Selina?

Blake nodded.

“It was damn good to see him back.”

“Not everybody agrees.”

Blake shrugged.

“They’ll figure it out in the end.”

Bruce appreciated the young cop’s faith in Batman. Maybe Blake was someone he could count on after all.

“Got anything on Bane’s whereabouts?” he asked.

“Yeah, I got five hundred pages of tunnel records and a flashlight. I could use some help.”

So could I, Bruce thought. He wondered who else might be able to give them a lead. A thought occurred to him, along with a memory of a certain glamorous cat burglar. And a kiss that still lingered in his memory.

“You know what?” he said. “Drop me off in Old Town…”

A short drive later, Blake pulled up to the curb across from a shabby-looking townhouse that had clearly seen better days. As a cop, he had answered more than a few calls in this notably dicey neighborhood. Mostly drugs, drive-bys, and domestic disturbances. He wondered what business Wayne had here.

“Don’t wait,” Wayne said. “I’ll get a cab.”

“You got money?”

A sheepish look came over Wayne’s face.

“Actually, no.”

Figured as much, Blake thought. He handed Wayne some bills and watched as the former billionaire crossed the street and disappeared inside the grimy townhouse. He was tempted to wait anyway, but then his radio squawked at him, announcing a nearby fender-bender. He frowned and pulled away from the curb. He felt bad about leaving Wayne in such a scuzzy district, but then he remembered how the one-time playboy really spent his nights.

If Bruce Wayne couldn’t take care of himself, who could?

Selina was busy packing when she heard a familiar uproar out in the hall.

“I told you,” Jen said loudly. “Money first.”

“I don’t think so,” a man replied.

Selina froze, recognizing the voice. She rushed out into hall, where, sure enough, she found Bruce Wayne by the stairwell, talking with Jen. The younger girl grinned in wicked anticipation, waiting for her friend to pounce on the unsuspecting visitor, only to look puzzled when Selina merely scowled at Wayne instead.

“He’s not a mark,” Selina explained. “And he doesn’t have a cent to his name, anyway.”

Not for a moment did she think this was a coincidence. Regarding Wayne suspiciously, she let him into the crummy two-bedroom walkup she shared with her protege. The peeling wallpaper, leaky faucet, and thrift store furniture were a far cry from stately Wayne Manor. The radiator hissed and wheezed asthmatically. Selina was briefly embarrassed by her low-rent digs, then mad at herself for caring what Wayne thought.

“Yeah, it’s not much,” she admitted with a smirk. “But it’s more than you’ve got right now.”

“Actually, they’re letting me keep the house,” he said.

Selina shook her head in disbelief.

“The rich don’t even go broke same as the rest of us, huh?”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead he spotted the open suitcase spread out atop a ratty couch.

“Vacation?” he asked.

I wish, she thought. “Let’s just say that I’ve incurred the wrath of some people less susceptible to my charms than you.”