"You can take him back to the cell," Cecilia told the guards as she left the interrogation room. She had secured an interview with John Morriss, without the help of Dr. Drake Connelly, and it had only taken the threat of extradition to persuade him to sing like a canary. Now she had the information she had come for—information too sensitive to trust over the phone lines but which had to be back in Miami within twelve hours, and her rental car was still sitting in an alley with one tire blown away.

A soft giggle distracted her. Glancing over, she saw Harleen Quinzel leaning against the wall in a dark corner, both hands clapped childishly over her mouth to hold back laughter.

"Dr. Quinzel, are you all right?" she asked automatically, realizing that the psychiatrist might have a car sitting out in the parking lot.

Quinzel jerked her hands away from her mouth. The small purse hanging over her shoulder went flying and strewed its contents across the floor. Both women dropped to their knees to gather them up. "There you are," Cecilia said, handing over a lipstick, change purse, and clip-on ID tag.

Quinzel accepted them without a word and shoved them back into her bag, the traces of her hysteria hidden behind a stiff, angry expression.

Genuinely curious now, Cecilia repeated, "Are you all right?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine. Quite fine, thank you," Quinzel all but hissed, standing and walking swiftly away.

Cecilia watched her go, then picked up the set of keys covered by the edge of her coat. Pocketing her loot, she moved determinedly in the direction of the exit, and as she swung too hastily around a corner, almost slammed into Commissioner Gordon.

He, too, was leaning against the wall, but instead of laughing he was pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. A very large headache. His hand dropped as he looked at her. "Miss Somerville. Heading out?"

"Yes, I was able to interview the prisoner. There's an early morning flight I'll just be able to make."

Gordon shook his head. "Airport's closed. All other mass transportation is down, too, and the city's just been put under curfew. No civilians on the roads before ten o'clock this morning. I suggest you find a couch somewhere and make yourself comfortable."

Before she could explain that it was a matter of international security that she find a way out of Gotham now, he walked away. Scowling, Cecilia headed for the parking lot anyway, to discover which car was Quinzel's. She found it by hitting the unlock button and was momentarily amused by the vanity plates. I wouldn't have thought she was the type. Returning her mind to the problem at hand, she knew it was vain to hope she could elude the patrols and make it past the city limits. Morning was advancing, but it was still dark and she didn't know the roads.

I need a different car. There was nothing useful on this side of the building, but she rounded the corner and found three squad cars. Bending down, she peered into the passenger side window of the first one and saw the keys hanging from the ignition. She was just easing the door handle back when another car door opened, and someone climbed out onto the asphalt. Cecilia froze, then slunk down so that she couldn't be seen through the window.

"Do you want a cup of coffee?" a man's voice asked. He listened to an indistinguishable reply and then said, "I know it tastes like road tar, but we gotta keep awake somehow."

After another moment of stretching, he got back in the car. Cecilia crept away until she was safely hidden by the corner of the building. I need a distraction.

"What do you mean he can't hear the phone?" a girl's voice pleaded, and Cecilia looked over to see the owner of the lost license.

Her boyfriend shoved his cell phone in his pocket. "Dad turns his hearing aid off at night. He's probably slept through this whole thing, and there's no way the phone will wake him up." The girl gave a muffled sob. "Oh baby, don't cry," he pleaded, pulling her into his arms.

They look like nice kids, Cecilia reflected. Too bad. Assuming a tired smile, she stepped forward. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. Are you two trying to get somewhere inside the city?"

"Yeah, my parents'," the boy answered, as his girlfriend tried to wipe away her tears.

"Look, I'm stuck here for who knows how long, but I've got a rental. So why don't you drive it to your parents' house, and bring it back later today? I'll still be here."

The girl, Ann she remembered, gave Cecilia a teary stare of amazement. "Really?"

She shrugged. "It's not doing any good just sitting here." She shook her finger warningly, "But don't put a scratch on it, or my insurance adjustor will hunt you down."

"We'll treat it like a baby," the guy swore.

Cecilia handed over the keys and pointed out Quinzel's car, then watched them drive away, returning their grateful smiles and waves. As soon as they pulled out of the parking lot, she raced back around the corner to the squad cars. "Help! Somebody help me!"

The cop she'd overheard earlier jumped out of his car. "Ma'am?"

"Somebody just stole my car!" she gasped. "I mean, it's my friend's, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, but she gave me the keys to get her coffee cup out, and after I had the door open, this couple shoved me down on the pavement and drove it off."

"What did they look like?" the cop demanded.

"They were definitely both Caucasian, a guy and a girl. Young. The car is a dark blue Honda Civic, license plate HRLYQN. They went east out of the parking lot."

The cop nodded and jumped back into his car. The siren blared and the squad car peeled away in hot pursuit. Cecilia jerked open the door of the far car and found the keys still in the ignition. Turning on her own siren, she jammed down the accelerator and tore through the city streets, smiling grimly as the few cars pulled frantically out of her path.

Safely outside Gotham, she made a call and found that there was a direct flight to Miami leaving in four hours from an airport 378 miles away.

She made the flight.


This was Phlippa's last chapter! Next up is G.A. Clive!