“It would seem so,” he replies, drumming his fingers once on the lid. He stands, brushes his hands off, and his eyes go to the forklift by the bay door he pointed at earlier.
“That’s not where that lives,” he says, and walks over.
Up close, the forklift’s mast is stuck halfway raised, the forks hanging at a tilt. Reed climbs into the seat and thumbs the controls. Nothing. He tries again. A grind, a click, and then a flat mechanical refusal.
He drops down, crouches at the base of the mast, and reaches into the machinery to yank something free. When he stands back up, he’s holding a thick steel bolt wrapped in a wire that had been jammed straight down into the hydraulic track.
“Oof,” I say, looking at the metal shard. “That fairy’s been very naughty.”
“Yep.” Reed spins the bolt between his fingers, smiling like it’s just another Tuesday. “Bins shuffled, a jammed forklift, a blocked door...” He points the bolt at me, absolutely delighted. “Inspector, you know what we’ve got here?”
“A felony?”
“Amystery.” He reaches into the Gator, pulling his clipboard off the seat to make a quick note. “Told you. Things you’d never expect.”
27
Reed
I keep the grin where she can see it, that’s the face.
Under it, my Alpha has his hackles up. Somebody walked onto my property and put their hands on our stuff.
But Luna’s standing six inches off my shoulder with a hard hat sliding down over her bun, and she won’t spend one second of her time stressing out. Not while I’m breathing.
So I keep my game face on. Time to catch a saboteur and have fun doing it.
I set the steel bolt down on the corner of the nearest pallet, and pull my clipboard off the seat of the Gator, tipping my head at the mess of premium bins.
“Come on, Chief. Let’s look at the evidence.” I nod at the floor between us. “Watch your step.”
I guide her around a split pallet board, my palm resting against her elbow. Even through the sleeve of her jacket, the touch sends a jolt straight up my arm.
Damn. She does that to me just by existing.
“So,” she says, stepping up to the stacked bins. “Walk me through it.”
Straight to business then. I drop the banter for a second and scan the bins, then point to a gap in the staging.
“See that?” I step into the space. “Whoever moved these didn’t know the system. Look at the numbers.” I hand her the clipboard.
She studies the page, then the bins.
“Dock four,” she says. “These were supposed to be staged at dock four.”
“Right. But they got pulled off the dock-three line. And stacked three high.” I tap the top bin. “Nobody on my crew stacks three high in this bay. Ceiling’s too low, the forks can’t top-load that without coming down on somebody’s head.”
She’s quiet a second, working it. “Okay. So this isn’t random.” She taps the clipboard. “They moved the premium bins off their line so the wrong truck loads them. If this shipment goes out like this, two of your buyers get the wrong stuff, and you get hit with cancelled contracts.”
“Look at you, Chief.” I grin. “A natural.”
I step closer, letting my shoulder brush hers. The honey-and-gooseberry scent thickens, and for one second I want to back her against the crates andtasteher.
Down,I tell my Alpha.
“Could it be one of your crew?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “None of them did this.” I gesture at the stack. “Anybody here knows better than to go three high. Whoever did this comes from the outside.”
