Page 12 of Crocodile Tears (Romance Expected Dating Service #2)

She crosses her arms and gives me the kind of look usually reserved for particularly slow graduate students. “What documentary?”

“It was… uh… National Geographic. Or maybe Discovery Channel.” I’m making this up as I go along, which becomes increasingly obvious with each word.

“The point is, when you consider the metabolic requirements for sustained flight over thousands of miles, there are fascinating parallels to the energy demands of accelerated tissue regeneration.”

Her expression suggests she’s trying to decide whether I’ve had some kind of neurological episode.

“Birds and reptile healing are different kingdoms of biological function.” Her voice carries the exasperated tone of someone explaining basic facts to a particularly dense student.

“There’s no scientific basis for comparing goose migration to genetic therapy applications. ”

I gesture more wildly, desperately trying to maintain the charade. “But the underlying genetic expression patterns—”

“There are no underlying genetic expression patterns.” Rebecca throws her hands up in exasperation. “You’re talking about flight navigation versus cellular repair mechanisms. They have nothing in common.”

The SUV accelerates past us and then makes a U-turn at the next intersection. Professional surveillance teams rotate positions to avoid detection, but this is getting sloppy.

“You’re absolutely right.” I run a hand through my hair, probably looking completely unhinged.

“I guess I was thinking about the documentary’s section on how genetic factors influence adaptation to environmental challenges, and somehow, my brain made a connection to your research on enhanced healing capabilities. ”

She still looks confused. “What genetic factors? You’re making this up as you go along. Aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.”

“A little?”

“Okay, entirely.” I wince at my own admission. “But there was definitely a documentary about geese.”

The SUV completes its turn and begins approaching our position again. This is no longer subtle observation but active surveillance with preparation for potential contact.

Without thinking, I grab Rebecca’s hand and pull her against the brick wall of the nearest building, pressing my mouth to hers in what probably looks like spontaneous romantic passion but is actually a tactical maneuver to conceal our faces from visual identification.

The kiss is supposed to be purely functional, but the moment our lips meet, every rational thought in my head evaporates. Rebecca tastes like wine and chocolate.

Unfortunately, she’s also mid-sentence about enzyme catalysts when I interrupt her with unexpected physical contact.

“—the substrate binding affinity would need to be calibrated for—mmph!”

Her surprise triggers an immediate partial shift. Her teeth elongate and sharpen just as I’m deepening the kiss, and a sharp pain shoots through my lower lip as her transformed dental structure makes contact.

We break apart, both breathing hard for entirely different reasons. Rebecca’s eyes are wide with confusion and embarrassment while I’m pretty sure my lip is bleeding.

“Calvin, what the hell—” She reaches up to touch her mouth, where her canine teeth are still partially shifted into their crocodile form. “Oh, no, did I hurt you?”

“It’s fine. Just a scratch.” I pull out my handkerchief to dab at the cut while scanning the street for the SUV. “Rebecca, I’m sorry, but I need to explain something that’s going to sound completely paranoid, but it’s not crazy.”

“Crazier than your lecture on goose genetics?”

“Much.”

She crosses her arms again, waiting for an explanation. “This should be interesting.”

“A black SUV has been following us for the past four blocks. Professional surveillance, not random coincidence.” I gesture toward where the vehicle disappeared. “I pulled you against the wall to hide our faces from whoever’s watching us.”

Rebecca stares at me for a long moment. “Calvin, are you seriously suggesting we’re under surveillance?”

“I know how it sounds—”

“It sounds like you’re having some kind of paranoid episode triggered by your military background.”

The SUV chooses that exact moment to cruise past us again, moving slowly enough for the occupants to get a clear look at our faces.

Rebecca watches the SUV pass, her expression shifting from concern about my mental state to something approaching alarm. “That’s the third time I’ve seen that vehicle since we left the restaurant.”

“You noticed?”

“I’m a scientist, so I observe patterns.” She turns back to me with a mixture of vindication and worry. “Either we’re both having the same paranoid delusion, or someone is actually following us.”

“Option two.”

She runs a hand through her hair, disrupting the careful arrangement she’d maintained throughout dinner.

“Why would anyone be following us? We’re on a first date.

I study genetic sequences, and you do security consulting.

” She gestures between us. “Neither of those activities typically involves surveillance.”

The question is reasonable, but the answer involves explaining that her research has probably attracted attention from organizations that shouldn’t know about it yet.

“Your breakthrough research in regenerative medicine would be valuable to a lot of different people, and not all of them with purely humanitarian interests.”

“You think this is about my work?”

“I think someone with resources is interested enough in your activities to pay for professional surveillance.” I pause, considering how much detail to share. “Your genetic sequencing research could have applications beyond trauma medicine.”

She furrows her brow, processing this information with scientific precision. “What kind of applications?”

“Enhanced human performance. Accelerated healing for military personnel.” I watch her face carefully. “The kind of applications that certain organizations would pay significant money to develop or control.”

Her stride falters slightly as she processes this information. “Calvin, my research is focused on healing injured people, not creating super-soldiers.”

“I know that, but the same genetic markers that allow for accelerated healing could potentially be modified for other enhancements.” I gesture carefully, trying to explain without sounding like a conspiracy theorist. “Increased strength, enhanced endurance, and faster recovery from physical stress. Right?”

She shakes her head firmly. “That’s not how genetics works. You can’t just modify healing factors and expect them to translate to other physical capabilities.”

“I understand that science is more complex than that, but people with military budgets and limited ethical constraints don’t always accept scientific limitations.” I shrug apologetically. “They see ‘enhanced reptilian healing’ and think ‘enhanced human soldiers.’”

“This is insane.” She gestures emphatically. “I’m not developing super-soldier serums.”

“The applications don’t matter if someone thinks your research could be adapted for their purposes.” I glance back toward where the SUV disappeared. “What matters is that they’re interested enough to spend money on surveillance.”

We resume walking toward her vehicle, but the easy mood of our evening has shifted into something more serious.

She moves with the focused attention of someone who’s identified a problem requiring immediate analysis before abruptly stopping to look at me.

“I need to ask you something directly, and I want an honest answer.”

“Go ahead.”

“Are you actually paranoid from your military background, or are you professionally competent at recognizing genuine threats?”

The question cuts to the heart of every doubt I’ve had about my transition to civilian life. “Both, probably, but in this case, I’m confident we were being watched by people with training and resources.”

“What kind of training?”

“The expensive kind. Government or corporate security.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “The kind where they teach you to be invisible until you decide not to be.”

“How can you tell the difference between professional surveillance and regular people going about their business?”

“Timing patterns, positioning, equipment, and behavior.” I count off on my fingers.

“Professional surveillance follows specific protocols. They rotate positions, maintain consistent distance, and use communication equipment.” I glance back toward where the SUV disappeared.

“Random people don’t coordinate their movements or drive in formation patterns. ”

“Formation patterns?”

“The SUV had support vehicles. I counted at least two other cars that adjusted their positions based on our movement.” I watch her process this information. “That’s not coincidence. It has to be coordinated surveillance with multiple assets.”

She pales. “Multiple vehicles were following us?”

“Three that I identified, possibly more.” I try to keep my voice reassuring rather than alarming. “Professional surveillance teams use redundancy to avoid detection and maintain contact if the primary vehicle is compromised.”

She runs a hand through her hair again, clearly struggling to process this information. “Compromised how?”

“If we’d gotten into a taxi, or entered a building with multiple exits, or done anything that would make following us difficult, they’d have backup vehicles to maintain visual contact.”

“This sounds like something from a spy movie.”

“Most spy movies get surveillance completely wrong. Real surveillance is boring, methodical, and uses way more people than Hollywood suggests.” I resume walking, gently encouraging her to keep moving.

“The point is, whoever’s interested in you has significant resources and professional capabilities. ”

She shakes her head, but there’s something thoughtful in her expression rather than outright disbelief. “And you’re certain this isn’t just your military background making you see threats where none exist?”