Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3)(8)

She stumbled into the living room, where Maggie stood before the open door, the two towering cops, and a small, fair woman in an ill-fitting suit. They all looked at her, the cops’ eyes narrowing as they beheld the bruises, the woman’s face tightening in disapproval.

“Good. I’m glad you’re here, too” was all the social worker said.

Maggie backed up to Selina’s side. The officers and the social worker pushed into the apartment, shutting the door behind them. Selina knew the neighbors were likely listening through the walls as the social worker went on. “We picked up your mom earlier tonight. She’s not in good shape.” A glance around the apartment. “But I’m sure you know that.”

“We do,” Selina said evenly.

“You’re not in good shape, either,” the woman added.

“I’m fine. Just fell down the stairs yesterday.”

“Must have been some fall,” one of the cops said, crossing his thick arms. A gun, a billy club, and a Taser hung from his heavy belt.

Selina said, “We can’t make her bail.”

The social worker had the nerve to laugh quietly. “We’re not here for that.” A glance between her and Maggie. “We’re here to bring you two in.”

“Maggie’s innocent,” Selina said, pushing her sister behind her.

“And what about you?” the second cop said, brows rising on his meaty face.

Selina ignored him, meeting the social worker’s stare. There was a grand stashed in the box taped under the kitchen sink. If they wanted to be paid off—

“Neither of you is in trouble, Selina Kyle,” the social worker said, the embodiment of a bureaucratic, rule-abiding worker bee. “But as you’re both underage and living here alone”—a glance around the apartment said the woman was well aware they’d been on their own for years—“we need to find a better living arrangement for you both. There are two very nice spots in homes waiting for you right now.”

Foster homes. Separate ones.

The room, the sounds, her body…they all started to feel a bit distant.

“This is our home,” Maggie said softly. “We’re fine here.”

“State doesn’t think so,” one of the cops said, his sandy mustache yellow against his pasty skin. “Two little girls living alone in this building?” The man walked over to the kitchen and began opening cabinets.

Selina’s heart pounded with every groan and thud of the wood. And her hands began to shake as he stooped, opening the sink cabinets, and peered in. A rip of tape, and he chuckled as he stood, cashbox in his hands.

Flipping open the lid, he smiled at the money inside. Lifted the wad of bills and fanned them. His partner let out a low whistle of approval. “Been working on the side?” he asked Selina.

The way his eyes raked over her, she knew what kind of work he thought she did. “No” was all she said.

He’d known exactly where that box might be hidden. Perhaps he’d anticipated drugs instead. She should have been better at hiding it, figured out a smarter place for that money—

The social worker said, “You have a record.”

“It was from three years ago.” Selina’s voice came out surprisingly even.

“You have two strikes,” the social worker continued. “No judge will let you stay here.” She gestured to their bedroom. “Go pack your bags. Bring enough stuff for a week or two.”

Maggie shook her head. “I’m not going.”

Selina watched as the mustached cop smiled at her and slid that grand into his pocket. Her stomach dropped to her feet, her pulse pounding through every battered inch of her.

Two corrupt cops were in her apartment. And an unsympathetic social worker. Not good. Not safe.

“Maggie,” she murmured to her sister, “go pack your bags.”

Her sister refused to move.

Selina turned to the woman, who had now crossed her slender arms. “My sister has a serious medical condition. A group home in some filthy house is not what she needs.”

“Every foster home in our system is constantly inspected for cleanliness and safety. Any home she goes to will meet her needs.”

Bullshit. She’d heard from girls in the Leopards that those homes were roach palaces at best.

“And as for Maggie’s special needs,” the woman said, patience running thin as her words turned clipped, “living with a sister who has a criminal record does not seem so safe, either.”

Maggie snapped, “You don’t know anything.”

Selina shot her sister a warning look. “Go pack your bags.”

Maggie shook her head, brown curls bouncing. “I’m not going.”

“It’s nearly one in the morning,” the social worker coaxed. “Let’s get you settled somewhere safe.”

“I’m safe here,” Maggie said, voice hitching.

At the sound of it, the way Maggie’s voice broke with fear, Selina’s blood started roaring.

Stay calm. Stay focused. Selina tried again. “If it’s so late, then why don’t we sleep here? You can pick us up in the morning.”

“And come back to find you’ve skipped town?” asked the dark-haired cop who hadn’t pocketed her money. “Not a chance. Get your stuff. Now.”