Chapter 1

It was an unusually balmy Saturday evening in the city of Gotham, where the highlight of the fall social season was taking place at one of the city's most cherished architectural gems, the Gotham City Library.

Miranda Tate's annual masked charity ball courted a dazzling who's-who of big givers and shmoozers – all anxious to earn the favour of the beautiful and unattached Ms. Tate.

Unknown to the assembled glitterati was the fact that 'Miranda Tate' was the alter ego of Talia, daughter of Ra's al Ghul, the arch villain who had died years before in an attempt to destroy the city with a fear toxin.

Since her father's death, Talia had plotted to avenge him and complete his work in Gotham.

Her plan necessitated cementing Miranda Tate's reputation as an admired philanthropist and trusted CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Proof of Talia's success was reflected in the popularity of Miranda's charity ball. Tickets for the dinner-dance sold-out every year, even at the escalating price of $15,000 a plate. The perfect hostess, she eagerly looked forward to the day she would betray all of Gotham, and grinned like a cheshire cat at the masked admirers who vied for her attention.

Tonight, there was one particular masked admirer who was not in attendance. Talia's life long ally, the feared mercenary known only as Bane, had laboured for months in the city's sewers to lay the groundwork for their planned assault on the city.

Bane's mask wasn't the lacy black accessory worn by Miranda and her guests, and it would never do at a charity ball. Instead, his mask was medicinal — vital to his health in delivering a vapour that provided relief from chronic pain sustained in an old, devastating injury. The complicated assemblage wrapped around his face to reveal a shaved head, an expressive brow and a hypnotic pair of dark chocolate eyes. Because the mask resembled the jaws of a spider, it offered a terrifying visage to anyone who dared confront him. Known internationally as 'the masked man', Bane was a prime suspect in the recent crash of a CIA plane.

This evening found him irritable and weary of incompetent underlings, but it was hunger that had driven him to the surface. He was a man of many appetites, but now only a willing woman would satisfy. Recent events, however, had made it necessary for him to take extra care.

What should have been a straightforward operation for Bane's men had gone awry, leading Police Commissioner James Gordon down a manhole and into the sewer tunnels, where he was overcome by the mercenary's dimmest henchmen. The men dragged the dazed Gordon to a makeshift underground command centre, and dropped him at Bane's feet. Furious with the breach in security, Bane killed both men, but the damage was already done. Gordon hurled himself into rushing water, escaping the mercenaries before they could kill him.

Sources informed Bane that police were downplaying the concussed Gordon's claims of a masked man and underground army, in the belief that he had hallucinated. Still, with a description of a masked man now in police hands, Bane couldn't afford the risk of being seen again until he made his first planned public appearance at the Stock Exchange.

And yet, he craved a woman, and had chosen to rely on an old standby — morphine — in order to rise to the surface unmasked.

Having found the appropriate exit to street level, he climbed the utility ladder and carefully slid the manhole cover aside. Determining that he was alone, he launched himself out of the hole.

His feet landed heavily on the surface, and he found himself exactly where he planned to be — standing in a paid parking lot, protected from view by the space between the back of the parking attendant's booth and the wall behind it. To Bane's good fortune, the parking attendant had left for the evening. One less person to kill. He estimated that he was one block east of the library, where Miranda conducted her annual charade, and he smiled, warmed by the prospect of her proximity.

The mercenary had run operations around the world, facilitating military coups and exploiting the weak and vulnerable in the process. When women approached, they usually offered themselves sexually in return for favours. Most of the time they were mothers who would understandably do anything to feed their young.

But desperate women were far too easy. Bane loved a challenge.

The women who attracted him most were unflappably virtuous — the ones who placed self respect far above sexual attraction, and would never dare embark upon a steamy affair with a masked man, no matter how desirable he may be. Bane knew the type immediately, although she wasn't always easy to find. Whenever the right one caught his eye, he ordered Barsad to pluck her from the streets and bring her to him. When she resisted his advances, he would wear her down with practiced charm, persuasive words, and skilful strokes — until she swooned into his arms. The enticement could take hours, days, or even weeks. He was extremely confident of his personal magnetism, and in matters of the fair sex he always got his way. His powers of seduction were legendary among his men, although they were skills he'd actually learned from Talia.

With Barsad otherwise occupied for the night, Bane had decided to do the 'plucking' himself.

As it was a busy evening, he fully expected that a number of women would pass his way – those who'd been forced to park in the paid lot because the valet parking at the library was full. Some would be escorted, but surely some would be alone. He remained hidden between the booth and the wall, and watched as groups of chatty couples and singles collected their vehicles and drove off.

An hour passed quickly and he still had not seen a woman he desired. Then, just as he began to fear that his morphine injection was wearing off, he saw her…

The chosen one sprinted out of the darkness and into the dim light of the lot, lifting the skirts of her evening gown to facilitate her movement. Despite the restraints of her dress, he noted the determination and confidence in her stride, and that she showed no fear of being alone in a parking lot after midnight.

Smirking, he timed her approach, bearing down on her like a smart missile from his hiding place. In five seconds she would pass, so he shifted himself into position to the left of the booth, readying for interception.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

With the speed of light, Bane snatched the woman by her left arm as she rushed past the booth.

"Wha-!" She gasped as she staggered clumsily. One of her sandals flew off, and if her assailant hadn't held her firmly in his grasp, she would have tumbled to the pavement.

Bereft of the mask, Bane's voice was soft and gravelly. "What have we here?" He inquired charmingly, continuing to grip the young woman's arm with incredible strength. "You are my first catch of the day!"

"What the hell? Let go of me!" Astonished by the man's iron grip and huge size, the woman recognized immediately that she was no match for him. Nevertheless, the instincts of her training kicked into high gear.

Observation was key to her profession, and she quickly assembled a description of the man. He spoke in cultivated British tones and dressed like a fashionable big game hunter. An immaculate belted jacket topped well-worn cargo pants, knee pads and sturdy boots that were fastened with velcro and buckles.

Her assailant wrenched her firmly against his chest to get a closer look at her, and she responded by punching him hard in the stomach with her free right hand. It was an action that left her howling in pain, and she shoved her balled fist into her mouth, holding her breath while the pain passed.

The bastard was wearing a hard, bulletproof vest!

Ripping the minimalist black mask from her face, the fascinated mercenary examined her greedily. A long, silky mane of strawberry blonde hair framed an oval face. Curvaceous lips, with eyes the same colour as her crystal blue gown.

Overwhelmed, he gasped and silently congratulated himself for his impeccable eye.

"Identify yourself!" He commanded. Intense curiosity oozed from every pore of his being, and the woman shivered involuntarily.

"Let go of me now, sir." She ordered as she continued to struggle hard against his grip. "Police officer, Gotham City PD!"

"Of course you are!" He mocked softly as he deftly lifted the long skirts of her gown with his left hand. "That is why you dress in haute couture."

"Release me, sir, or I'm afraid I'll have to place you under arrest." The young woman was beginning to feel very vulnerable, but tried to maintain a strong and steady speaking voice.

Nimbly climbing her exposed thigh, the monolith's fingers moved like the legs of a tarantula. She winced, feeling the tips of his fingers one by one, and her stomach churned at the prospect of the assault that was to come.

With all the courage and authority she could gather, she confronted the dark, determined expression of the man about to have his way with her.

"No! Sir, you don't want to do this. I want you to think about the consequences of your actions, and release me."

The big, bald man beamed from ear to ear. "But I do want to do this, my dear." He insisted. "I am a man who sees in the dark, and I see that the front panel of your gown is quite transparent." His hot, probing fingers found her garter, and slipped easily between her legs.

Instinctively, the woman shut her eyes, held her breath and clenched.

"And I see your weapon!" Her attacker deliberately snapped the garter against her leg as he removed the cold steel warmed by her thighs. His forefinger delicately held the gun by its trigger guard, and waved it in front of the woman's face.

"A gun at a charity ball?" He admonished playfully.

Now it was her turn to make a move. The man had blundered in lifting her skirts, freeing her right leg from the confines of the voluminous gown. With a battle cry heard far beyond the parking lot, she plowed her knee ferociously into his groin.

Releasing her, he doubled over and the gun flew from his finger into her waiting hands. The attacker fell back against the wall, and slid unceremoniously to the ground in front of her, shuddering as he gripped his painful manhood.

"Not so smug now are you, big boy?" She panted heavily as she pointed the pistol directly at his crotch. "Next time, when a woman says no, she means no!" The woman locked eyes with him for a moment, again taking note of his mesmerizing gaze, and raised her voice accordingly.

"You're under arrest for sexual assault on a police officer!"

Somewhere behind her, a car squealed to a stop and the driver door flew open.

"Gordon! What have you got?"

She recognized the voice of Officer John Blake, who had drawn his weapon and approached his fellow officer from the rear. He had spotted her holding her gun on an unseen perpetrator as he too prepared to leave the charity ball.

"Sexual assault on a police officer." Her voice shook as she briefly turned her eyes away from her attacker to acknowledge the tuxedo-clad police officer behind her. "Cuff him while I cover you! And watch it. He's trick—"

In the mere seconds that she had taken her eyes off her assailant, he had disappeared. She blinked, beginning to panic.

"Behind the booth!" She spoke lowly, indicating that Blake should approach from the left while she did the same from the right.

"Come out of there with your hands in the air, sir!" Blake shouted. "There's nowhere else to go."

Guns poised, they soon discovered that the space between the back of the booth and the wall was empty.

Officer Gordon stepped into the grimy space, never realizing that the skirts of her gown completely covered the closed manhole where her would-be rapist had made a skilful escape.

"How did he get away?" She asked incredulously, as she lowered her gun.

"Maybe he didn't." Blake said grimly. "We'll take my car and search the neighbourhood."

"I lost a sandal" Gordon complained as she searched the area with Blake's flashlight. "They were expensive and they have to be auctioned off..."

"Just get in the car, Gordon. I'll drive." Blake said impatiently. "Who are we looking for?"

"The suspect is dressed like he's on a hunting safari. Big. Bald. British accent. Deep, dark eyes, and an engaging smile.

"Jesus, Gordon!" Blake frowned. "You can tell you're a rookie. You gotta watch those adjectives. You're a cop, not a romance novelist. Let's just go with big and bald for now, okay?"

The two police officers eventually regrouped in the parking lot, empty-handed. The streets were full of Miranda Tate's guests who were either walking or driving home from the event, but no one matching the description of Officer Gordon's assailant had been seen or found.

"How could he have just vanished into thin air?" The frustrated rookie demanded.

"Don't ask me." Blake shrugged. "I never even saw the guy. He couldn't have climbed up this wall, unless he's Spider-Man."

"It's not a joke, Blake! He touched me! He put his hand up my dress and pulled the gun out of my garter!"

Blake squeezed her hand apologetically. "Sorry. Let's file a report, and then maybe you'll want to… talk to someone about it?"

The rookie shook her head silently. It wasn't easy being the daughter of Commissioner James Gordon.

"No report! It would be different if we had caught him, because then Dad would be passing around cigars. But if he finds out that I was assaulted and failed to catch him, he'll go ballistic. I'll be his little girl all over again, and he'll make sure I have a desk job for the rest of my career."

John Blake's worried expression softened. "I understand your reluctance. Look, there's no hurry, okay? You know you can report a sexual assault at any time. But I want you to think about it. The sooner we get this guy, the better."

"I promise I'll think about it." Gordon sighed. "Thanks for keeping my secret, Blake."

Deep in Gotham's sewer system, a curious Bane examined the formation of tea leaves floating in the bottom of his cup. He had returned to the makeshift command centre following his sortie to the parking lot. Now stripped to the waist, with the mask returned to its rightful place, he turned his attentions to the smouldering embers of the fire he'd built earlier in the day.

His evening hadn't quite turned out the way he had expected, and yet he felt strangely elated…

She could not possibly be a police officer! And yet, there was something authentic in her vernacular. His brow furrowed with intrigue as he pulled her delicate sandal out of his pocket. She was strong for a small woman, but not strong enough. He'd faked injury, and allowed her to go free for the simple reason that he wanted to chase her. And he would chase her, just as soon as he learned her identity.

Smiling, he tossed the remains of the tea into the fire, and rose to dress for his late night meeting with Talia.

Inside her tiny two-room apartment, the rookie police officer lay on her bed, staring at the moonlight that poured through the loft windows. It was after 2:00 a.m., and she was deeply troubled by her encounter with the man in the parking lot.

She jumped out of bed and checked the lock on her apartment door for the fifth time, jamming the door handle with a broomstick for good measure. The fact that she was a police officer who had managed to disable her attacker was of no comfort to her now. She was merely a terrified woman who couldn't stop the flow of potential scenarios in her mind.

What if she had not been able to disable him? She had no doubt that his instrument of rape would have been more than just a finger. She shivered, remembering the feel of his hot, hard groin against her knee.

And what if he had dragged her behind the attendant's booth? Would Blake have noticed when he arrived to get his car? Would anyone have noticed? Would she have been able to scream?

Had he planned to kill her with her own gun after violating her?

Who was he, and why had he chosen her? Had he been stalking her all evening, or for days?

And where was he now? Did he know her address? Would he return for her?

Blake was right. She should report the incident. Somewhere in the night, a Herculean rapist was trolling for victims in dark parking lots. And if she didn't report it, she was responsible for all of his future victims.

She activated her phone, and waited for the warm voice of her father to answer. Although hospitalized with gunshot wounds and a concussion, James Gordon was still awake. Wounded or not, he was a chronic insomniac.

"Izzy? I'm glad you called. Did you get home safely?"

The police commissioner's daughter wanted desperately to tell him everything and have a good cry, but if she did he'd have her transferred to a desk job. She didn't want that. She loved being a beat cop. On most days she was proud and happy to serve the people of Gotham. She only wished she could be more worthy of them.

"I figured you'd be awake, Dad." She tried to sound as light-hearted as possible as she scolded him.

"Well, if I'd been asleep I'd have missed your call!" He responded playfully. "Did you get home safely?" He asked again.

"Of course I got home safely! I'm a cop, remember?" She almost choked on the irony of her words. "How are you feeling tonight, Daddy?"

"Better. The doctors say I'll be off the oxygen in a few days. It's lucky for me I can keep Foley on his toes from here."

"You've been shot, Dad! Why don't you just appoint Foley acting commissioner and take a medical leave?"

"Absolutely not, Izzy!" The middle-aged man insisted. "I need to lead on this case, because I know what I saw in the sewers — a masked man, and men with jackhammers and automatic weapons. That damn Foley's been dragging his feet because he thinks I dreamed the whole thing. I have to keep the pressure on him!"

"I believe you. And don't worry - we're going to get the masked man."

"Well you just never mind him for now!" Gordon said dismissively. "I showed the nurse the pictures you sent to my phone. You looked beautiful tonight, honey. I'm proud of you!"

Signing inwardly, she wondered if he would ever be as proud of her as a police officer as he was of her dressed in a beautiful gown. She fingered the soiled hem of the dress that was now draped over a nearby chair. She would never have been able to afford it under normal circumstances. Fortunately for her, Miranda Tate required that police presence at her charity ball appear in formal wear, and insisted on providing the clothing herself. To avoid any perceptions of impropriety, the police always auctioned the clothing afterwards in support of one of Miranda's charities.

"It was quite an experience living the high life if only for a few hours. I had to keep reminding myself that I was a working cop and not one of Miranda Tate's society sycophants." She closed her eyes, frowning as she spoke. The incident in the parking lot had altered her perception forever, and she would never be able look back on the ball as the exhilarating experience it had been for a few brief hours.

"I just wish I could have been there with you. You call your mother tomorrow and tell her all about it, okay?" James Gordon spoke softly, as if his daughter were still a child.

"I will, Dad." An awkward silence suddenly fell between father and daughter.

"Everything alright?" He asked perceptively.

She paused for a moment, swallowing the tears that threatened. There was something she could tell him.

"Dad, have you ever had a day on the job when you could have been a better cop? What I mean is, because I took my eyes off a suspect for a split second tonight, he got away." She thought it better not to mention that she lost her sandal, and had to be driven home by John Blake. In addition to being assaulted, her skills as a police officer had been tested, and she had failed miserably thanks to the bald bastard who pounced on her.

"I knew there was something wrong!" Gordon observed astutely. "Izzy, there will always be mistakes, and regrets. It's part of the job. I warned you about that." James Gordon knew only too well about mistakes and regrets. He had an 8-year old burden on his soul, and keeping it a secret had never been easy.

"Do you want to talk about it, honey?"

"No, it'll keep. I'm a big girl, and I'll work it out." She sighed. "Try to sleep, Dad, and I'll be over to see you tomorrow afternoon."

Bane paced before the fire in the darkened great room of Miranda Tate's lavish penthouse. He was alone, of course. Because he and Talia had scheduled to meet after the charity ball, Miranda had given the servants the night off.

At approximately 2:30 a.m. he heard her private elevator open. Seconds later she appeared, switching on a single lamp in the room.

The mercenary's breath caught in his throat. She wore a spectacular red evening gown with a bodice that expertly cradled her magnificent breasts. He was certain there was no other woman in the world who had been so gifted by nature, with her large sapphire eyes, pert nose and tumbling auburn hair. A consummate charmer, she could dazzle a cobra into submission. Miranda would have made one undeserving Gotham male a magnificent lover in another life...

But, Miranda was Talia al Ghul, and her life had been pre-destined.

She kissed Bane lightly on his exposed cheeks, and collapsed into the chair by the fire, obviously pleased with herself.

"Bruce was in attendance, just as we hoped." She grinned mischievously. "Mission accomplished, brother. Miranda made it known that she had not given up on the energy project, and she left him with the distinct impression that she was disappointed in his lack of faith. You should have seen the look on his face! He's mesmerized by her and desperate for her approval. Expect them to see one another again very soon because he will want to correct the false impression she has of him."

Bane's eyes swept Talia's shapely form. "He would be even more the fool if he were not interested."

"But it seems she already has a rival. After she left him, he danced with a dark haired beauty with a pouty mouth. They shared a very intense conversation, and a rough kiss. Miranda will have to keep an eye on her, because it is to our benefit that Miranda has no competitors."

"I'm pleased to hear the ball conformed with our plan." Bane enthused. "But I wish you would abstain from alcohol at these functions, Talia. I fear you will allow your identity to slip and all will be lost."

"Oh, stop fussing, Bane!" She yawned. "When in Rome, we do as the Romans do. Now, what is the news from the sewers?"

The mercenary's brow wrinkled. He loathed reporting bad news.

"We have obtained Wayne's fingerprints, but not without consequence. Selina Kyle out-smarted Philip Stryver at the transfer point, and Stryver's blunder brought a SWAT team along with Commissioner James Gordon into the sewers. Two of our men knocked him down and foolishly brought him to the command centre. Unfortunately, he had a good view of our underground operations before tossing himself into a watery exit. He is currently under guard at Gotham General, and our sources tell us that the police aren't taking his claims of an underground army seriously. Still, it is only a matter of time before the authorities link myself and the operation in Uzbekistan with Gordon's claims."

"Bring those sewer men to me!" Talia sighed. "I'm out of practice, and it is time I dispensed a little justice of my own."

"I have already disposed of them." Bane told her calmly. "There is an upside to all of this bad news, Talia. We found a confessional letter on Gordon, one that reveals an 8-year lie involving the Batman, Gordon and Harvey Dent. When the truth is known, it should enrage the people of Gotham. I have a plan for the letter, and I am eager for you to hear it."

"What would I do without you, brother?" Talia cooed. "The letter shall be my bedtime story for tonight. Meet me here tomorrow evening at 10:00 and we'll discuss your plan. I'm so tired, my dear. Is there any other business to discuss tonight?"

"Just one more thing." Bane slipped the letter into Talia's manicured hands. "I ask a favour of you, my dear — your assistance in identifying a woman."

A smile tugged at Talia's lips and she rolled her eyes emphatically.

"Oh, Bane dear! Not again! I go through this with you on every mission!" Talia's reproach was gentle. "You are too easily led around by your penis, my friend."

"That is your doing, child." Bane smirked. "You were my instructor. I have toiled around the clock in inhumane conditions to bring us to this point in Gotham. Surely you would not deny me a reward for my greatest achievement."

"She must be pretty or you wouldn't give her the time of day", the auburn-haired goddess conceded.

Bane moved behind Talia's chair and began to massage her tight shoulders. "How could she not be, when you have set my standards of beauty so high? I only know that she attended your ball tonight. Fair-haired and dressed in a crystal blue gown. There is the possibility that she is a police officer."

"Of course, Bane!" Talia's eyes widened in instant recognition, understanding that they had both had stumbled on a destiny that could not be denied.

"She was part of the security detail. I put her in a blue Zuhair Murad gown. If the police commissioner has become essential to our plan, then she will be very useful to us as well. The woman you want is his daughter - Officer Winslow Gordon. Congratulations, brother. You chose well."

Behind the mask, Bane gasped softly and his member hardened with anticipation. A Gotham City police officer was the ultimate conquest, but the daughter of James Gordon was a prize indeed. He would thoroughly enjoy making Officer Gordon love him, and he was itching to get started. For now, the girl belonged to him, and he would decide when and if she played a role in their plan.

"Thank you, my dear." He said lightly, giving Talia's shoulders one last squeeze. "I will take it from here."

Talia rose, following him to a hidden exit, the train of her red gown waltzing along the carpeted floor behind her. A frown had replaced her normally placid expression.

"I do wish you'd be careful, Bane." She cautioned as she took his hand. "One of these days you're going to fall in love, or face fatherhood. And what use will you be to the League then?"

"That will never happen." Bane assured her. "My appetites are merely recreational. I have complete control over them, and they do not interfere with my work. Your gift for seduction is a necessary tool in your role as Miranda Tate, and I know you will take equal care in your relationship with Bruce."

"Touché, brother." She said reluctantly, giving his hand one last squeeze. "Good night."

Author's Note: I hope those who read this story understand that Bane isn't a rapist. It's just the way that Officer Gordon perceives his approach to her. She certainly has good reason to think that way, because Bane does have questionable methods for meeting women. ;) Rest assured, he'll be held accountable for his behaviour in future encounters with her.