Stacy went at the knot with renewed vigor, contorting her other hand to tug at the strands until, as if admitting defeat, the rope slipped off her wrist. Her heart pounding, Stacy rubbed her sore flesh only for a few seconds before testing her reach. She still couldn't reach the closet…but she was able, lying flat and extending her fingers as far as they would go, to reach the bottom drawer of Vonn's dresser. It took a few tries to tug the drawer open by the knob, but eventually, she was able to pull it free of the dresser and drag it close enough to reach the contents.
And there, between a tangle of mismatched socks and a couple of button-down shirts that looked brand new, was a worn leather wallet, a flashlight…and an old pocketknife, the red cross enameled on the surface faint from wear.
Stacy could barely believe her luck, but she wasn't about to second-guess it. She sawed at the rope, her wrist aching by the time she freed herself—she would have liked to know where she could buy rope as sturdy as that—and when the frayed ends finally fell to the floor, she experienced a rush of elation.
Her confidence had been badly shaken by her failure to complete her assignment as planned, something that hadn't happened since her first year or two in the army. But maybe this was just one more example of her discovering that she was more skillful than anyone gave her credit for…including herself.
Stacy moved silently to the bedroom door and pressed her ear against the solid wood. She heard nothing, even after listening for a full minute. Turning the knob slowly so as not to make a sound, she waited another few seconds before slowly emerging from the room into a short hall.
Opening off the hallway was a bathroom with the door slightly ajar and a second, narrow door that was probably a linen closet, but Stacy's attention was drawn to the room beyond, a vast great room that was open to the kitchen and seemed to take up the rest of the simple layout.
Sunlight streamed in from the two large windows of the cabin's main room and from overhead through a series of skylights in the peaked roof. Judging from the angle of the shadows, Stacy estimated it was still early, perhaps 7:30 am, but there was no sign of Vonn. So she started a hurried reconnaissance of the place, hoping to see as much as she could before his return.
Another soldier—maybe even most soldiers—would have fled immediately, orders be damned. But Stacy wasn't other soldiers, and she had accumulated plenty of evidence that alphas, and specifically her captor, wasn't nearly as dumb as the dossier promised. And anyone, man or woman, beta or alpha, who got the upper hand on her deserved to be treated with caution. For all she knew, he was waiting right outside or had set traps—and Stacy had no intention of walking into either.
She made a quick survey of the bathroom, which was also lit by a skylight in the tall ceiling that opened up to a brilliant blue spring sky. Like the bedroom, the ceiling of the small room was paneled in knotty pine, the walls and floor tiled with rustic terra cotta. The shower enclosure was enormous, the showerhead so high up Stacy would have to stand on her tiptoes to adjust it, and the bar of handmade soap on the ledge emitted an appealing spicy scent.
The small window revealed something Stacy hadn't noticed last night. The cabin was situated at the foot of a steep, wildflower-covered hill that rose to a craggy granite ridge, a miniature version of the Cascade mountain peaks in the distance. A small waterfall sent glistening spray into the air fifty or so yards up the rock face. Distracted by the beauty of the vista, Stacy almost missed the pipe that emerged from the rock and ran down all the way to the cabin.
She tested the water from the taps and confirmed it was cold, clear snowmelt, then frowned. Constructing such a system took a lot more than dumb luck and brute strength, as did building this house…which the Alpha Control Division had to be aware of, given that Fulmer said they had thousands of aerial photographs of the settlement.
So why were they pushing the false narrative that alphas possessed inferior intelligence and abilities? Hell, Stacy was pretty sure she could bring in the entire recent recruit class she'd trained, along with a warehouse full of equipment and materials, and in a year's time, they would still be shitting in the woods.
She filed that away as she continued to explore. The other door did indeed lead to a closet, but instead of linens, the shelves held stacks of animal pelts—rabbit, beaver, and fox. There were also several soft, tanned and tinted hides that felt like butter under her fingertips. Deer? Antelope? Elk? The dossier hadn't provided much information on local game, but Stacy had seen similar goods fetching huge prices from the black market traders.
She moved into the main room, noting the solid construction of the house. The pine walls and massive beams supporting the roof gleamed with a recent waxing. The cabinets built into the open kitchen and one wall of the living room were beautifully constructed with hammered iron hardware. A large stone fireplace was placed adjacent to the kitchen. Next to it was the type of brick oven Stacy had only seen in restaurants, the kind that could bake half a dozen pizzas—or the haunches of a wild boar—at once.
Add that to the bottles of oil and herbs, the rope of garlic hanging from a
