The priest stopped him before he reached the door.

“Blake, be careful out there,” Reilly warned. “They’re hunting down cops like dogs.”

Tell me about it, Blake thought.

He went back out into the cold.

* * *

Selina prowled through the trashed apartment, which looked more like a crack house than a penthouse. Empty bottles, cigarette butts, pizza crusts, discarded tins of caviar, and other garbage were strewn upon the hardwood floors, attracting mice and cockroaches. Hungover partygoers slept it off on the sofas, in comfy chairs, and on carpets. Someone vomited loudly in the master bathroom.

At least he made it to the toilet, she thought. This time.

She was half-tempted to go back to her cramped digs in Old Town, but, no, that was the first place Bane would come looking for her—if she was still on his hit list. Chances were that she was safe, now that Bane no longer needed to tidy up any loose ends. Still, there was no point in pushing her luck. Better to keep her head down and blend in with the other strays.

Besides, she reminded herself, I always wanted a Park Boulevard address.

A glint of broken glass caught her eye. She bent to pick up a shattered picture frame. A torn photo showed a happy family smiling for the camera. Selina wondered what had become of them.

A hand fell on her shoulder.

“What’s that?” Jen asked.

A sparkly Versace gown—one size too large—hung on her petite frame. Tasteful jewelry glittered on her neck and fingers. Selina was surprised that nobody had taken the bling from her yet. Maybe it was because people knew the girl was under Selina’s protection.

That would be helpful.

She had traded her own orange prison togs for a practical black sweater and slacks. The look had attracted a few squatters, but their new roommates had quickly learned not to mess with her.

Selina contemplated the photo.

“This was someone’s home,” she said. But Jen just shrugged.

“Now it’s everyone’s home.”

A tumbler rolled by outside. Selina peered out the window at it. She frowned at what Gotham had become.

“‘Storm’s coming,’ remember?” Jen said, looking confused at her friend’s somber mood. She toyed with the jewels around her neck. “This is what you wanted.”

“No,” Selina realized. “It’s what I thought I wanted.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The European cautiously untied the rope, ready to catch Bruce if he fell.

The delirium had passed, taking the ghosts with it, and Bruce could think clearly again. But that wasn’t enough. He had to know if he was still broken.

Bracing himself for the pain, he took a deep breath and placed his weight upon his bare feet.

A wave of dizziness assailed him, and he tottered slightly, but the light-headedness was only momentary and he steadied himself. His legs felt weak and rubbery from disuse, but at least he was standing on his own power again. His bad knee still bothered him, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.