Page 2 of Auctioned to the Alpha

“What is it?” Stacy asked.

One of their jobs as attending agents was to scan the crowds, make sure no uninvited “guests” were about. Wolf Nations security was good, but FMB agents knew better than to assume nothing untoward might happen. Anytime there was that much testosterone in one place, there was always the chance of an… incident.

“You see him?” Karen’s voice was low, tense, her stare fixed.

“Seewhom?”

“The one sitting down.” Karen gave a tiny nod toward the crowd. “Short black hair. Stetson.”

Then Stacy saw him, reclined in one of the leather overstuffed chairs situated in a wide arc before the stage. He was seated toward the back, utterly at ease, his elbows propped on either arm rest. His gaze slid back to the stage just as Stacy laid eyes on him, as if he’d been caught observing them. He had a granite jaw, his five o’clock shadow almost bluish against the tanned, slightly weathered face.

Stacy flashed a quick smile at Karen. “You talking about the cowboy?”

“That’s the one.”

“Caught him watching us, I take it?”

He locked his bright gaze with Stacy’s then, as Karen whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “He’s not watching us, agent. He’s watchingyou.”

CHAPTER1

Three years later

Stacy

The car bounced in and out of a pothole so big, Stacy almost spilled her hot coffee all over her face. “Jesus, Karen, keep it on the road, okay?”

“They spend so much money on transportation shit, and yet some of these streets are like driving on the goddamnedmoon,” Karen said, scowling.

The patter of rain on the windshield got louder, the wipers’ whir picking up in response. The city was cold, and gray, and heartless. Much like her job.

Stacy had barely slept four hours the previous night, and as a result was exhausted this morning. But at least the coffee was suitably bitter, and scalding.

It was yet another pick-up, the third one this month. She wasn’t sure why there’d been so many this year, but it was only July, and there had already beentwenty—several more than the total from the entirety of last year.

“Jason and Miranda are on Two, Cover. They’ll watch the dorm parking lot exits while we make the contact,” Karen said, glancing over at Stacy. “You ready for contingencies? Let’s hear the parameters.”

It was always Karen’s way, to go over everything one last time while on the way to a pick-up. Normally, it helped. Today, it just made Stacy’s head hurt. She was flirting with burn-out, she knew, when even her longtime partner’s idiosyncrasies were getting on her nerves.

Maybe time for a vacation, eh, Stace?

Scanning the screen on the handheld, she went over it again. Stacy was actually thankful this one was going to be relatively simple by comparison. Some pick-ups were emotionally wrenching, uncomfortable—or both.

“Lola Grantham, twenty-one. Five foot, four. One hundred thirty-six pounds. Excellent health, no known familial or genetic predisposition. Classified as likely idiopathic, spontaneous presentation. FMB alerted by mandatory reporter. Looks like the person who called it in is… oh, interesting—her OB/gyn at her last check-up.”

“We get a lot of those, actually,” Karen mumbled, turning the car into the university’s main entrance, the drive now accented on the right side with a pristine, yellow-painted curb lining the tree-lined sidewalk too new to be encrusted yet with decades of sun-dried chewing gum and drunken Rush Week puke stains.

Stacy glanced behind them, spotting the sleek cruiser well back, but close enough to maintain visual. Jason was almost certainly driving; Miranda preferred to do the “people stuff” as she liked to call it. Jason did… most everything else.

“What’s the rest?” Karen asked, even though Stacy was certain the woman already had it memorized. There was a reason Karen had been team lead from almost the beginning.

“Um, let’s see. Family was notified ahead of time. Appealed on both Education, and Only Child grounds. FMB appeal commissioner rejected both without comment. Family notified subject this morning, per protocol, and agreed to keep her in place for pick-up (or notify FMB if subject attempted to evade pick-up). Not many social connections. Communications major. No priors. Normal reproductive cycle (as shown on medical records). On hormonal birth control. Unknown sexual history, but presumably sexually active.”

“That it?” Karen steered the car into the parking lot for Walters Tower, the multi-story reinforced concrete block structure that was the dorm building—until today—for one Lola Grantham.

“Oh… something else here. Looks like four years ago, they had three separate unrelated presentations here on campus in the space of four months. Two were idiopathic spontaneous, and one was legacy hereditary. One freshman, and two seniors. Looks like it was one of those seniors who was the legacy.”

“Cluster,” Karen said softly. “Don’t seethosevery often.” Parking the car diagonally in one of the handicapped spots, she killed the ignition, unbuckling her belt. She slapped the FMB sticker onto the inside of the windshield. She turned her head toward Stacy, her hand still resting on the top of the steering wheel. “Ready for pick-up?”

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