The air on the docks become heavy with the salty scent of the sea, mingling with the faint, acrid smell of diesel. Kylie, Roberto, and Micah crouched behind a stack of rusted shipping bins, the shadows concealing their paperwork as they surveyed the scene beforehand.
The docks have been some distance from deserted. Men in darkish clothing moved in coordinated patterns, unloading crates from a cargo delivery onto ready trucks. Their moves have been sharp and efficient, and the faint glint of weapons on their hips confirmed what Kylie already suspected: they had been armed and dangerous.
“This doesn’t feel proper,” Micah whispered, his voice low.
Kylie glanced at him. “You assume Finch set us up?”
“I wouldn’t place it past him,” Micah muttered.
Roberto shook his head, his face light how
