stage to make a toast. The time for Catwoman, Harley, and Ivy to strike would be now. When everyone was watching and the cameras were rolling.
Yet Gordon, clad in a tux, his auburn hair slicked back for once, got through his speech about the ongoing efforts of the GCPD to build bonds with the people of this city, saluting the men and women in uniform who worked tirelessly to make it a safer place. Some of what he said was bullshit, but most of it was born out of Gordon’s genuine hope and belief that the GCPD could rise above its past and current history and become something better. Gordon paused only once to glance down at his phone, and then he saluted the assembled cops. Luke followed the crowd in lifting a glass to the officers as well.
Luke casually followed the men and women at his table—top city officials—toward where Gordon now stood to the left of the stage, speaking quietly to those gathered. No one noticed Luke standing off to the side as Gordon softly announced, “When I tell you what I’m about to say, I want no signs of panic. You act normal.”
Luke’s blood began to pound.
Gordon went on, “The chemical factory in Otisburg was robbed an hour ago.”
Catwoman wasn’t going to come, Luke realized as Gordon spoke.
She’d taken advantage of every top cop in the city, every resource, being focused here instead. Focused here because—
“Poison Ivy was spotted driving off with a semi full of chemicals.” Shit. Shit. Gordon’s throat bobbed. He said so quietly Luke had to lean in to hear it, “And Harley Quinn just used her extensive knowledge of explosives to blow up another wall of Blackgate Penitentiary. She’s freed key members of the Joker’s gang. His Numbers Two, Three, and Four.”
Luke’s blood went cold.
Gordon said, “We move now. Don’t breathe a word. They need to be recaptured before the press knows.”
Gordon’s people began asking questions as Luke stalked toward the exit.
Holly caught his eye as he passed, her brows rising high. As if she’d spotted Gordon’s little conference—had seen him listening in.
Luke gave her a cold, bored stare in exchange and prowled out.
Fast. He had to act fast.
Because if the Joker’s top three guys were out of jail, then bad, bad things were about to happen.
Luke knew their names, their long, long list of crimes.
Honestly, it might have felt like a joke, taking on three guys named Smiles, Bozo, and Chuckles. But these guys were far from well-meaning clowns.
He soared over the East End, his suit providing readouts of the people below. None matched the known height, weight, and description of the Joker’s top three men.
His heart hammered in his chest, even as he tried to calm it. This rush, right before a fight, before launching himself into the fray. There had been some nights, when he first returned home, when this rush was the only feeling he’d had in days. It had made it easier, back then, to head out into Gotham City’s shadows. To know this adrenaline pumping through him was waiting.
He’d found balance since then. But even now, as his wings caught an updraft and he soared…Yeah, he loved that rush.
Loved how it expanded, as if it would fill the entire world, and then narrowed—focusing right as he saw them.
Honing that rush directly on the three men who stalked down an alley, one with a baseball bat slung over a shoulder, one with what seemed to be a chain wrapped around his fist, and the other…What looked to be a long, wicked knife glinted in the dimness. They hadn’t even bothered to ditch their jumpsuits.
Luke banked, checking his speed.
Three against one—not bad odds. But these weren’t ordinary men.
There was a dark, wet stain on the back of the tall, slender one in the center—Bozo. Not his blood, the suit told Luke. But someone else’s. The chain dangling from Bozo’s hand had blood on it, too.
Jesus.
Chuckles’s baseball bat, propped against his broad, meaty shoulder—those were nails sticking out of the tip. Big ones.
Luke lowered himself, closer and closer to the opposite end of the alley. Ambushing from behind would work in his favor.
It went against every bit of training in the ring, felt cowardly even against these men, but…It was Smiles, slender, average height, and the Joker’s Number Two, who held that large knife.
Smiles hadn’t become Number Two because of a pleasantness of personality. No, Luke knew that nickname came from Smiles While Killing. Smiles While Robbing. Smiles