Page 19 of Crocodile Tears (Romance Expected Dating Service #2)

Approaching footsteps interrupt my progress yet again.

Multiple people this time—two guards in tactical gear with heavy bootsteps followed by lighter, civilian footsteps.

Watching glimpses through the small window on the door, I infer the guards are taking up spots outside my room, and a woman glances in at me through the glass before opening the door a second later.

“Dr. Lawson, I’m Dr. Alvarez.” The woman in a lab coat, who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else, approaches with obvious nervousness while the guards maintain professional distance.

“Dr. Vega has asked me to escort you to your new laboratory space. If you cooperate, the guards won’t need to use additional restraint measures. ”

I gulp. That sounds ominous. “What kind of additional restraint measures?”

“The kind that would make working in a laboratory significantly more difficult.” She gestures toward the door. “Shall we proceed?”

I stand slowly, testing how the ankle restraints affect my balance.

Walking is possible but awkward, and any sudden movements would probably result in immediate intervention from the guards.

I take some hesitant steps and try to put my captors at ease…

for now. “Dr. Alvarez, how long have you been working here?”

She glances nervously at the guards before responding. “Several months. Dr. Vega recruited me from a research position in Mexico City.”

“And you’re comfortable with the ethical implications of this work?”

“I’m comfortable with advancing medical science in ways that traditional institutions would never approve.” Her tone suggests she’s repeating rehearsed justifications rather than expressing personal conviction. “The potential benefits far outweigh any concerns about methodology.”

I snort softly. “What about the potential risks? Human genetic modification isn’t exactly a field with a sterling safety record.”

She still looks frightened as she repeats with no conviction, “All research involves acceptable levels of risk in pursuit of breakthrough discoveries.”

The guards exchange glances that imply they’ve heard this conversation before and aren’t particularly interested in philosophical debates about research ethics.

The facility turns out to be larger and more sophisticated than expected. We move through corridors that suggest a purpose-built research complex, with multiple laboratory spaces, office areas, and what appears to be living quarters for extended stays.

I catalog everything as we walk, including door locations, security cameras, emergency lighting, fire extinguishers, and electrical panels. The guards carry sidearms and communication equipment, but their posture suggests routine escort duty rather than high-alert security protocols.

“How many researchers work here?” I ask while noting the placement of what appears to be a communications array on the ceiling.

“Dr. Vega prefers not to discuss operational details with new arrivals.” Dr. Alvarez quickens her pace slightly. “Your focus should be on the scientific opportunities rather than administrative concerns.”

I roll my eyes before I can stop myself. “Scientific opportunities like forced human experimentation?”

“Scientific opportunities like breakthrough research that could save thousands of lives.” She stops at a set of double doors secured with electronic locks. “This is your laboratory space.”

The assigned laboratory is actually impressive. It has modern equipment, a comprehensive chemical inventory, and computing resources that rival anything at the university. Someone invested significant money in creating a workspace that could genuinely support advanced genetic research.

“Your research materials have been uploaded to the computer system.” Dr. Alvarez maintains careful distance while explaining the setup. “All equipment has been calibrated to university standards, and additional supplies can be requested through the requisition system.”

“How long do I have to complete the adaptation research?”

“Dr. Vega expects preliminary results within two weeks with full implementation protocols within six weeks.”

I let out a shocked gasp. “That’s not enough time for safe testing of genetic modifications in human subjects.”

Her expression betrays no emotion as she stares at me. “Dr. Vega is confident that a scientist of your caliber can work efficiently when properly motivated.”

The guards position themselves outside while Dr. Alvarez shows me the computer access and equipment procedures. Everything functions as described, suggesting considerable effort went into creating functional working conditions.

I approach the main computer terminal and begin reviewing the uploaded research files.

My genetic sequencing data is all there along with additional information I didn’t provide—genetic profiles of what appear to be military personnel, medical histories, and baseline physiological data.

What I don’t have is internet access, which doesn’t surprise me.

Looking closer at the data, I frown. “Dr. Alvarez, where did this additional genetic data come from?”

She glances at the screen and then looks away quickly. “Dr. Vega has been collecting relevant information for some time. The research requires comprehensive baseline data for proper implementation.”

I look at her through narrowed eyes. “This is genetic information from specific individuals. How was it obtained?”

“I’m not privy to data collection methodologies. My role is strictly laboratory support.”

Not ethically then. “These genetic profiles include detailed medical histories and current physical status reports. This isn’t anonymized research data. These are files on specific people.”

She moves toward the door, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “I recommend focusing on the technical aspects of the research rather than the administrative details.”

“What happens if the research doesn’t work? If human physiology simply can’t support the genetic modifications?”

She hesitates and then lowers her voice. “You should focus on achieving positive results as quickly as possible.”

Oh, that’s so reassuring. “What kind of positive results?”

“The kind that demonstrate clear progress toward the stated objectives.”

Could she be any vaguer? “And if I can’t demonstrate that kind of progress?”

“Dr. Vega is very resourceful when it comes to finding alternative approaches to complex problems.” She looks fearful for a moment before her expression becomes placid again.

The threat hangs in the air between us as she leaves without further explanation, and the guards close the laboratory doors behind her with a heavy click from electronic locking mechanisms.

I’m alone in a fully equipped laboratory with weeks to develop genetic modifications that could revolutionize warfare while keeping everyone I care about alive.

I have two weeks to produce some kind of results.

If I comply, people I love will live, though I’m sure they’ll never let me go, and my research will be in the hands of unscrupulous people.

If I don’t, everyone, me included, will die. Some frigging choice.

I start by reviewing my original protocols and identifying the specific genetic markers that enable accelerated healing in reptilian shifters.

The science is complex but not impossible.

The main challenges involve adapting expression patterns that evolved for shifter physiology to work in baseline human biology.

The uploaded genetic profiles provide disturbing context for the research objectives.

These aren’t theoretical subjects for scientific study but specific individuals who’ve apparently been selected for genetic modification experiments.

Military personnel, based on their medical histories, all in excellent physical condition, and all currently on active-duty status.

Volunteers or victims? Potentially both if the research goes awry.

As I work through the technical requirements, part of my mind continues cataloging potential weapons and escape routes.

The laboratory contains numerous chemicals that could be dangerous if properly combined—hydrochloric acid, sodium hydroxide, and various organic solvents that could be weaponized with proper knowledge of chemistry.

Several pieces of equipment could be repurposed beyond genetic research.

The centrifuge could be modified to create crude explosive devices.

The high-temperature incubators could be used to accelerate chemical reactions.

Even the microscope’s high-intensity lighting system could potentially be converted into a focused heat source.

The computer system has restricted internet access, but the internal network might provide information about the facility’s layout and security protocols. I begin systematically exploring the available databases while maintaining the appearance of working on genetic sequencing analysis.

Hours pass without any clear sense of time since I have no windows and just constant artificial lighting. The laboratory’s climate control maintains steady temperature and humidity levels appropriate for my reptile shifter physiology that suggest significant infrastructure investment.

I make genuine progress on preliminary analysis while simultaneously mapping the facility’s network architecture and identifying potential vulnerabilities in their security systems. The research is actually fascinating from a purely scientific perspective, even though the applications are morally reprehensible.

I don’t want soldiers to suffer if I can help them, but the idea of helping patch them up faster so they can return to the killing fields appalls me.

When Dr. Alvarez returns to escort me back, I’ve completed initial genetic marker identification and located what appears to be administrative files containing facility personnel information and operational schedules.