A tall, slim woman with night-black hair and skin like golden honey entered instead.
Selina had seen enough of the various businessmen who Falcone liked to associate himself with to know that the white pantsuit was high quality. And from her work with Mika, she knew that the simple, elegant gold jewelry at her neck and ears was real and expensive. The manicured nails, the silky sheet of hair cut into stylish layers, the full mouth painted red, were all markers that screamed money.
This was no social worker.
Those crimson nails tapped against a thick file in her hands as she approached the table and the empty chair before it. Selina’s file.
Not good.
“Where’s Maggie?” The words were a low rasp. Water—she needed some water. And aspirin.
“My name is Talia.”
“Where. Is. Maggie.”
Keeping her head upright took every bit of effort thanks to the Taser bruise that still radiated pain down her neck and spine.
“Your name is Selina Kyle, and you are seventeen years old. Three weeks away from being eighteen.” A click of the tongue as she slid into the metal chair across the table, opened up that fat file, and began flipping through the pages. The table was too long for Selina to see what the woman examined. “For someone so young, you’ve certainly accomplished an impressive amount.” Flick, flap, hiss. “Illegal betting, assault, robbery.”
Shame and pride warred through her. Shame for the fact that if Maggie ever heard this, the unvarnished truth of her crimes…Selina knew she couldn’t endure the look she’d see on her sister’s face. Pride for the fact that she had done this, had survived in the best way she could, had given her sister what she could as well.
But Selina managed to keep her voice cool, bored, as she replied, “I was never convicted of the last two.”
“No, but the charges are on here,” Talia countered, tapping a red nail on the paper. “What you will be convicted of in a matter of days is aggravated battery of two police officers and a state worker.”
Selina just stared at the woman from beneath lowered brows. No way out of this room—this precinct. And even if she did make it, then she’d have to find Maggie. Which would be the first stop the cops would make, too.
Talia smiled slightly, revealing too-white teeth. “Did the police give you those bruises?”
Selina didn’t reply.
Talia flicked through those papers again, scanning for something. “Or are those bruises and split knuckles from the fighting you do for Carmine Falcone?”
Silence. Leopards didn’t talk. Selina hadn’t the first two times she’d been here. She wasn’t about to now.
“Do you know what it means to be three weeks away from eighteen in Gotham City?” Talia leaned forward, resting her arms on the metal table. There was a slight accent to her words, some rolling purr.
“I can buy lotto tickets?”
Again, that hint of a smile. “It means you will be lucky if the judge tries you as a juvenile. It’s your third strike. You’re looking at bars no matter what. The question is whether it’s kiddie prison or the big girls club.”
“Where. Is. Maggie.”
The question was a roar in her blood—a screaming, thrashing demand.
Talia leaned back in her chair and slid a paper-clipped file toward Selina. “Your sister is at a group home. In the Bowery of the East End.”
Oh God. If their apartment complex was garbage, then the Bowery was the entire dump. The gangs in that area…Even Falcone didn’t mess with them.
Selina set her bound hands on the file Talia had pushed over, the photo of a grimy, cramped bedroom atop it. Maggie’s new bedroom. She turned the paper over, fingers curling.
“Lord knows who is running that home,” Talia mused, flipping through the rest of Selina’s file.
“Are you trying to piss me off so they can add assaulting a grade A asshole to my rap sheet?”
The question was out, low and growling, before Selina could reconsider.
Talia laughed, a light and silvery sound. “Do you think you could do it? Handcuffed?”
A faint click sounded in answer.
Rotating her free wrist, Selina dropped the straightened paper clip onto the metal table. A sleight of hand—turning over that photo of Maggie’s foster home to distract the eye while she palmed the paper clip. And then used it and some careful angling to spring a handcuff free. She’d bought a pair a few years ago to use for practice, to learn how the locking mechanism worked. For precisely this sort of moment.
Talia smiled again, full and wide, and let out a satisfied hum. “Clever girl.” She jerked her chin toward Selina’s free hand. “I’d suggest putting it back on. You know how uptight the police can be about such things.”
She did. And she knew that even if she unlocked the other cuff and pummeled this woman’s face in, she still wouldn’t make it out of this holding room or the precinct.
Selina clicked the handcuff back around her wrist. Leaving it loose enough that she could free herself again, should the need arise.
Talia watched every movement, head angled to the side, dark hair shifting. “I’m here to offer you a bargain, Selina Kyle.”
Selina waited.
Talia closed her file. “I run a vocational school for young women like you. Physically skilled, yes.” A nod toward the cuffs, the bruises on her face. “But smart most of all.” She placed a hand on the file. “I’ve got chart after chart of your grades. Your exam scores. Do your little kitty-cat friends know you’re top of your class and that you aced all statewide exams?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She’d made sure the Leopards never heard about it as well. Being good in the ring with the bullwhip and gymnastics was about as much talent as she’d let show. Selina leaned forward a bit. “Acing tests doesn’t win fights.”
Another laugh, this one low and sultry. “You know, if your frequent absences didn’t bar you from graduating this year, you might have been able to have your pick of scholarships.”
College wasn’t a possibility. Not with Maggie to look after.
“This school of mine, though,” Talia said, tracing a nail over the surface of the file. Like a long red talon. “It would be a new start. And a better fit than juvie. Or prison.”
With every passing minute she spent in here, Maggie was in that disgusting home, breathing in filth and dirt.
“The catch, before you ask, is that my school is located in the Dolomites of Italy. And your sister cannot come.”