crowd at his elbows. Finally another customer grew impatient with him and said in a stern voice to the salesman, "While he's making up his mind, I see exactly what I want. I insist that you take my money right now."

That was what Mitch had been waiting for. With the salesman's attention distracted for a few moments, Mitch slipped the most expensive earrings off the counter and into his pocket before anyone could see what he'd done.

In plain sight, he picked up the cheap earrings and approached the salesman with a fifty dollar bill in his hand. Mitch said, "I've made up my mind. I'll take these."

The salesman looked at Mitch, then back at the deserted earrings still on the counter ten paces away. Breathlessly, he said, "One moment, please," as he retrieved the unclaimed diamond sets remaining. Frowning for a second at the count, he shrugged slightly before replacing the remaining sets back in the display.

Mitch hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath. After ringing up the woman's purchase ahead of him, the clerk took care of Mitch, pointedly ignoring his attempt at small talk as he watched a few disgruntled customers walking away empty-handed. With a store bag proudly displayed, Mitch fought his way back to the side entrance he'd just come in. The odds of anyone suspecting him of wrongdoing should be negligible. After all, he had a perfectly legitimate receipt in his possession for the cheap earrings now in his bag. It was simply a matter of walking out of the store unnoticed and he'd be home free.

On a bullhorn, one of the cops commanded, "Drop your bag and hit the ground, or we'll shoot."

Mitch did as he was told, stunned by the massive show of force. He looked up in despair as he saw an officer clad in a bullet-proof vest approach him cautiously. In seconds, Mitch was handcuffed and jerked to his feet.

He said, "I don't understand what's going on."

The cop who'd cuffed him said, "Don't play dumb. A clerk inside spotted you the second you walked in the door."

"Yeah, I've been arrested once before, but it was never with this much fuss."

"What did you expect? It's not like you were keeping a low profile."

"What are you talking about?"

Without saying a word, the cop reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper.

Mitch found his image staring back at him from the Wanted Bulletin. His knees went weak as he realized that he was a dead ringer for the police sketch of the man who'd just robbed the bank.