Chapter 17 · Port

"Papers." The guard's flashlight hit Levi's chest before it hit his face. "And step back from the crate."

Levi didn't step back. He never does. "These crates clear customs under Kade Logistics. Check the manifest before you point that light at me again."

The guard's partner came around the container, slower, nose working the air like he'd caught something under the diesel and the salt. He stopped two feet from Levi and just breathed.

"Something wrong?" I said, moving in before the second guy could finish that thought out loud.

"Smells sweet," the guard said. "Real sweet. That ain't cargo smell."

My stomach dropped straight through the dock.

Twenty years Levi's kept that scent locked under suppressants strong enough to fool trained noses at three feet. But we've been running for six hours, no sleep, adrenaline cooking everything out of his system faster than the pills can patch it. I could smell it too, now that the guard said it out loud. Warm. Sweet. Wrong for a man built like a knife.

Omega.

If these two clock it, radio it, print it —