Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3)(19)

Selina crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

His dark, beady eyes narrowed. “You do realize I’ll have a great deal of trouble hiding the trail if I’m to sell it. That sort of discretion won’t come cheap.”

“Name your price.” Even with the helmet’s voice modified, she kept her voice low, raspy. Her sister might have been the one who loved the theater, but Selina had picked up some tricks of her own these past few years.

The man scanned the statue again, then her. “Nine hundred thousand.”

“It’s worth far more than that.”

“I told you: discretion comes at a cost. There are ownership documents to forge, private methods of shipping to a buyer….Those things add up.”

Selina didn’t flinch. “I’ll take one-point-two.”

The man straightened in his green leather seat. “You’ll take nine hundred, since you’ll be hard-pressed to find another dealer who’d even touch a stolen item like this. Especially one so publicly taken.” Another sweeping glance, as if assessing whether she had done the stealing or not.

She didn’t offer him any clues. Only braced her feet slightly farther apart on the blue Aubusson rug and countered smoothly, “You’ll be hard-pressed to find another piece like this anytime soon, since the Egyptian government has cracked down on the antiquities market.”

The man interlaced his fingers and set them on the antique wooden desk. “One million.”

She met his stare. “One-point-two.”

“One million, and that’s the best you’ll get.”

Selina prowled toward the desk, her steps swallowed by the thick rug. She folded up the statue in its velvet wrappings and placed it into the slim wooden box she’d brought with her. “We’ll see if the London dealers agree with that statement.”

She turned on a heel and strode for the office door, beginning a silent countdown.

Five. Four.

She neared the arched doorway. Three. Two…

She stepped one foot over the threshold.

“Wait.”



* * *



—

She made sure the money had been wired into the offshore account before she left the man’s shop.

It was more money than she’d ever dreamed of having—had never even considered having that much money. But it was still not enough, not for all the plans she’d crafted.

Selina didn’t immediately head back to her cold, clean penthouse.

As if her feet had some magnet of their own, she stalked through the quiet, rain-slicked streets, keeping to the shadows. It wasn’t hard: as she neared the slums, the streetlights became few and far between.

It was in one of those pools of shadow that she finally stopped, gazing at the dark labyrinth of buildings ahead.

There was no point in striding into the maze of streets of the East End. In going all the way toward that apartment complex.

There was no one living there worth seeing, anyway. And certainly no home left to visit.

For a heartbeat, something in her chest tightened. Something that she’d buried down deep.

The money now in that offshore account seemed to rise up and loom over her shoulders.

What that money could do for so many dwelling here. What lives it might change. Save.

Later. That would all come later. This game was only in its opening movements, and there was much left to do.

Still, Selina lingered on the edge of the East End for a while longer.





The next morning, Luke’s dad picked up on the second ring.

It was Friday, which meant Lucius Fox was currently sitting at his shiny CEO’s desk, in his shiny CEO’s office, working on notes for Monday’s board meeting before heading out early for a quick nine at the club.

“Luke,” his dad said by way of greeting.

Walking through the private parking lot beneath his apartment building, Luke smiled. As he always did, likely always would, when he heard his dad’s dry tone. “Morning, Dad.”

He could practically hear his father taking a sip from his daily green smoothie. Brain food, his mom called it. She insisted his father drink one every day. And she’d tried to make Luke start, too, going so far as to buy him a juicer. He hadn’t the heart—or nerve—to tell her that in the three months since, he hadn’t taken it out of the box.

His dad asked, “Will I see you at the office today?”

“On my way over now.” Luke unlocked his gunmetal Porsche 911 with a click of the key fob. He waited until he was sealed in the plush interior before saying, “I wanted to see if you had an hour or two free before you get too busy.”

“New experiment?” He could also practically see his father sitting up in his leather chair. It had been an honor—and a much-deserved one—to have Bruce tap his dad to be CEO, but Lucius made little secret that his true passion would always lie in the Applied Sciences division.

Luke set his phone in an empty cupholder, buckled his seat belt, and switched the call over to the car’s Bluetooth. “Unfortunately for you, no.”

A long-suffering sigh.

Luke grinned, revving the engine and backing out of his spot. “I’ve got a bullet that I need analyzed—is that machine still there?”

“Might be a bit dusty, but it should be.”