Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3)(46)

Honestly, some small part of him was grateful when the wooden doors to the ballroom were kicked open.

He had expected her to be there. Expected the battle-suit and helmet, expected the bullwhip in her hand as she strutted forward, the music halting. People shrieking or falling quiet.

But the other two behind her…

Shit. Shit.

Poison Ivy, clad in an ornate bodysuit, bearing a duffel in one hand and some sort of vine moving over her other arm. Not to mention the gloves on both hands that seemed to be in bloom. Or the vine of orchids she wore like a bandolier.

And Harley Quinn, clad in nothing but fishnets, boy shorts, and a baseball tee, armed to the teeth with what seemed to be an arsenal of small bombs.

Luke hadn’t yet had the pleasure of dealing with them, but Bruce had. Through the keen-edged cunning Harley possessed, she’d managed to avoid capture and incarceration while working with the Joker. Bruce had warned Luke of her unpredictable moods—and her lethal aim.

Apparently, she’d ditched the Joker and his henchmen for more interesting company. As for Ivy, Luke had read Bruce’s file on her arsenal of toxins.

This did not bode well. Not at all.

Everyone in the ballroom went still. No one dared move.

Harley lifted an arm over her head, pointing with one of those small, deadly orbs to the ceiling as if she were only stretching, and said, “Who’s ready to party?”

The trio paused near the doors. Luke sized up the obstacles and casualties in their way. As a vet, he could interfere as Luke Fox. He would be expected to interfere, but if he had his suit, he could do more. Save more people. It’d take him five minutes to slip out to the coatroom and return as Batwing.

Catwoman snapped her wrist and the bullwhip answered. A crack, wild and wicked, cut through the room.

People murmured in alarm, stepping out of the range of that whip.

Luke began edging through the crowd. Thank God his parents hadn’t come.

“Here’s the deal,” Catwoman said, her voice low and raspy. “You drop your jewelry, your watches, your cash into the bags. And we don’t hurt you.”

“Trick or treat,” Harley said, lifting the empty duffel at her side.

Ivy only strode up to a nearby man, a pale purple smoke leaking from her. The man’s eyes went glazed, his white face slack, and then he handed over his watch into Ivy’s awaiting duffel. His wallet and cuff links, too. The woman nearest him began doing so as well, her face equally slack. Entranced. Bruce’s file hadn’t exaggerated.

Luke reached the small service entrance just as the crowd began to remove their jewelry and personal belongings in a flurry of glittering gems and flashing gold. He’d bet the security guards were likely unconscious, knocked out by Ivy’s cloud of toxins.

Seven people stood nearby, a mix of staff and guests, all fixed on the unfolding scene. Luke motioned subtly to them.

Out, out, out, he conveyed with mere gestures. The group wasted no time obeying, ducking low and hurrying through the door.

The trio had yet to kill anyone. In fact, they seemed averse to killing those merely caught in the crosshairs.

At least they had that going for them.

Luke followed the small group of people, pointed them toward the back stairs, and sprinted for the coatroom, where the attendants were tied up at their posts with red-and-black-striped zip ties. Harley Quinn’s colors. Four minutes—he’d be ready in four minutes.

He prayed all hell didn’t break loose before then.



* * *



—

Selina’s bag was growing heavy as she prowled through the crowd.

Where she moved, jewels and watches followed.

The security guards remained down in the halls, courtesy of that living whip Ivy had wrapped around their throats—rendering them unconscious.

Just people doing their job, Ivy had said when Harley demanded why she hadn’t made it fatal. Selina had agreed, earning an eye roll from Harley.

Wimps, Harley had sneered, then asked Ivy, If you balk at dealing with them, what are you gonna do when it matters? When you go after those politicians?

Ivy had stiffened, but said nothing.

Selina had spoken up in her defense. She’ll deal with it. Just as we are now going to deal with this gala.

Harley had clicked her tongue, striding ahead. But Ivy had given Selina a small, grateful nod.

Selina had tried to ignore the slight warmth that kindled in her chest. The answering smile that bloomed beneath her helmet.

But now, standing in this ballroom…Those were sirens wailing in the distance. She had to get them out of here.

“We need exit music,” Harley said to the dead-silent crowd. She pointed toward the band standing motionless on the stage against the far wall. “Can I make a song request?”

The bandleader was pale as death as he nodded. Selina chuckled, holding her duffel in front of an aging woman she’d chatted with merely thirty minutes ago. So good to see more old money here, the woman had trilled.

It had been nearly impossible to keep from throwing her drink in the woman’s face.

It didn’t stop Selina from now being rougher than necessary as she plucked the woman’s ruby tiara off her head and shoved it into the duffel.

No sign of Luke Fox. Perhaps he’d already left. He’d seemed bored to tears when they’d danced earlier. But perhaps that was Holly’s effect on him.