A/N Spring Break! HALLELUJAH! Also, I apologize for doing a very slapdash job of proofreading this chapter. If anyone sees any atrocious errors, please let me know!

Disclaimer Even if I did own Batman, I couldn't afford his life insurance premiums.

Acknowledgement Bath and Body Works, for their amazingly delicious chapstick.

Chapter 20

Guys, a woman's purse…it's her secret source of power.

-How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days

"Miss Williams, are you sure, are you absolutely sure that there has been no word from the kidnaper since that one phone call?" Gordon asked for the third or fourth time.

She shook her head, hands wrapped around her empty mug. "No. Absolutely nothing."

"Is it possible that your mother may have been contacted and not told you?"

Audrey shook her head again as Alfred unobtrusively refilled everyone's coffee, and Gordon sniffed the brew appreciatively. "Thanks."

The butler wasn't sure who looked more strained – Audrey Williams or the lieutenant. There were deep lines carved into the corners of his mouth and dark bags under his eyes. If Alfred had been a betting man, he would have wagered that of Gotham's unlikely duo of crime fighters, Batman got more sleep. Bruce Wayne, after all, didn't have to worry about making a living and protecting a wife and children. No, Alfred mentally corrected himself. That wasn't quite true anymore. But anonymity had its advantages. Gordon stood on the front lines as a visible target.

A slight vibration in his jacket pocket alerted Alfred his cell phone was receiving a call. He had felt a decided distaste at the thought of being chained to a communication device, but Bruce's return last spring had changed a few things. And after all, only a few, a very few, privileged people had his number.

Alfred stepped quietly out into the hallway. "Master Wayne?"

"Alfred, Somerville's on her way in a taxi. She should be there within half an hour. She had a little run-in with the Joker. Our story is that we thought she took Bubbles' car out for a very long spin."

"Very good, sir. Lieutenant Gordon is here talking to Miss Williams, but I believe he will be leaving soon. Should I attempt to detain him until Miss Somerville arrives?"

"Better not risk it. Our trusty friend's no fool, and I'd rather not chance raising any stray suspicions. Oh, and try to get Bubbles out of there, too."

"As you wish sir."

"I'll see you soon."

- - - - -

Cecilia shoved her money at the driver and shakily climbed out of the taxi. She trudged slowly but gratefully up the steps of Wayne Manor toward a warm rectangle of light and the silhouette of Alfred Pennyworth.

"Good evening, Miss Somerville," he greeted. "Or perhaps I should say, good morning."

Cecilia hesitated before responding. There was something odd about the way he had uttered that greeting, but she decided she would worry about it later, when she was warm and the various parts of her anatomy weren't keeping up such an intense throb of agony. The very thought of trying to explain where she'd been all evening made her want to cry. She settled for "I'm very tired, Mr. Pennyworth. I think I'll head to bed."

"Of course, Miss Somerville."

It took three times as long as usual to climb the stairs to her room. Her muscles were giving way to ominous fits of trembling, and she was convinced that had her room been one door farther down the hall she wouldn't have made it. Her hand was resting on the doorknob when Wayne sauntered down the hallway.

"Well, look who the cat dragged in! Enjoy your ride? That's a sweet set of wheels Bubbles has got and, trust me, I should know."

They think I was out joyriding? No wonder Pennyworth seemed a little stiff. She realized Wayne was actually waiting for an answer. With a great effort, she dredged up an expression that might have been a smile. "I can't think when I've had more fun. Goodnight, Mr. Wayne."

With her last vestige of strength and will, she changed into her flannel pajamas before collapsing beneath the sheets.

- - - - -

Alfred stood by a table in the cavern beneath Wayne Manor, dubiously regarding his employer, who was dangling a small, black purse by its long strap.

"You stole her purse?"

"No!" Bruce exclaimed, in tones of wounded innocence. "I saved her purse. She dropped it, and I caught it."

"And failed to return it," the butler pointed out.

"I'll give it back. Eventually. Come on, Alfred, aren't you the least little bit curious about the woman's personal life? Hard as it is to believe, she really didn't originate beneath a rock somewhere."

"Exactly, sir, her personal life. We've no evidence that is anything but what she seems to be, so I must question whether it is really necessary…"

"She has a gun, Alfred."

"A gun?" the butler demanded in disbelief.

"She shot a man tonight," Bruce continued, with barely controlled anger. "She's investigating my kid, and she's carrying a gun in my house. I feel that I have the right to know what other secrets she's packing." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he was again in control, anger buried beneath a cynical smirk. Unzipping the bag, he stuck in a cautious hand and pulled out a sleek, silver phone. "Item: one expensive cell phone." He opened it and punched buttons to open the address list. "And she has saved all of three numbers: the Manor, Gotham Social Services, and a cell for someone named Simon. We'll look into him." He scribbled down the number, then laid the phone on the table and stuck his hand back into the purse. "Item: one almost empty package of Kleenex. And here I thought she would have inherited her grandmother's handkerchiefs along with her formal dress." His hand disappeared again. "Item: one tube of chapstick, warm vanilla sugar from Bath and Body Works. Aha! Our stone-faced Miss Somerville has a frivolous side after all."

"Might I point out that a majority of Gotham's population suffers form chapped lips during the winter months?"

"Yes, but this isn't your average grocery store check-out line chapstick. This is from a specialty store, proving that she does, in fact, have a feminine weakness."

"Vanilla chapstick. Yes sir, there's certainly a lot of potential in exploiting that."

"Killjoy." Bruce rapidly emptied the rest of the purse. It contained disappointingly little: a cheap comb, a slender wallet, a small mirror, and a tiny red notebook.

Bruce flipped open the wallet. "About seventy dollars in cash," he reported. "A visa card and her driver's license, complete with typical mug shot." Bruce thoughtfully tilted the plastic rectangle toward the light. "Issued in Florida, only three months ago, to Cecilia Maria Dolores Perez Somerville. Oh, no way…" He grinned delightedly. "She totally lied about her age. Check out her 'birthdate.'" He handed the card to Alfred and picked up the notebook.

Alfred squinted at the tiny date. "It does seem a bit improbable."

"Can we have her arrested for lying to the federal government?"

"A slender hope, sir."

Bruce, wearing a curious expression, was flipping through the notebook.

"Anything interesting?"

"It's blank except for these two front pages. What do you think?"

Alfred took the book and peered down at the paper. The blue-lined sheet was covered with various combinations of circles and angles. Beneath each figure was a tiny set of tally marks. "A personal code, perhaps?" the butler mused. "Although…" He trailed off, frowning. Bruce waited patiently, not wanting to upset the old man's train of thought. At last the butler shook his head. "It reminds me of something, but I can't quite recall what. It might come to me later."

"Sleep on it," Bruce advised. He retrieved the tiny digital camera that was part of Batman's equipment and snapped pictures of the strange drawings. He then swapped the camera for a batarang and used its sharp edge to create a tear along the leather side of the purse.

"Vandalism."

"Corroborative evidence. Somerville is under the impression that this bag fell a couple of stories." Bruce picked up the mirror and slammed it against the corner of the table. A web of cracks spread across the glass surface. "Now, what small, round object would be likely to fall out and roll away, never to be seen again? Oh yes." With a smirk, he picked up the chapstick.

"I am going to refrain from pointing out that stealing Miss Somerville's chapstick is a pointless and decidedly childish thing to do."

"I appreciate that, Alfred."

- - - - -

Gordon shivered and rubbed his nose with his gloved hand. One of the definite negatives to his relationship with Batman was the fact that they always met outside, at night, fully exposed to Gotham's winter. He tried to imagine having one of these cryptic rendezvous inside, but his imagination failed when he tried to picture that black and massive figure sitting on one of the ancient, police-issue folding chairs and sipping coffee strong enough to pave a road. The idea sounded like one of the periodic features the tabloids ran on the city's most mysterious crime fighter.

Coffee – Part of every crime fighter's life, but does he take it black or with sugar for the extra...

"Lovely night," a voice rasped.

Gordon jumped, startled out of his whimsical musings, then silently cursed himself. He ought to be used to this by now. "It's cold enough to freeze hell," the lieutenant responded, grumpy from cold and fright.

"Then I assume you have a hell of a reason for being out."

"I had a very interesting conversation with Miss Audrey Williams…" Gordon quickly related everything he had learned from the distraught socialite. When he had finished, the Bat stood staring silently out over the city. "Well?" Gordon demanded impatiently, trying not to let his teeth chatter. "What do you think?"

"I'm thinking about the same thing you are," the Bat responded coldly. "The corpse from the tree farm."

"Yep," Gordon affirmed, a little smugly. "And since we already had all the info on Williams from when we discovered coke was coming in with the Gladelands shipments and checked out all their execs, I thought it wouldn't hurt to run a couple things through the computer."

"You identified him." It wasn't a question.

"Dental records. We'll run a DNA test tomorrow just to be sure, but…"

"You're already sure."

"Yeah," the cop admitted. "You think it's connected the drugs?"

"The Joker's too new to have stepped so completely into Falcone's shoes."

"The make-up was new, but maybe the man isn't," Gordon pointed out. "On the other hand, is there a chance he's been hired by whoever is pulling the strings?"

"Anything's possible."

Gordon slapped his arms against his chest, trying to work up some extra circulation. "Speaking of the Joker, what happened down at that warehouse? We picked up the ones you left."

"He kidnapped Cecilia Somerville."

"The social worker who is investigating Bruce Wayne?" Gordon demanded in surprise.

"Yes. The interesting part is that she was driving Audrey Williams' car."

Gordon gave a low whistle. "You think the real target could have been Miss Williams?"

"It's possible." The Bat briefly related how the fake policemen had led him to the warehouse. "But once I arrived, Joker and cops seemed to be on the same side."

"Why would he stage a rescue?"

"If his real target was Williams, it could have been a way of releasing Somerville, but keeping her from going immediately to the police."

"Because she'd think she'd already talked to them," Gordon agreed. "But why let her go? Why not kill her like he tried to the first time?"

"I'm growing very curious about Miss Somerville's relationship with our funny friend."

Gordon nodded, brushing ice crystals form his mustache. "You and me both."

To Be Continued…

A/N All right, I realize this chapter was a teensy bit on the short side. However, I had to cut it there because all the next bits need to make up their own chapter. How do I know this? Well, because I've already written most of it. So here's the deal: As soon as I get fifteen reviews for this chapter, I'll put up the next one. Am I devious and manipulative? But of course…

Responses to reviews for the last chapter will be up tomorrow. I may be on break, but my body still insists on sleep :P