Foley purpled with suppressed anger, but kept his mouth shut.

“This could just be a coincidence,” Blake hedged. Although thrilled by the promotion, he was acutely aware of the responsibility Gordon had just placed on him. He didn’t want to inadvertently steer the commissioner in the wrong direction. What if I’m wrong about this?

“You’re a detective now, son,” Gordon said. “You’re not allowed to believe in coincidence anymore.”

Blake tried not to grin in front of Foley.

The sun was going down by the time the cab dropped Bruce off in front of the manor. A pounding rain drenched him as he splashed up the driveway, holding Lucius’s newspaper over his head. The soggy tabloid provided meager protection from the downpour, quickly collapsing under the weight of the deluge. Soaked to the skin, he reached the relative shelter of the portico, where he rang the bell impatiently.

“Nobody’s answering.”

Miranda Tate stepped out from behind a marble column, looking similarly sodden. He wondered how long she had been waiting there.

“No,” he replied ruefully. “I’m on my own, now.”

“Do you have keys?” she asked.

He looked at her helplessly.

“I never needed them…” Alfred had always let him in before.

She took his hand.

“Let’s find a window,” she suggested.

Breaking and entering proved distressingly easy. Bruce guessed that the servants had neglected to activate the household security system before departing in search of steadier paychecks. Shivering, he and Miranda forced open the French windows and took refuge in the great room. Water dripped off them onto the carpet.

He turned on the lights.

“Fox worked the board like you’ve never seen,” she reported, shaking the rain from her dark hair. “Daggett’s out of the picture, and he’s not happy.”

He set the wet newspaper down on a table. Ink bled from the headline on page one of the business section.

FROM BILLIONAIRE TO BUM

“I’ll take care of your parents’ legacy,” Miranda promised.

He believed her.

“Hope you didn’t just like me for my money,” he said.

She kicked off her wet shoes and came in closer. Her striking blue-gray eyes looked deeply into his. He caught another whiff of her perfume.

“Suffering builds character,” she whispered, and then she kissed him—passionately. Surprised by the heat of her ardor, he took her in his arms and kissed her back, feeling her soft curves through their soggy garments. He couldn’t help comparing her kiss to the one Selina Kyle had planted on him at the masquerade.

Miranda’s kiss felt less like a challenge and much more intimate. It was just what he needed right now.

Without warning, the lights went out.

Their lips came apart. They clung to each other in the darkness.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Bruce looked at her sheepishly.

“I think my power’s been shut off.”

A short time later, they nestled together in front of a crackling fire. Wet clothes lay discarded upon the floor. Heaps of fluffy cushions and comforters formed a cozy love nest in front of the hearth. Miranda extricated herself from Bruce’s arms long enough to tend the blaze.