Page 21 of Crocodile Tears (Romance Expected Dating Service #2)

Cal

The journey to reach Becci involves three border crossings, two bribes that cost more than my best rifle, and one extremely uncomfortable eight-hour ride in a cattle truck, where I have to convince the driver I’m not smuggling exotic reptiles into the country.

Technically true, though the irony of a reptile shifter hiding among actual livestock isn’t lost on me.

The compound where they’re holding her sits in a valley surrounded by dense jungle, accessible only by a single dirt road that winds through territory controlled by three different criminal organizations.

Nikolai’s intelligence was accurate. The facility is heavily fortified with professional security measures that suggest significant financial backing.

I spend six hours conducting reconnaissance from the tree line, cataloging guard rotations, security camera positions, and perimeter defenses.

The compound’s designers clearly expected threats to come from the main access road or the cleared areas around the buildings.

What they didn’t account for is the crocodile-infested river that borders the northern perimeter.

Most people would consider a waterway full of territorial predators an effective natural barrier. For a Gila monster shifter with enhanced senses and military training, it’s an ideal entry point. The water is warm and murky, with enough vegetation cover to mask my approach.

I slip into the river two kilometers upstream from the compound, allowing the current to carry me while I use controlled swimming to navigate around the actual crocodiles who seem mildly curious about my presence but not overtly hostile.

Apparently my shifted scent registers as “fellow reptile” rather than “potential prey,” which is more useful than I expected when planning this operation.

The security perimeter extends only ten meters from the riverbank with motion sensors and cameras focused on the cleared areas rather than the water itself. I emerge from the river during a gap in the guard patrol, streaming water from my tactical gear as I move quickly toward the main building.

Time to find out if the facility’s layout matches Nikolai’s intelligence reports.

According to his intel, the research laboratories are in the central building, administrative offices are in the eastern wing, and what appears to be residential quarters are in the western section.

If they’re keeping Becci anywhere, it would be in the secure areas near the laboratories.

I can’t imagine they’d give her a separate apartment since she’s not a paid recruit.

After twenty minutes, I concur Nikolai’s intel is accurate.

I slip inside the central building after knocking out a guard and “borrowing” his palm print to scan for entry.

I’m moving through the shadows of the hallway when an unexpected guard rotation forces me to immediately take cover.

The nearest concealment is an unmarked room about one hundred meters from the main lab hub, with an electronic lock that yields to my picking tools within seconds.

I slip inside and close the door just as footsteps approach in the hallway. The room is dim and seems to be a makeshift room/cell. I press myself against the wall and wait for the guards to pass.

That’s when I hear the soft scraping sound coming from the back corner of the room. I turn slowly, my hand moving to my sidearm, and freeze as my enhanced vision reveals a familiar figure hunched over what appears to be some kind of restraint system. “Becci?”

She spins toward my voice with a controlled grace as though she’s been expecting trouble. Her hand is partially shifted, with scales visible along her fingers and claws extended just enough to provide leverage against whatever she’s been working on.

“Cal?” Her whisper carries complete disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you.” I move quickly to her side, examining the sophisticated restraint system that’s been keeping her captive. “It looks like you’re handling that pretty well yourself, though.”

“I’ve been working on this crack for three days.

” She holds up a metal fork that’s been bent into an improvised tool.

“The electrical system has a vulnerability where the polymer casing meets the locking mechanism. I’ve managed to interrupt it enough to be able to shift my hand, but that’s it so far. ”

I produce a compact electronic device from my tactical vest and apply it to the remaining restraints. The locks disengage with soft clicks, and Becci stares at the device with obvious fascination.

“Is that a directed EMP generator? How are you preventing feedback damage to the internal circuitry?” Her voice carries the kind of excitement usually reserved for significant scientific breakthroughs. “The magnetic field modulation alone must require incredibly precise calibration.”

“Becci, we’re in the middle of an escape.” I help her stand, checking for injuries while she continues examining my equipment. “We can discuss electromagnetic engineering later.”

“But the implications for noninvasive electronic disruption are fascinating. Do you use rare earth magnets for the field generation or—”

“Later.” I move toward the door, listening for movement in the hallway. “Right now, we need to get out of this facility without being detected.”

“We can’t just leave.” She grabs my arm with enthusiasm. “They have my research data, genetic profiles of military personnel, and enough information to continue the project without me. We need to destroy the laboratory. This whole place would be even better.”

I shake my head. “That’s not how extraction operations work. We get you to safety first and then deal with secondary objectives.”

“Secondary objectives?” Her voice rises slightly before she catches herself and lowers it to an angry whisper. “Cal, they’re planning to weaponize genetic modifications that could fundamentally alter human warfare. That’s not a secondary objective.”

“It’s a secondary objective if completing it gets you killed.”

Her teeth elongate in her passion. “It’s a primary objective, if not, completing it gets thousands of people killed.”

I stare at her in the dim light, recognizing the stubborn determination that probably makes her an excellent researcher and a terrible person to extract from dangerous situations. “Becci, I came here to rescue you, not conduct a sabotage mission.”

“Then you should have been clearer about your limitations when you decided to mount a romantic rescue operation.”

“Romantic rescue operation?” I quirk a brow.

“Don’t think I haven’t figured out that this is somewhat outside normal security consulting protocols.

” She crosses her arms and fixes me with a look that suggests extensive experience in winning arguments through superior logic.

“Unless you regularly infiltrate foreign countries to extract clients you’ve had exactly one date with? ”

“This might be slightly beyond my usual scope of work.” I grin. “Besides, you stood me up. I had to address that.”

Her lips twitch, but she ignores my second comment.

“Which brings up another point.” She steps closer, and I catch the scent of her skin beneath the industrial soap smell of the facility.

“What exactly do you do for a living? Because normal security consultants don’t carry military-grade EMP devices or all the other things you seem to do. ”

I flush slightly. “I might have understated my qualifications on my dating profile.”

“By how much?”

With a grin, I say, “Significantly.” Before I can elaborate, the sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway cuts off our whispered argument. I pull Becci against me, pressing her back against the wall as voices grow closer outside the door.

The sudden contact sends electricity through both of us that has nothing to do with her restraint system, which is now rendered useless on the floor. Her body fits against mine with the kind of perfect alignment that makes tactical positioning feel like something much more intimate.

“Don’t move,” I whisper against her ear, and she shivers in response.

The guards pause directly outside our door, discussing something in rapid Spanish about shift changes and perimeter checks. Becci’s breathing is shallow and quick, her heart rate elevated from adrenaline and proximity.

When she looks up at me in the dim light, her pupils are dilated and her lips parted slightly. The same attraction that sparked between us during our date ignites with the intensity that only comes from shared danger and suppressed desire.

“Cal… ” Her voice is more a breath than a sound.

I should be focused on the tactical situation—listening to the guards and planning our next move. Instead, I’m overwhelmed by the scent of her skin and the way she’s looking at me like I’m something she wants to consume.

The guards move past our door, their voices fading down the hallway, but neither of us steps away from the wall.

“We should go,” I whisper, but my body isn’t making any effort to create distance.

“We should,” she agrees as she rests her hands against my chest.

Instead of moving toward the door, I lower my head and capture her mouth with mine. The kiss is hungry and desperate, fueled by relief, adrenaline, and the electrical charge that’s been building between us since our first date.

Becci responds with equal intensity, winding her arms around my neck as she pulls me closer. When her tongue meets mine, a low growl escapes my throat. The primal sound has nothing to do with tactical operations and everything to do with the way she tastes.

“This is insane,” she whispers against my lips.

“Completely insane,” I say, kissing her again.

She moves her hands to the fastenings of my tactical vest, working with the kind of focused precision she probably applies to complex laboratory procedures. When she encounters the various pouches and attachment points, she pauses.

“How many weapons are you carrying?”