Chapter 6 #2
Stryker’s questions were thorough, and her answers confirmed that a person with warehouse access could carry cases out, but hiding the loss required knowledge of how outgoing stock, field use, damage, and returns were reconciled. She also let us know
that the operations manager had personally completed the final rack inspection.
“What do you need to determine the exact amount taken?” Stryker asked.
“A complete physical count,” she replied. “Then I need the original field sheets, outgoing records, transfer forms, and final reconciliation reports. The electronic total may include last-minute movement for the fundraiser, so I can’t tell you what is truly missing until I compare everything.”
“Do the count. Give Ghost everything you find.” Stryker’s gaze shifted briefly to me before returning to Tamsin. “Anything we learn that affects your company or safety comes back through him.”
Tamsin glanced at me, and something warm moved through her expression before she faced Stryker again. “All right.”
Stryker tipped his chin toward the door. “Get the count started. I’ll call when the brothers find something worth knowing.”
Tamsin remained quiet until we crossed the lot toward my bike. Then she looked over at the clubhouse and released a slow breath.
“I expected them to dismiss half of what I said because of my age,” she admitted, tucking a curl behind one ear. “Most people need a while before they stop seeing twenty.”
“We listen to the person who knows the fucking job.”
“Some of my employees struggle with that concept.”
My smile changed as I looked down at her. “They’ll learn.”
Tamsin paused beside the bike and studied my face. “Is that a promise or a threat?”
“Depends how fast they learn.”
There was steel beneath the easy answer. I had no intention of letting anyone erase her authority by looking through her toward the nearest man, especially after someone had exploited weaknesses inside her company to endanger hundreds of people.
Tamsin’s eyes widened slightly before the corner of her mouth curved, and she accepted the helmet without argument.
When she climbed on behind me, her arms went around my waist before I told her where to put them.
I looked down at her hands locked over my stomach and smiled.
Tamsin was already becoming comfortable reaching for me, and I intended to make that instinct permanent.
The warehouse was secured when we arrived.
Brothers and prospects held the entrances, unnecessary vehicles had been moved away from the loading area, and Bellamy employees waited for Tamsin to begin the count.
She stepped inside beside me, took one look at the shelves, cases, and paperwork stations, and shifted from shy woman to coordinator without changing the volume of her voice.
Tamsin directed employees toward the secured stock and outgoing records, then told an older man to bring every active job file to the central table.
He hesitated and glanced toward me, as if explosives experience and a Black Crowns cut somehow made me the authority on Bellamy paperwork.
I held his gaze until he started looking uncomfortable.
“She wasn’t asking me.”
The employee turned back to Tamsin, nodded, and moved to obey. She gave me a brief look carrying gratitude, amusement, and a warning not to become too pleased with myself.
As we moved deeper into the warehouse, Tamsin explained the inventory system in practical terms. Each job began with a record of what left the facility, the field coordinator documented what was used, damaged, or returned, and final adjustments were entered after everything came back.
Several people in the operations office could revise those final numbers, and Tamsin had been trying to require a second approval for every adjustment because the current process left too much room for error.
“Senior staff think it will slow closeout,” she explained, passing me a binder. “They keep telling me the system worked for years before I started trying to change it.”
“Can someone make the final numbers say something you never wrote?”
Tamsin stopped and looked up at me, the seriousness of the question erasing the faint irritation from her face.
“Yes. A count can legitimately change if damaged material is discovered after it returns, but there should be a reason, the name or initials of the person making the adjustment, and supporting paperwork.”
The original field sheets should still preserve the numbers she submitted. The path forward became simple, even if the work would not be. Count what remained, compare it with the records, and identify where the numbers changed.
I watched Tamsin organize the audit without ever raising her voice. Everyone eventually moved where she directed, and the combination of sweetness, shyness, and quiet command fascinated me more each time she turned those vivid blue eyes on someone and expected competence in return.
She caught me watching her instead of the shelves and planted one hand on her hip.
“Are you planning to help?”
“I am helping.” I smirked, leaning one shoulder against the shelving while I continued watching her.
She pushed a heavy stack of binders into my arms, putting enough force behind the movement to make her opinion of my contribution clear. “If you’re going to follow me around, make yourself useful.”
“Carrying things and improving morale,” I announced as I adjusted the stack against my chest. “Very demanding position. One I’m damn good at.”
Her mouth curved before she turned away, already issuing another instruction to one of the employees.
I followed with the binders against my chest and my attention fixed on the sway of her hips. Her order gave me exactly what I wanted: a place beside her while she worked, close enough to protect her.