“And wait, there’s more,” he says. “The staging bay. It’s where we group the premium crates before they hit the buyers’ trucks, but it’s all the way at the far end of the property. We’ll take the Gator.”
“You keep reptiles, too?” I ask, keeping pace as he walks.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ll see.”
The Gator turns out to be a green, mud-splattered utility cart that looks like it’s survived several wars. Reed hops into the passenger seat and pats the rubber steering wheel.
“Come on,” he says. “You’re driving.”
I stop at the edge of the cart, crossing my arms. “I have a strict policy against operating anything that doubles as farm equipment.”
“It’s a utility cart, not a tractor,” he says. “You drive a car, don’t you?”
“A car has doors, a roof, and air bags. This has... hold on, is there at least a seatbelt?”
“It’s fine, this practically drives itself.” He pats the seat again. “And if you get yourself into any trouble, don’t worry, I’ll be right here. Hands-on...” He smirks.
He does make a compelling argument. Several of them, actually, if I count each finger on his hands.
I sigh and climb in.
I find the gas pedal, and the cart lurches forward with a loud grind. I lurch with it, letting out a sharp, embarrassing squeak I would deny under oath.
“Practically drives itself, huh?” I say, gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles go white.
Reed laughs, a bright, easy sound, and reaches over.
“Here.” His hand closes over mine on the wheel, warm, rough and enormous, steering us off the curb I was about to introduce us both to. His other arm stretches along the back of my seat. “Feather it. You’re not killing it, you’re asking it nicely.”
His chest is half against my shoulder now. His scent floods everything and my pulse does something stupid and high in my throat.
Are we climbing him now?my omega asks, purring. Tempting honestly, but doing that on a creaky cart sounds like a safety hazard, and somebody here has to be the voice of reason.
But the climbing is definitely coming,I reassure her.
We roll toward the back bay at the breakneck speed of nine miles an hour, his hand over mine the whole way, neither of us saying one word about it. We come around the last row of bins,Reed’s hand goes still over mine and the cart drifts to a stop on its own.
Well, the back bay isn’t what I expected. The bins are a mess. Shoved around at odd angles, a couple stacked higher than the rest, one dragged crooked across the bay door. I climb out. My boots crunch on loose woodchips.
“Huh,” Reed says behind me.
“Huh,” I agree.
He hops down, circles the worst of the pile, and stops with his hands on his hips. Then he turns to me. “Looks like we had our very own apple fae come through in the night. Real little troublemaker, that one.”
“She come around often?” I nudge a crooked bin with my toe. “Because going by the mess, I’d have put my money on a gremlin.”
“Nah. Fae. Definitely fae.” He crouches by the bin dragged across the door and runs his thumb along its base. “Though I will admit she’s never been this mischievous before. Which means you and me, Inspector, we’d better hunt down some clues. Figure out how she did it. And why.”
I crouch beside him and survey the damage.
“Hmm,” He says, tapping the bin. “We don’t stack three high in this bay. Ceiling’s too low for the forklift to top-load, so anybody who works here knows better.” He tips his head at the bin blocking the door. “And nobody on my crew would barricade their own bay door shut. That’s a whole bad day waiting to happen.”
He flips the lid off the nearest premium bin, then he goes quiet for a second.
The apples inside seem wrong, there’s too much empty space.
“Did someone go through these?” I ask.
