The image of all those frightened people in the ballroom who he’d failed to protect.
Deep in sublevel seven, Luke growled as sparks flew from the second hole he was repairing in his suit’s wings. Ivy’s shots had been precise.
And he’d lined himself up like a goddamn clay pigeon for them.
The vines had withered and died before he could bring them back to the lab for analysis. But from the way they’d moved, how Ivy had commanded them…Jesus. Maybe the rumors were right: she wasn’t fully human. Bruce had never been able to confirm it, not in the one brief encounter he’d had with Ivy, but it had been listed as a possibility in the Batcave’s file on her.
Luke didn’t want to consider what powerful forces might covet those abilities. Hone them into something worse than what Ivy had already become.
The buzzer sounded, blaring over the hum of the welder, and Luke turned off the machine, propping his welding mask on his sweaty head. “What’s up?” he asked the speakers built into the walls and ceiling of the empty room.
“A Miss Vanderhees is here to see you.”
Luke cringed.
His administrative assistant clarified, “In your eleventh-floor office. I informed her you were busy, but she said she’d wait.”
Luke let out a low groan. What the hell did she want?
“Tell her…” If he said he was too busy, she’d probably come back. Or start looking for him at home, which might lead her to hunt for him at odd hours, which might lead her to start wondering where he went all the time.
Luke sighed. “Tell her I’ll be up in fifteen. Thanks.” He was covered in enough sweat and grime that it merited a shower. He had one in the bathroom down here, along with a change of clothes—a good suit, in case his dad called him into a meeting.
“Will do, Mr. Fox.”
Luke made it upstairs in twelve minutes, his charcoal-gray suit a bit tight across the shoulders. He’d packed on more muscle these last few months; he’d have to take it to his tailor.
He was straightening the cuffs of his pale purple shirt when he strode into his corner office and found Holly waiting in one of the chairs before his immaculate desk.
He’d made sure bland company memos and party invitations were the only documents stacked on the side of his desk, the surface adorned with photos of his mom and dad, Mark and Elise, and a shot of him after his first boxing victory at fifteen. Everything else, anything important, was locked down in sublevel seven.
“Holly,” he said by way of greeting, edging around his desk. “Good to see you.”
It was training and instinct to note the details of her appearance—the appearance of anyone who came his way: her salmon-colored blazer, set over a matching dress and navy pumps. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Except for the hint of a smile. That gave him pause.
If only because her smile also held a hint of a sharpness that he’d never noticed before. Her eyes…keen.
That was the only way to describe her eyes. Keen and cunning. She might be an insufferable snob, but he had a feeling she wasn’t as shallow as he’d first thought. That she perhaps pretended to be, to her own advantage.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Luke asked, settling himself behind the glass desk. And finding himself strangely glad for the barrier between them.
She flicked those green eyes over him. “I wanted to see how you were. I heard about your car.”
It was the least of his concerns.
The Porsche had been tracked down, thanks to the tracing system he’d installed. A broken shell of a beautiful beast. He’d gladly handed it over to the GCPD for evidence.
“I’m fine,” he said, waving a hand. And even though this conversation was the last thing he wanted to be having, especially with his suit still needing a few hours of repairs, Luke surveyed Holly again, the way her hands were white-knuckled on the chair. “How are you?” She’d been there two nights ago.
She brushed a hand over her collarbone, as if she could feel the jewelry that she’d no doubt been forced to give away. “Shaken, but fine.”
He knew a good number of people were still saying that, too. His fault—that shakiness, that fear. If he’d been faster…
Luke said softly, “It was just a couple of criminals. They’ll be brought in soon enough.”
A glimmer of something in her eyes. “Those weapons were serious.”