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It was only by the sheerest coincidence that Jack Potter got a look at her. He didn’t credit himself with any amount of skill over the GCPD boys. If he’d blinked, he’d have missed her, and he certainly wouldn’t have heard her. She was a shadow running across that corridor, even in high heels, her black leather suit eating up what little light there was in the closed museum and not giving any of it back.

But he did get a look at her, just out of the corner of his eye, and it was enough to make him break from his patrol route. He had the impression of a bare face floating in all that unseen black, a glint of teeth on the smoothly tanned skin. Almost the Cheshire cat’s smile, lingering behind a body that had faded. Even now, he could remember that smile.

He rounded the corner and caught a real glimpse of her. Her catsuit outlined her with incredible tightness, only tiny wrinkles in the fabric where she moved giving away that it wasn’t a layer of black paint over her firm, well-muscled body. And there was something perversely exciting about watching those wrinkles move with her, bunching and clenching and pulling taut to show off the smooth workings of her musculature. She was a work of art in boundless motion, even just coming to a stop and staring appraisingly at the path before her.

The set-up of this exhibit was simple. The hallway she was in ran for several yards, protected by electric eye lasers, and then opened up into a little chamber where guests could gather around the pre-Columbian jade jaguar figurine and marvel at its importance to Mayan culture. Between Catwoman and that prize, the lasers swept in swirling formations, cutting up, down, and to the sides. Jack had worked there three days a week for four years now, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of what the lasers were supposed to be doing in their crazy pattern.

But after just a few moments of staring--almost like she were confirming some private hypothesis instead of really trying to discern what orders the lasers were following--Catwoman burst into motion. Her catsuit stretched and swam over tight muscles as she became a somersaulting whirling dervish. She seemed to expend no effort at all, dancing with the lasers like a cat would play with a length of string, easing forward, then to the side, backwards a little, then forward in sweeping gulps. The lasers didn’t get close to her. Her pitched breathing was a whisper, but it was still louder than the pillow-soft falls of her feet and hands on the ground. In an ejaculation of motion, she flew past the last laser beams and fell to all fours, mewling in a contented exhaustion that was more like that of a held breath than any serious strain. With a deep breath, she erected herself, staring straight ahead at the artifact--now a cat with a canary, puzzling out to get it out of its cage.

Jack couldn’t just watch anymore. As much as it was probably a good idea to pretend he hadn’t seen anything when a freak decided to rob the place, he couldn’t cash his checks and call himself a guard in good conscience if--having chanced upon this opportunity--he didn’t at least try.

He dialed the volume on his walkie-talkie as low as it would go and pressed talk. “Freddy, we’ve got an intruder in the south wing. It’s Catwoman! Call the GCPD and tell them to get down here, now!”

There was no response, even at the whisper-quiet level he had set the walkie for. He should’ve guessed that Catwoman had done something to block off communications. She wouldn’t leave a thing like that to chance. Cursing inwardly, Jack drew his sidearm and aimed it at Catwoman as he kicked out his foot into the nearest laser. 

Only the silent alarm went off--no sense in alerting a thief that they were caught until they were well and truly caught--but Catwoman must’ve been wired into the system, because she cocked her head almost instantaneously and emitted a displeased growl. Knowing that she was alerted, Jack thumbed his safety off.

“Hold it right there!” he called. “You’re under arrest!”