Cassandra glared at the computer screen. She never knew a bad mood could last for so long, but she was finding out that was possible. Ever since she had heard of those police officers sneaking into her home, she had felt livid.

It was somewhat cooled down upon forcing her father to accept that she wasn't going to let him rot away in that hellhole of a prison alone. It wasn't often that he gave in, but he had. She had felt so relieved that she had even forgotten what had fueled her that entire day.

Of course, once she left Blackgate, it came roaring back.

So here she was in the BatCave, looking up just who these police officers were—or rather, detectives. On one half of the screen was Detective Cris Allen and the other half Renee Montoya. Their police academy photos took up the top third of their respective sides, their resumes listed beneath them.

Yeah, she was running background checks on them. If they wanted to mess with her family, she was going to mess with theirs back. Their records with the GCPD were admirable, unfortunately. Each had solved their share of cases and Montoya had been part of Commissioner Gordon's inner circle. Vaguely, she could recall seeing the detective in person a few times.

Allen was less known, but he had built himself quite a record as well. On paper, they looked like earnest cops. So, she dug deeper, checking out phone records, bank accounts, anything that would suggest they weren't good cops, that they were compromised, corrupt, anything to discredit them.

So far…nothing usable that she could find.

And that's where her bad mood kicked in. How was she going to make a point to these detectives to not mess with an investigation they were bungling? No matter what her father said about them following the evidence they were finding, they had pinned the crime on the wrong man.

"You know, I don't think you're going to find what you want to find," Harper said from behind her.

Cassandra turned her head, her glare boring into the blue-haired girl. To her credit, she didn't flinch away. The two of them were dressed in their respective armors, their masks off. Harper just glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow, unperturbed by her look.

"How long have you been at this?" she pressed. "All day? A couple hours? I think if there was something to find, you would have found it by now."

"If a couple hours of investigating was enough, we would have already found the real murderer," Cassandra growled back.

"I guess. I just don't think you're going to find what you want to find with these two. Shouldn't we be going through all the other evidence we've gathered instead of wasting time with this?"

"Like what? The cloned phone? The partial footprint? We've been over those so much we can't find anything else."

"What about those files we got from Fairchild's computer? Anything there?" Harper pointed out.

Cassandra paused. She had actually forgotten about those. They had gone to the effort of downloading them, then set the computer to work analyzing them. With new clues popping up, she had lost track of them. Quickly, she turned back to the computer and opened up a new window. She pulled up the computer analysis on the files.

That was when there was a loud banging sound that echoed throughout the room.

The girls frowned and looked towards the door. "Did Stephanie lock herself out again?" Harper questioned.

"Uhh, I'm right here?"

The two of them turned to look in the other direction, finding Stephanie standing a short distance away, one hand pulling on the glove for her opposite hand. She had an eyebrow raised up at Harper's remark.

That still left the question as to who was banging on their door. Masks immediately were pulled over their heads. Bluebird pulled out her taser handgun, marching towards the entrance. Batgirl and Spoiler kept to the computer, shuriken in their hands, ready to be thrown.

There was another round of banging by the time Bluebird reached the door. Grabbing the metal bar that effectively barricaded the door, she yanked it up, unlocking it. Keeping her grip on the bar she then pulled it open and stuck the gun through the opening gap. There was no flash of light, however, indicating the girl hadn't squeezed the trigger.

"Oh, it's you."

Bluebird pulled her taser back and stepped back, opening the door. Much to Batgirl's annoyance, Damian entered the base; yet, she couldn't help but notice how subdued he looked.

Normally he was the definition of arrogance, a child spoiled beyond belief and was oblivious to it. Now…now he looked as if he were depressed, withdrawn.

He didn't say a word, not as he walked over to the computer, even as Bluebird closed the door and locked it back up. It wasn't until he came to stand in front of Batgirl and Spoiler that he looked the former in the face.

"Usurper."

"Jerkface."

The usual venom was gone from Damian's tone. That immediately told Batgirl that something wasn't right. "What's wrong?" she questioned.

Damian took a deep breath and then released it. He then raised up a hand, holding what looked like a cell phone. "I found the cloned phone."

Because of the mask, it hid the bewilderment on the dark-clad girl's face, her eyes blinking owlishly. She stared dumbly at the phone held out to her. "Where did you find it?" Spoiler asked, picking up her slack.

"In the desk of its owner." Damian paused as he swallowed hard. "My…my mother."

A jolt shook Batgirl's daze off. "Your mother?" she repeated in a demanding tone. "She had this?"

No wonder Damian was so withdrawn. If Talia had this phone, then she was the one behind the plot. She was the one that had Vesper Fairchild killed and framed it on Bruce Wayne. Something about that didn't feel right, but what other explanation was there for the phone being in her possession?

Raising up her own hand, she took the phone and turned it on, the screen lighting up. She went for the text message app and opened a list of text message conversations. Names and numbers were used to identify each conversation, the one with Vesper on it getting her attention. Opening it, she then saw the same text messages the police had obtained.

This…this really was the phone.

This was big.

"All of this time," Damian spoke, shaking her out of her inspection. "My own mother. I don't understand why she would do this."

"Did you ask her?" Spoiler inquired. "You don't strike me as someone that would just take the evidence and leave."

Numbly, he nodded. "I confronted her. She tried to deny it, but I could tell. She was trying to hide something."

"And then what?" Bluebird pressed as she came to stand behind the boy. "You just left?"

"I did."

"And your mom didn't try to stop you?"

"She did. I'm just better than her assassins."

And the ego was coming back. "No doubt they're still looking for you," Batgirl said.

"They can look all they want. I won't go back with them."

"While I don't blame you, have you thought of what you're going to do?" Bluebird brought up. "There aren't a lot of places you can go where they won't try to abduct you."

"Why else do you think I came to you? Surely you can hide me."

"You want to stay in the BatCave?"

Damian's nose wrinkled. "Of course not. I refuse to live in such squalid conditions."

"Well, you're not bunking with me. I got a brother to protect, and I don't need assassins trying to use him as leverage."

"My house is off-limits too," Spoiler was quick to add. "My parents won't just let me bring a boy in off of the streets."

Heads slowly turned to Batgirl. "Oh no," she refused. "You are not—"

"He is my father," Damian pressed. "And he would not like it if you refused me when I needed your help."

He wasn't wrong about that, but there was no way in hell Batgirl was going to let this pompous jerk dictate that he would be staying in the penthouse. No way, no how. This brat had already tried to kill her before and he would no doubt try again in close quarters. "Why should I give you a chance to attack me?" she shot back.

"We have a truce, do we not? I already promised not to fight you until this unfortunate situation is over," he reminded her.

"And you think I should just take your word?"

The boy sighed. "I know we have our issues, but I have just discovered my own mother is sabotaging my…our father. I cannot go back to her lest she try to convince me she is in the right. I know it isn't right, but she is convincing. I don't want to be fooled that way. I wouldn't come here if I had another choice. I…need your help."

Damian's face twisted as if he had just eaten something sour. That wasn't an easy thing for him to admit. Batgirl just stared. She knew what she wanted to do, but she also knew what her…their father would want.

Damn it, she hated this.

"You do anything, and I gift wrap you back to Talia," she warned him. "I'll even put a bow on your head."

"If that is what makes you feel comfortable." Damian then looked up to the computer screen. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to determine if the cops investigating your dad are corrupt," Bluebird answered him. "Short answer: no dice."

"Unfortunate," he murmured. "What led you to follow this path?"

"They decided to investigate Wayne Manor without notifying me," Batgirl replied. "They clearly didn't know there were security cameras throughout the manor and they were caught searching for Thomas Wayne's study. That doesn't include the construction workers that noticed them and notified Wayne Enterprises. I'm pretty certain they've discovered the footprint."

Those cameras had been installed after the last infiltration into Wayne Manor, the one by Hurt and Hush. Her father was not going to allow anyone to just stroll through his home again, so he put in the cameras and ran their feeds through the supercomputer in the Batcave. After the Batcave's destruction, the footage was now uploaded to the BatCave computer.

And she was going to use it as evidence of their blatant disregard for the law if they tried to use the footprint against her father.

"Have you looked into anyone else?" Damian asked.

"No," she shook her head.

"Why not? Perhaps we can find something out on the lawyers, or the judge."

"Not a bad idea," Spoiler remarked. "At least it gives us something else to look into."

Batgirl had to begrudgingly agree. Without saying a word, she sat back down at the computer and opened another window, ignoring the report on the Fairchild files. It was just something to look into if these latest background checks came back empty.


Leslie Kupp wasn't all that important of a person. She did her 9-to-5 job, went home, soaked in a bubble bath, made dinner, and went to bed. Then she repeated that cycle the next day and the one after that.

She was also a witness in the drug case against Samuel Pierce, one that had identified the drug dealer selling to children, in a school zone no less. She had started the case against him, only to recant days later.

It was this recanting that weakened the case, which no doubt led to Ralph Connolly striking a deal with Donna Grier. And it was this tenuous connection that put her right on a list of potential targets for Lock-Up.

Walking down the street, Kate couldn't help but adjust the rather too tight clothing she was wearing. Kupp was trying to be a professional, but she had no problem with showing some skin. While Kate wasn't against it, Kupp's clothing size was smaller than hers.

Perhaps some context was needed.

After going through the list of potential targets, the Birds of Prey had come across Kupp. Seeing her connection to the case against Pierce, it put her higher on the list of likely targets. So, they had begun planning another stakeout.

However, using the young woman as bait like Connolly hadn't set well with Kate. For one, they needed to figure out where Lock-Up was taking these people before he most likely killed them. Putting another person in danger to draw him out wasn't right. She had voiced this sentiment and received some agreement.

So what did they do? Well, Leslie Kupp found herself the winner of a cruise vacation, one she was last seen throwing her luggage into the back of a taxi and speeding off. With Kupp out of the picture, that allowed the Birds to assume her life.

That's right, they were the bait now.

Which was why Kate was walking down the street, in Kupp's clothes, a sitting duck should Lock-Up show. And now for the problem with the clothes. Kate was taller than Kupp as well as more athletically built. So Kupp's clothes were tight on her, the skirts showing more leg, the blouse showing more bosom. It was a tightness in a bad way. She could feel the hem of the clothes digging into her armpits and waist. The one thing that wasn't a problem was the wig she wore. Kupp wore her brown hair short, nearly a boy's cut. So Kate had to tie her longer hair into the flattest bun she could get so that none of the strands slipped out. Over the course of the day, she had developed a headache from the tightness.

Yet, she didn't want to be anywhere else. This case was close to her for well-documented reasons at this point. She wanted to be the one to confront Lock-Up. She wanted to see personally what he was doing to his victims.

And then she would hurt him so bad, he would never have kids again.

Glancing around her, she could pick out where the other Birds were stationed. They had taken up positions around Kupp's residence, keeping a lookout for their kidnapper. If things went south, they would be able to step in. However, Kate didn't have her comm link in, so she had no idea how they were coordinating their efforts. They couldn't risk Lock-Up spotting the device in her ear and getting suspicious.

That wasn't all either. There were tracers on Kate's person that would allow Oracle to track her location. No matter where she was taken, they would be able to follow her. It was even for the best that Lock-Up take her away, taking her to wherever he took his previous victims. That would allow them to tie this case up nicely.

Up ahead, Kate found her attention drawing to a white-paneled van, the favorite choice for kidnappers everywhere. She did nothing to change her course as she walked towards it. She kept her eyes on it, even as she walked by it.

Though she was expecting the side door to slide open as she passed by, nothing happened. Soon, it was behind her and she was disappointed. That was understandable as this was her third day doing this. Three days she had walked in Kupp's clothes to her job, ducking into the building, changing into her own work clothes, and then heading to the DA's office. When Kupp had received her cruise prize, she had immediately called in, telling her boss to suck it when he protested her impromptu trip.

The plan was simple then. Kate would dress up in Kupp's clothes, walk to her work, go off to her own job, and then return by five to dress back up and leave for Kupp's home. If Lock-Up was watching her, he needed to know her route to find the best way to grab her, and he couldn't do that with Kupp out of town.

There was an alleyway coming up, the next likely spot after the white-paneled van. However, there was a tall man in a hoodie heading her way, so its likelihood diminished in her eyes.

The man, unfortunately, took notice of her. "Hey, sexy Mama!" he leered at her as they approached each other. "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Kate ignored him as she reached him, stepping by him. "Hey, don't be like that," he cooed as he turned around to keep following her. "I just want to be friends."

"I don't," she grunted back.

His hand suddenly grabbed onto her elbow, tugging her to a stop. "No need to be rude. We can talk right?"

"I'd rather not." Kate turned her head to look at the man. He was blatantly ogling her, her outfit accentuating everything he would have liked to see. "I just want to go home, alright? It's been a long day."

"I can help you wind down," he pressed, tightening his grip on her elbow. "We all need friends, even ones with benefits. So what say you and I explore those benefits?"

"If I want gonorrhea, I'll consider it."

"You wound me! I'm clean, swear to God."

"You won't be for long."

The deep voice had come from behind her and it sure as hell didn't belong to the pig grabbing her. Both of them whipped their heads around and found Lock-Up standing beside them, one arm crossed over his body, holding a nightstick up in the air.

How the hell did he—?

Before Kate could even finish that thought, Lock-Up swung the baton, cracking it against the side of the leering man's face. His head snapped to a side, spit flying out of his mouth. The blow even caused him to go stumbling away, losing his grip on Kate before he collapsed to the ground.

Before she could even move, Lock-Up grabbed her upper arm tightly, shoving the end of the baton underneath her chin. "Don't do anything stupid," he warned her. "You're coming with me; we can do this the easy way or the hard way. The decision is yours."

Oh, Kate so wanted to do this the hard way. However, she was Leslie Kupp right now and Kupp wasn't known for being feisty enough to fight off an attacker. So she got into character. Lips quivering, she slowly held her hands up as a gesture of surrender. "P-please," she sputtered. "Don't hurt me."

Lock-Up didn't look the least bit fazed. Instead, he roughly jerked her towards the alleyway, the same one she had been eyeing earlier. A short distance away was the back end of an armored truck.

The nightstick disappeared from Kate's chin, Lock-Up holstering it on his belt. He then pulled out a small remote and pointed it at the truck, pressing a button. In response, the back doors swung open.

Instinctually, Kate leaned backwards, trying to stay away from the truck. Her feet dug into the ground, stopping her from being dragged forward. Lock-Up noticed this immediately. "I told you not to resist," he said warningly.

"Please don't do this," she pleaded. "I don't want to go in there."

Lock-Up just reached behind his back before he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He slapped one on the wrist of the arm he was holding. Letting go of her arm, he then grabbed her other arm and put the cuff on the other wrist. "You should have thought about that before you made a mockery of the justice system."

Suddenly, the tall man bent down and shoved his shoulder into her stomach. He hoisted Kate off of the ground, leaving her laying on top of his shoulder. He then marched to the truck before he tossed her into the back. The brunette landed hard on the truck's floor, grunting from the landing.

That's when the doors to the back of the truck slammed shut and she was bathed in darkness. That was phase one of the plan down. So why did she feel like this wasn't a good thing?


Judge Stanley Turnball had done well for himself. His home was nice, homely, and according to Bluebird and Spoiler, it had expensive decorations.

Batgirl just looked at the furniture and the decor and thought "Quaint." The same look was on Damian's face, the young boy looking as if he were on the verge of turning his nose up at a marble bust.

They weren't here to examine his house, however. Though she had been assured by her comrades that judges had high salaries, the dark-clad girl couldn't help but eye a chair, or a painting, and wonder if Turnball could actually afford it. She highly doubted it.

The sound of a door opening was made and that got the group of vigilantes' attention. The door shut and then footsteps were heard, growing louder. Soon, the door to the office opened, light flooding in from the doorway and into the dark room. The silhouette of the judge prevented more from coming in.

With a flick of a switch, the entire room lit up and Judge Turnball strode into the room. The Batclan were out of sight, using the furniture to their advantage. Turnball seemed singleminded as he headed right for his desk, placing his briefcase on it. He then began to take off his long coat, shrugging it off a shoulder at a time.

The Batclan slowly emerged from their respective hiding places. Bluebird took up a post by the door, one of her handgun-shaped taser guns in hand. Spoiler put herself next to a window, slowly pulling the curtain over it. Damian was slowly approaching the desk, a scowl on his face that he must have thought looked intimidating. For the judge, it certainly would be.

Batgirl put herself right behind the man as he finished pulling one of the sleeves off of arm. Raising up a hand, she curled her fingers back, palm prominent. Fast, she slammed her palm strike right between his shoulder blades. The man cried out as he was flung forward, landing on top of his desk.

She was damn near on top of him then, a hand grabbing onto one of his shoulders and yanking hard on it. The older man flipped onto his back, where she pinned him down, one hand planted firmly on his chest just below his throat. She had to hop onto the desk to do this, one knee on the wooden surface, her foot on the opposite side of the man as she straddled him. Her other arm flew out from beneath her cape then and she stabbed the end of a batarang right into the wood.

Turnball's head turned to stare at the sharp weapon before he looked up at the pissed girl. "Wh-what is the meaning of this?" he sputtered out. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're Judge Stanley Turnball, second in your law class at Gotham State Law School, former prosecutor for ten years, bench judge for the last twenty-three years, and presiding judge over the Wayne/Fairchild murder case," Batgirl rattled off. "Did I miss anything?"

Turnball just stared up at her. This was a tactic she had seen Batman do on a number of people when they asked that question. Knowing so much about the person told them that they indeed knew exactly who they were and had no problem manhandling them. They usually didn't know how to respond to that.

"I think you did," Damian answered her rhetorical question. "You forgot to include corrupt and bribable."

Turnball snapped his head towards the boy. "How dare you?!" he shouted. "I've never taken a bribe in my life!"

Damian snorted. "A poor liar too, might I add."

Batgirl leaned over the judge, causing him to return his attention back to her. "We didn't come here blind," she told him. "We've been looking into you for a long time—a very long time. Your bank records told us everything."

"I don't know what you're—"

"You've been receiving regular payments of one hundred thousand dollars for the last six months," Batgirl interrupted him. "Five of them in the last three weeks."

Turnball stared before he snorted. "Those are wire transfers from my wife," he said snidely. "We've been moving money around."

"Account number 5334610054," Batgirl again interrupted him. "That's the bank account of your wife's, yes?"

"That's right," he shot back irritatedly.

Batgirl let go of her batarang, leaving it sticking out of the desk. Raising her hand up, she balled it into a fist before she slammed it against the older man's face. Spit erupted out of his mouth, spattering on the wood next to him as his head jerked to a side. "Gyah!" he cried out.

"Don't lie to me," Batgirl said low and harsh. "The payments come from a Grand Cayman, not Bank of America, which is where one of your wife's bank accounts is. She doesn't even have a Grand Cayman account."

"But Ra's al Ghul does," Damian added.

"Who the bloody hell is Raz al Ghul?" Turnball demanded.

Batgirl's hand lifted off of the man's chest, only so that it could shoot up and latch onto his throat. "International terrorist, wanted by Interpol and thirty governments world-wide, and he has been paying you hundreds of thousands of dollars every month. Why is he paying you?"

With every word she said, she could see Turnball's face turn white. Admittingly, she was fibbing about the connection to Ra's al Ghul. While the account Turnball had been receiving money from was one that was connected to the ancient man, it was one Damian had identified as belonging to his mother. Seeing as she had gotten much of her fortune from her father, it was easy to simply use the bigger, scarier name.

Turnball made a gagging noise. Refocusing, Batgirl realized she was gripping too tightly to the man's throat as his pale face was beginning to turn blue. She released her grip, though her hand lever left his neck. The judge gasped, sucking in as much air as he could, panting hard and heavy.

Hmm, it seemed she had been gripping him too tightly. Considering this man was responsible for putting her father in Blackgate, her internal feelings were bleeding over.

"What do you have to say about that?" she asked after the judge had a few moments to catch his breath.

"I…I didn't know," he gasped out. "I never would have—"

"—taken money from an international terrorist," Bluebird cut in from her post by the door. "I think what you meant was that you never should have taken a bribe in the first place."

"Why is he paying you?" Batgirl demanded. "I want to know why. If you so much as lie to me, I'm going to start breaking things. They will be things you will need and use often."

"And I will start cutting things," Damian added. "And they will be things you will miss."

The judge's eyes flickered back and forth between the two. While Batgirl could have lived without Damian chiming it as much as he was, she couldn't find it in herself to tell him to stop. He had as much interest in this as she did. It would be wrong to shut him down, she felt.

"They were campaign contributions," Turnball finally confessed. "That's all they were, I swear."

"Then why are they going into your personal account?" the dark-clad girl growled.

"He said he wanted to be generous. He said he didn't see why he had to follow our election laws when he was only giving gifts. I didn't see the harm in it."

Batgirl sent a curious look to Damian, who looked just as surprised as she felt. Was Ra's al Ghul actually involved? She had only been using his name to scare Turnball; was Damian's grandfather actually taking money from Talia al Ghul's account and bribing this judge?

"He didn't give you the money just because," she pressed then. "What did he want you to do?"

"Nothing…at first. But when I named the judge for the Wayne/Fairchild case, he…he contacted me. Told me that he wanted Bruce Wayne in jail, any way that I could do it."

Batgirl's hand tightened, allowing her to feel Turnball gulp, his Adam's apple rubbing up and down her palm. "Why?" she growled.

"Never said. It wasn't like I was going outside of my jurisdiction either. Wayne is a flight risk, so it's only right that he be—"

This time she shut him up as she squeezed tighter, this time on purpose. "You will recuse yourself from this case," she ordered him. "This is your chance to do the right thing."

Waiting a second, she then relaxed her fingers, allowing the judge to answer. "And if I don't?"

As much as she wanted to show him what she would do, Batgirl was done. She was not going to play by the rules when it was clear the other side wasn't. So she was going to do what needed to be done.

Letting go of Turnball, she hopped off the desk, pausing long enough to yank her batarang out of the desk. She turned and headed for Spoiler, who was pulling open the curtain, opening the window. She didn't say a word, only placing her batarang back into its pouch on her belt, then pulling out her grapple gun. Once she reached the window, she planted a foot on the sill, stuck her arm through the window, and fired the grapple. Once the line was taut, she launched herself through the window and hit the retraction button, flying through the air over the street far below.

Once she reached the building across the street from Turnball's home, she walked several steps away from the ledge, the others joining her shortly after. "That scum," Damian seethed.

Batgirl agreed with the sentiment, turning around to regard her team, the four of them unconsciously forming a circle. "What are we going to do about this?" Spoiler asked. "It doesn't feel right to sit on it."

"We won't be short of Turnball recusing himself at this moment," Batgirl said. "What's more worrisome is Ra's al Ghul."

"That was that guy that showed up during that thing with Bane, right?" Bluebird asked. "I kinda remember him."

"This goes deeper than I would have thought," Damian admitted. "I still can't see why my mother and grandfather would do this."

Neither could Batgirl, but she was certain there was a reason. Ra's al Ghul didn't do anything without having a reason. Fairchild's murder must have been a way to remove her father as an obstacle, of that she was certain. It was the only explanation for this happening.

But what was the endgame? They were just scratching the surface and if they were going to stop Damian's grandfather, then they would need to get her father out of prison. He was the only one that could figure out what was really going on.


For once, Bruce wasn't certain where he was going.

He had returned to his cell after dinner in the mess hall when a couple of guards banged their batons on the cell bars. One of them held shackles and leg irons while the other barked at him that he had "a visitor" waiting for him.

He had been to the visitor's center plenty of times, but none of them required the restraints he now struggled in, his steps short and stunted from the leg irons. The guards didn't seem the least bit perturbed as they ushered him down a hallway.

The only thing Bruce could think was that who he was going to see was important, or at the very least required he be chained up, whether it was for safety reasons or appearance, it was unclear. Eventually, they were in a corridor with a series of metal doors widely spaced out. The doors to all but one were wide open, a lack of light coming from them hiding what was beyond them.

Naturally, the dark-haired man was brought to the closed door. Immediately, the guards began removing his restraints, which was odd considering all the effort they had put into putting them on and walking him down here. It seemed pointless if they were going to do this.

Once the chains were off, one of the guards then unlocked the metal door and opened it, light pouring out. "You've got all night, Wayne," the guard grunted. "Enjoy."

Bruce just frowned. He wasn't certain how to take this. He stared at the guard holding the door open, then glanced over his shoulder at the other one. Both had impassive looks on their faces, indicating nothing to him. Cautiously, he entered the room.

He was greeted with the sight of what was best described as a motel room. The walls were painted in a beige color, the furniture consisting of chairs and a couch that looked as if they belonged in a doctor's waiting room. There was also a bed, one that looked far more comfortable than the one he had in his cell.

And seated on the bed, one leg crossed over the other, and hands pressed into the mattress behind her to keep her upright was Talia.

The door was closed behind him, the locks sliding into place with a loud click. "Good evening, Beloved," Talia greeted him, a coy smile on her face.

The frown never left Bruce's face. "What is this?" he questioned, one of his hands rubbing the wrist of the other, a nervous gesture that also served to ease the raw rubbing from the cuffs.

"This is a conjugal visit, Beloved," the dark-haired woman answered him, half of her face covered by her long locks. "It did not come cheap, I assure you."

His eyes widened. The bedroom setup was beginning to make sense. Trust Talia to arrange such a meeting. Shaking off his surprise, Bruce lumbered over to the couch and plopped himself onto it. "You shouldn't have, Talia," he told her.

Talia didn't look the least bit annoyed by his words or choice in seating. "I didn't, but I wanted to," she responded. "I figured you would also be in need of some release, one that you certainly haven't been getting here—or at the very least the kind you want to have."

Oh, that was an understatement. "Ha, ha," he blandly replied.

Talia leaned her head to one side before she flung her hair off of her face. This only caused the hair on one side to move to her back while the hair on the opposite side moved to cover the other side of her face. "I also wanted to talk to you in a private setting, Beloved. We can speak freely in here as the recording devices are off."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you certain of that?"

"Aside from the money I paid?" She raised a hand up to a pin that was on her lapel of her white blouse. "I brought in an EMP device. While not nearly as strong as the ones you have used, it is able to shut down the recording equipment in this room. I sent out a pulse a few minutes before you arrived."

"The Warden won't like that."

"If her equipment is off, then it won't be affected. If it is on, then I will be asking for a refund for the money I paid for privacy."

A smirk appeared on his face. His blue eyes glanced away from Talia's face, taking in the business attire she wore, from the dark skirt and pantyhose she wore to the blouse she wore that was unbuttoned, revealing cleavage. He suddenly had an idea of what it was like to be a thirsty man in a desert.

"So, you wanted to talk?" Bruce asked as he appreciated her legs.

Talia didn't mind his ogling. "There have been some developments involving your case I felt you needed to know."

Bruce's eyes returned to the dark-haired woman's face. "What developments?" he questioned, his tone dropping.

A small smile widened on Talia's lips. Then it dropped. "You have many people invested in your release. I myself have sought out possible suspects. Unfortunately, my chief suspect didn't pan out."

"And the other people?"

"Your ward seems to have uncovered some leads, or so Damian has told me. They found a footprint in your ancestral home where your father's gun was kept."

Which meant someone had been in the Manor and stole it. He had suspected as much, but now he had some proof. However, there was a different detail that has gotten his attention. "Cassandra and Damian have been talking with each other?"

Talia nodded. "I have…encouraged their interaction. I will admit to you, I am not fond of the girl, but I do appreciate that she is doing what she can to help you. For that, I will forever be grateful to her."

As she talked, Bruce noticed a catch in her voice. That was unlike her. Talia was firmly in control of herself save when her emotions got the best of her. That wasn't a common occurrence. "What's wrong?"

The corners of her mouth twitched up, forming a sad smile. "After all this time, you still know if I am troubled. That makes me glad, Beloved."

"Has something happened?"

Talia uncrossed her legs, pressing them together as she leaned forward. Her arms crossed in front of her, pressed down on her knees. "Damian has run away," she finally answered him, her voice thick with emotion.

Bruce perked up. "Why? Do you know where he went?"

Talia nodded, her hair falling over her face, hiding it from sight. "My Order has tracked him down to your ward. She seems to be keeping him with her. It wasn't easy; he's well trained."

Clearly he was missing something. Damian had run away from Talia and went to Cassandra. He wasn't blind, he knew the children didn't like one another. For Damian to willingly go to her spoke to something grave, something that made him feel he couldn't go anywhere else. "Why did he run away from you?" he pressed.

Talia's head tilted up, revealing only an eye and quivering lips. "You must believe me, Beloved, I have had no part in your incarceration. I would never want you here."

She was jumping around now. "I know you wouldn't," he said carefully. "Tell me what that has to do with Damian running away."

She sighed. "Damian discovered a cellular phone in my office. It was one with text messages between you and the Fairchild woman. Your ward had a theory that someone had cloned your phone and had been coordinating a meeting with Fairchild. The phone Damian found appears to be the cloned phone."

Bruce's face darkened. He had known he had been set up this entire time, but now evidence of it was being dropped around. Rae Green had mentioned those messages a time or two during their sessions with each other, but he knew he hadn't made any of them. This phone would explain how Vesper had those text messages and he didn't.

How that phone appeared in Talia's desk, well, there were two options. The first one was that Talia had put it there, which made her responsible for his predicament. Considering her feelings towards him and her blatant goal to form a family with them and Damian made that highly unlikely. Him in jail went against the goal completely.

Which led to the second option: someone had planted it there. Most likely, the person that took his father's gun had put the phone there. It was a tactic to sow distrust in the ranks of his allies, the people that wanted him free.

And it was working if Talia's misery and Damian's reaction were any indication.

That also led to an uncomfortable train of thought. This mysterious party knew of the connection between him and Talia. Why else plant the phone there? They also would have to know Talia would be doing her own investigation, not leaving it to the police.

And that was just the start of the rabbit hole.

However, instead of getting lost in that line of thinking, Bruce had a more immediate problem. Talia was hurting from her son's defection. No doubt part of this visit was for comfort, though she wouldn't admit to it. Standing up, Bruce walked over to the bed, taking a seat on the mattress next to the woman.

Talia immediately leaned into him, which caused him to wrap an arm around her body. She continued to shift around, leaning up so that she could wrap her own arm around him, her head resting on his shoulder. This caused his own arm to end up on her shoulders. "You have to believe me," she whispered softly, pleadingly. "You have to believe me."

"I know you aren't responsible for this," Bruce said to reassure her. "But the person that is knows about us and is trying to cause division."

"It's working," she grumbled. "I can't stand it."

He wasn't certain what to say to that, so he kept quiet. The two of them just sat there, Talia burying herself into his side and him holding her there. It was some time before he felt the dark-haired woman move, tilting her head up to gaze up sadly at him. "I've missed this," she said softly. "I've missed you."

Bruce just looked down at her, seeing her eyes glittering with unshed tears. Then Talia moved her arm so that she could grab onto his opposite shoulder, her other hand moving to caress the side of his face. This only lasted long enough for her to raise up and kiss him.

It was soft and gentle. Bruce found himself responding automatically, returning the case. The first few were short caresses, ones that grew longer with each subsequent kiss. The two moved to better face each other until Talia leaned back. She laid down on the bed, Bruce on top of her, neither one stopping their lip locking.

Bruce couldn't help himself. After being locked up here, everything that happened, he needed something that didn't threaten him. While Talia was a threat, she wasn't to him, and it was clear what she wanted.

And he couldn't find it in himself to turn her away.