Page 18 of Crocodile Tears (Romance Expected Dating Service #2)
Becci
Consciousness returns with the taste of copper and the sound of insects chattering in humid air. My head throbs with the particular ache that comes from specialized sedatives designed to keep shifters unconscious longer than their enhanced metabolisms would normally allow.
I’m lying on a narrow cot in what appears to be a converted laboratory space.
The walls are concrete block painted institutional green, and the windows are barred with steel that’s been reinforced beyond what would be necessary for keeping regular humans in.
Fluorescent lights hum overhead with the inconsistent flicker that suggests generator power.
The restraints around my wrists and ankles are immediately concerning. The specialized cuffs are made from some kind of polymer composite. When I test them experimentally, sharp pain shoots through my nervous system like feedback from a badly calibrated electrical system.
Definitely custom equipment for shifter containment.
The air carries the thick humidity of tropical lowlands along with jungle sounds that mean I’m nowhere near civilization. I hear howler monkeys in the distance, rustling vegetation, and bird calls I definitely can’t identify.
I test the restraints more systematically, examining the construction for potential weaknesses.
The cuffs are well-made but not perfect.
A small crack near the locking mechanism on my left wrist might be exploitable, but heavy footsteps approaching in the hallway prevent me from finding out right now.
I arrange myself to look less alert while tracking the sounds through what appear to be multiple doors.
A key turns in a lock, and the door opens to reveal a man in an expensive suit that looks completely out of place in a jungle laboratory. He’s middle-aged, well-groomed, and carries himself with a confidence that says he’s accustomed to getting his way.
“Dr. Lawson, I trust you’re feeling better.” His English is excellent but carries a slight accent that suggests Spanish as a first language. “I apologize for the rather dramatic methods required to bring you here, but your research has attracted some very powerful attention.”
I sit up slowly, testing how the restraints limit my movement. “Where exactly is here?”
“A private research facility where brilliant scientists can work without the bureaucratic limitations of university oversight.” He adjusts his cufflinks with casual precision. “My name is Dr. Vega, and I have a proposition that I believe will interest you greatly.”
“I doubt that.”
Vega settles into a chair positioned just outside my reach, clearly familiar with restraint protocols.
“Your research into accelerated healing mechanisms in reptilian shifters could revolutionize medicine, Dr. Lawson, but more importantly for my clients, it could revolutionize military applications.”
“My research is focused on helping people recover from injuries, not creating super-soldiers.”
“The applications are essentially identical. I’m primarily interested in enhanced healing capability that allows soldiers to recover from battlefield injuries at rates that would be considered miraculous by current medical standards.
” He leans forward slightly. “Imagine the strategic advantages of military personnel who could heal from gunshot wounds in hours rather than weeks.”
“Imagine the ethical violations of experimenting on human subjects to achieve those capabilities.”
Vega waves his hand dismissively. “Ethics are a luxury for people who don’t understand the realities of modern warfare. My clients understand that scientific advancement requires… flexible moral parameters.”
“Your clients being?”
“Organizations with sufficient resources to compensate you very generously for adapting your research to human subjects.” His smile suggests he thinks financial motivation will be persuasive.
“We’re prepared to offer you ten times your current annual salary, plus research funding that would make your university’s budget look like pocket change. ”
“And if I refuse?” My stomach clenches as I ask that.
“I prefer to focus on positive incentives rather than unpleasant alternatives.”
I test the left wrist restraint again, feeling for the crack I identified earlier. “How did you even know about my research? The genetic sequencing data is secured through multiple encryption protocols.”
His smile becomes genuinely amused as he produces a tablet from his jacket. “Dr. Lawson, your university’s cybersecurity is indeed excellent, but human security is so much more… flexible.”
The photographs he shows me make my teeth start to shift with rage before the jolt of pain stops me.
They show Dr. Harmon, my departmental colleague, accepting what appears to be a substantial cash payment from someone whose face isn’t visible in the frame.
Additional photos show him accessing my research files and copying data to external drives.
“Dr. Harmon was very helpful in providing access to your work. Apparently, his gambling debts had reached a point where our financial assistance was quite welcome.”
The betrayal hits harder than the kidnapping itself.
Harmon sat through my presentations, offered feedback on my protocols, and even helped me debug genetic sequencing problems. The fact that he was selling my research this entire time makes me see red.
The restraints respond to my surge of anger with sharp electrical feedback that makes my nervous system seize momentarily.
“The restraints are calibrated specifically for reptilian shifter physiology,” Vega says with clinical interest. “Attempting to shift will be quite unpleasant, so you should learn to control the impulse.”
“You son of a—”
“Dr. Lawson, please. We’re both educated professionals. Surely we can discuss this arrangement in civilized terms.”
I glare at him. “There’s nothing civilized about kidnapping scientists and forcing them to develop military applications from humanitarian research.”
Vega stands and adjusts his suit jacket with practiced movements.
“There’s nothing humanitarian about allowing battlefield casualties to die from injuries that could be completely treatable with enhanced healing capabilities.
You have the opportunity to save thousands of lives while advancing scientific knowledge in ways that university bureaucrats would never approve. ”
I roll my eyes. “Lives that are at risk because of stupid, often pointless, wars. I’m not interested.”
He arches a brow. “Perhaps additional motivation would help clarify your priorities.” He produces the tablet again and shows me a new series of photographs that make my cold blood freeze—my bear shifter adoptive parents’ house in Ohio, Margo entering the lab building, and even Galileo basking under his heat lamp in my apartment.
I feel enraged and violated, leading to another shock from the restraints.
“Surveillance is so much easier in the digital age.” Vega returns the tablet to his jacket with obvious satisfaction. “Your family, your colleagues, and even your remarkably long-lived reptilian companion are all so accessible to people with appropriate resources.”
The threat doesn’t need to be stated explicitly. My hands shake with rage that I can’t safely express while wearing these restraints. I get jolted again until I manage to calm down. When I can speak, I ask through gritted teeth, “What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Adapt your genetic sequencing protocols for human subjects. Develop reliable methods for inducing accelerated healing capabilities in non-shifter physiology.” He moves toward the door. “Think of it as expanding your research horizons beyond the limitations of academic medicine.”
I force myself to breathe steadily while calculating options. “I’ll need my research notes and access to proper laboratory equipment.”
“Of course. We’ve prepared a fully equipped facility that meets all your technical requirements and already have all your notes thanks to Dr. Harmon.” Vega pauses at the door. “I’m confident a scientist of your caliber will find the working conditions quite stimulating.”
“And if I can’t successfully adapt the research to human subjects?”
“I have complete faith in your abilities, Dr. Lawson. Failure simply isn’t an acceptable outcome for any of us.”
The door closes with a heavy click, leaving me alone with the humidity and the growing realization that my situation is significantly more dangerous than I initially assessed.
The crack in my left wrist restraint becomes my immediate focus.
Twenty minutes of careful experimentation produces small progress and several painful electrical feedbacks.
The system detects attempted transformations at the cellular level, but it seems to have difficulty with minor bone density changes that happen naturally in shifter physiology.
A small piece of the polymer flakes away under careful pressure, exposing what appears to be a wire connection beneath the outer casing. If I can work at this systematically without triggering the full electrical response, I might be able to disable the restraint entirely.
The sound of voices in the hallway interrupts my work. Two people argue in rapid Spanish about something that sounds like supply deliveries and scheduling conflicts. The conversation moves past my door without stopping, but it gives me useful information about the facility’s operations.
I resume working on the restraint, applying pressure in small increments while monitoring for electrical feedback. The key seems to be avoiding any motion that resembles intentional shifting while still generating enough force to exploit the manufacturing defect.
Another flake of polymer comes away, revealing more of the internal mechanism. The restraint system is sophisticated but not perfectly engineered. I find clear stress points where repeated pressure could cause mechanical failure.