Page 23 of Crocodile Tears (Romance Expected Dating Service #2)
Becci
Cal’s hand signals are surprisingly specific and completely incomprehensible to someone who learned communication through peer-reviewed journals rather than military operations.
When he makes what appears to be an elaborate gesture involving pointed fingers and circular motions, I interpret it as “check that door” rather than what it apparently means.
I reach for the door handle just as footsteps approach from the other side. His reflexes are faster than my curiosity, and he pulls me back against the wall with controlled urgency that suggests extensive experience in avoiding detection.
He leans close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “That signal meant stay put .”
I turn my head toward him, our faces inches apart. “How was I supposed to know that? You looked like you were directing air traffic.”
Cal’s jaw tightens with obvious frustration. “Universal tactical communications aren’t actually universal if you’ve never learned them.”
I cross my arms and fix him with my most professorial stare. “Then maybe you should stick to charades. At least those have logical connections to their meanings.”
The voices on the other side of the door fade as the guards move past our location. He waits another thirty seconds before stepping away from the wall and motioning for me to follow.
We move through a service corridor that smells like industrial cleaner and recycled air.
The fluorescent lighting flickers intermittently, casting moving shadows that make every corner look potentially dangerous.
Cal navigates with a confidence that says he’s memorized the building’s layout while I try to avoid tripping over the various pipes and electrical conduits that protrude from the walls.
A door at the end of the corridor opens into a maintenance area filled with HVAC equipment and electrical panels. The mechanical noise provides good cover for conversation, but he still keeps his voice low as he checks another of his mysterious devices.
“The laboratory is through the main research wing.” He studies what appears to be a building schematic on a small screen. “We need to avoid the central elevator bank and the primary corridors.”
“Stay close to the wall and move when I move.” He demonstrates a path that uses architectural features to minimize exposure to camera angles. “The blind spots are narrow, so timing matters.”
We advance in short bursts, pausing behind pillars and architectural details while Cal calculates the next safe movement. The process is methodical and surprisingly athletic, making me grateful for all those hours I spent swimming laps at the university pool.
A guard rounds the corner ahead of us just as we’re crossing an exposed section of hallway. Cal immediately pushes me into an alcove containing a fire emergency station and positions himself to block my visibility to the approaching threat.
The guard walks past our hiding spot without noticing our presence, but the encounter leaves my heart racing with adrenaline. He waits until the footsteps fade completely before stepping away from our concealment.
“That was closer than I prefer.” He checks his watch while scanning the hallway for additional threats. “We need to move faster.”
“I’m moving as fast as I can without sacrificing stealth for speed.”
“Your stealth technique needs work, but your tactical awareness is better than expected.”
“You’re too kind,” I say dryly.
I follow him toward another corridor intersection, where he pauses to examine the area beyond with a compact mirror that he produces from yet another pocket of his tactical vest.
“Two guards at the main laboratory entrance.” He adjusts the mirror angle to get a better view. “They’re positioned to monitor the primary access routes but not the secondary entrances.”
“There are secondary entrances to the laboratory?”
Cal grins with obvious satisfaction. “There are always secondary entrances if you know how buildings are constructed.”
He leads me through a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only” into what appears to be a service area for the building’s fire suppression system. Pipes and control valves cover the walls, and the air carries the metallic smell of pressurized water systems.
“Fire suppression access points connect to all major laboratory spaces.” He navigates between the mechanical equipment with practiced ease. “Building codes require multiple entry points for emergency response.”
I arch a brow. “You know building codes?”
“I know a lot of things that don’t appear on dating profiles.”
We reach a maintenance panel that he opens with another specialized tool. Behind the panel is an access corridor that runs parallel to the main laboratory wing. The space is cramped and poorly lit, but it provides a route that bypasses the guard stations.
I follow Cal through the narrow corridor, trying not to think about the various pipes and electrical systems that surround us. The occasional sound of voices from the laboratory areas confirms we’re moving in the right direction.
“How do you know about all these building systems?” I ask while navigating around a particularly low-hanging duct.
He pauses at an intersection of maintenance corridors. “Military training includes urban operations and building infiltration techniques. You learn to see structures differently when your survival depends on finding alternative routes.”
“That’s surprisingly practical knowledge for civilian life.”
He snorts. “Most of my military training has surprisingly practical applications for civilian problems.”
We reach another access panel that Cal opens to reveal the back of my laboratory space. The familiar sight of the research equipment and computer terminals fills me with relief and determination in equal measure.
“This is it.” I step through the access panel into the laboratory where I spent the last three days working under duress. “Everything I need to destroy is in here.”
Cal positions himself near the main entrance while I move toward the computer systems. “We need to work fast. Every minute we spend here increases the risk of discovery.”
I begin the systematic process of data destruction, starting with the most sensitive genetic information. “I’m not leaving without destroying this data. They have genetic profiles of specific military personnel and enough research to continue the project without me.”
He checks his watch while maintaining surveillance of the hallway. “Extraction protocols don’t include extended sabotage missions.”
I transfer research samples to a chemical bath that will destroy their cellular integrity. “Then your extraction protocols are inadequate for scientific emergencies.”
The computer systems require several minutes to complete the data destruction process. I work methodically through each database while Cal maintains his position at the door, occasionally making hand signals that I now interpret as variations on “hurry up.”
“You’re surprisingly thorough at demolition,” he says while I purge the systems.
I look up from my systematic destruction with obvious satisfaction. “I’m thorough at everything I do. It’s one of my more attractive qualities.”
Cal’s expression suggests he finds my approach to sabotage both impressive and concerning. “You’d make an excellent saboteur.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“It’s a compliment with concerning implications for our future dating prospects.”
I pause in my destructive work to stare at him. “Our future dating prospects?”
“Assuming we survive the current situation, I’d like to take you on dates that don’t involve international criminal organizations.”
I sigh. “That sounds disappointingly normal.”
Before Cal can respond to my unexpected preference for dangerous dating scenarios, an alarm begins wailing throughout the facility. The sound is loud enough to wake the dead and probably audible from several kilometers away.
Cal moves toward me with obvious urgency. “That’s our cue to leave.”
I grab a handful of specific chemical vials from the laboratory bench. “Just another minute. I need to make sure the genetic sequencing data is completely corrupted.”
“We don’t have another minute.”
The sound of running footsteps and shouted commands in the hallway confirms his assessment. I finish the data corruption process and join him at the door.
“Now we leave,” I say, pocketing the chemical vials.
He checks the hallway before motioning me forward. Guards flood the corridor just as we emerge from the laboratory. He immediately moves to create a barrier between me and the approaching threats, drawing their fire while pushing me toward the exit route.
He returns fire with his sidearm while maneuvering to maintain cover. “Run!”
Instead of following his entirely reasonable instructions, I spot a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall and experience what can only be described as tactical inspiration. I trigger a partial shift, allowing my crocodile strength to activate while maintaining human dexterity.
The fire extinguisher comes off the wall with enough force to dent the mounting bracket. I activate the discharge mechanism and create a thick cloud of foam that obscures visibility and creates general confusion among the guards.
Cal’s voice carries equal parts admiration and exasperation. “Becci, I said run.”
I create another cloud of foam while working my way back toward his position. “I said I was helping. This is calculated tactical assistance.”
“This is you ignoring extraction protocols!”
I duck behind a foam-covered structural pillar. “Your extraction protocols don’t account for crocodile physiology or chemical engineering expertise.”
We move through the foam-filled corridor together, using the reduced visibility to avoid direct confrontation with guards who are struggling to navigate the chemical haze I’ve created.
He guides me through the confusion while maintaining defensive positioning. “The exit is this way.”