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Be cool, Stace.
“It’s probably nothing. But yeah, it’s a weird… amplification, I guess. Sounds are louder. Lights more intense.” She snorted, taking a sip of her coffee. “Probably a fucking migraine coming on or something. Nothing a good night’s rest won’t solve. I’ll be fine.”
He watched her for a moment longer, then smiled, waving at her. “Get some sleep then. Take tomorrow off if you need it. Nothing much going on until the auction anyway. Three day weekend might be good for you.”
She opened the door, stepping out into the hallway.
“Stacy?”
She poked her head back inside. “Yeah?”
He nodded slowly. “I meant what I said. There’s not a thing to fear, or be nervous about. It’s just an auction. You’ll get it done, clean and efficient, like you always do.” His voice dropped an octave, the illumination highlighting the crags of his well-weathered face. “The Bureau takes care of its own. Remember that.”
“Thanks, boss.” Then she closed the door behind her.
It was time to go home.
Too damned hot in that office anyway.
CHAPTER4
Stacy
The auction hall was something she’d never get used to.
From the very first one she’d attended to the gathering she was currently watching, such events were something she’d never feel entirely at ease about. Though the auction hall was spacious, airy—and largely deserted—the enormity of what actually happened in such places wasn’t lost on even the most jaded, inured agent.
This was the place a human female lost her freedom. Irrevocably.
And became the property of amale, if not technically a man.
As she usually did, she’d cased the stage first, viewing it from multiple angles before anyone else arrived. She noted the exits, where the best lines of sight were. Oddly enough, that happened to be directly off the left side of the raised, polished oak of the dais, affording her a view of the entire gallery, its seating arrayed in a broad arc of rows, each higher than the one before it, the banks of well-appointed leather upholstered seats rising in a stadium configuration.
Karen was already walking over to the broad front entrance doors when the transport team arrived. A clearly frightened Lola Grantham was led in, cuffed at her ankles and wrists, the gray-brown shift that served as her “uniform” for auctioning as ill-fitting as ever. The woman’s long hair, caught in a single braided plait, bounced against her upper back as she shuffled in, accompanied by the agent assigned to her for delivery, Jim.
Not for the first time, Stacy wondered if the intent was to purposefully obfuscate even a hint of the female’s curves in what was little more than a sackcloth bag worn over the body. It was only one of several “traditions” she’d never really understood, and yet, hadn’t ever been moved to investigate beyond “that’s just how these things are done.”
It was part of her job. No more, no less.
Lola’s pretty, dark eyes shifted to Karen, then alighted on Stacy, recognition dawning in them, a deep furrow forming at her brow. She chewed her delicate lips as Jim, a hand around her arm, led her carefully up the dais steps. Jim undid Lola’s braid, freeing the locks until the fall of her dark hair was loose and wild about her face. Before leaving the barefoot prisoner alone upon that platform in front of the gathered onlookers, he freed her hands, but only long enough to bring her arms behind her, securing her wrists once more at her back, and drawing a leather lead affixed to her cuffs to the top crossbar of the “display stand” which was little more than a T frame of steel rising from the center of the dais to approximately waist level.
“That’ll do ya, sweetheart,” Jim drawled, the mocking subtle but clearly there.
Lola seemed to pick up on it too, her mouth twisting in a grimace as she watched him saunter off, the pot-bellied agent adjusting the buttons of his off-gray suitcoat. He didn’t even spare a last look back at the girl.
Stacy didn’twantto feel bad for the young woman standing there alone bound to that stand, but she couldn’t help it in that moment. It was as if for some reason, with this auction, what they were doing finally hit home. Was this something the good guys did? Or was it something only terrible people would ever participate in?
If she were brutally honest with herself, she would say she didn’t really care one way or the other anymore. Every job had unpleasantness. That was why it was called “work” after all.
This time though something was… different. But she just couldn’t put her finger on exactlywhy.
Stacy climbed up onto the dais, and stood at Lola’s side for a moment. Jim paused at the bottom of the dais stairs, watching her.
She laid her hand on the captive’s shoulder, saying words she didn’t really feel, but knowing something—anything—might help the girl get through the next few minutes. “You’re not going to be hurt. This really is very simple, and it’ll be over quickly. You’re going to be okay.”
“I’m… I can’t believe you’re just going to let them do this.” Lola’s eyes flashed. “You’re a cop, yeah, but you’re awomantoo.”
Thatstung, but Stacy shook it off. There really was nothing shecoulddo, even if she were inclined to intervene. Impeding an omega auction without a very,verygood reason would cost Stacy her badge—at the very least.
