Page 24 of Crocodile Tears (Romance Expected Dating Service #2)

I pause to assess our tactical situation. “Are you sure? Because I think the motor pool is in the opposite direction, and we’re going to need transportation.”

He’s gnashing his teeth now. “The extraction plan doesn’t involve stealing vehicles.”

“The extraction plan is about to involve stealing vehicles because your original exit route is currently full of armed guards.”

He considers this logic while returning fire at muzzle flashes visible through the foam. He nods reluctantly after a moment of tactical calculation. “Motor pool it is.”

Our route through the facility becomes significantly more complex as we avoid guard patrols and navigate toward the vehicle area. I apply scientific principles to our movement, calculating trajectory angles for thrown objects and using chemical reactions from my pilfered vials to create diversions.

When we encounter a locked gate blocking access to the motor pool, I experience another moment of tactical inspiration.

“Stand back.” I trigger a fuller shift, allowing my jaw strength to increase while maintaining enough human dexterity to be useful.

Cal stares at me with obvious curiosity. “What are you—”

I bite through the metal locking mechanism with the kind of precise force that comes from understanding materials science and crocodilian jaw mechanics.

The lock separates cleanly, allowing us access to the vehicle area.

“Crocodilian bite force can exceed three thousand seven hundred pounds per square inch,” I say while returning to fully human form.

“Combined with the strategic application of pressure to structural weak points, most conventional locking mechanisms become surprisingly vulnerable.”

Cal watches me with obvious fascination. “That was simultaneously educational and terrifying.”

I grin while wiping metal fragments from my mouth. “Those are my two favorite qualities in any activity.”

The motor pool contains several vehicles, including a military-style Jeep that Cal determines is our best option for off-road escape. I climb into the passenger seat while he conducts a rapid assessment of the vehicle’s operational status.

He slides behind the steering wheel and begins hot-wiring the ignition system. “Can you drive a stick shift?”

“I have a PhD in biochemistry. I think I can manage basic mechanical operations.”

Cal gives me a skeptical look while working on the electrical connections. “That’s not actually how gear systems work, but I’ll assume you’re more competent than you sound.”

The engine turns over just as guards appear at the motor pool entrance. He reverses quickly while I create makeshift weaponry from the remaining chemical vials I collected during our escape.

He notes my chemical preparation work while maneuvering around parked vehicles. “What are you doing?”

I combine compounds that will create significant noise and smoke when properly ignited. “Improvised explosive devices using basic organic chemistry. Nothing sophisticated. Just practical applications of exothermic reactions.”

“You’re making bombs from laboratory chemicals?”

I test the stability of my chemical combinations. “I’m making diversions from laboratory chemicals. The terminology matters for legal purposes.”

Cal drives toward the compound’s main gate while I prepare my chemical surprises. The guards are organizing pursuit vehicles, which means our window for clean escape is rapidly closing.

Bullets ping off the Jeep’s metal frame as we accelerate through the compound.

Instead of fear, I experience a strange euphoria that I recognize as the intersection of controlled risk and primal excitement.

My crocodile nature revels in the chase while my scientific mind calculates optimal escape vectors and tactical advantages.

“Something’s wrong with me,” I say while throwing one of my chemical diversions at a pursuing vehicle.

Cal takes a sharp turn that sends us sliding on the loose gravel. “What kind of wrong?”

“I’m enjoying this. The controlled scientist is thriving on calculated risk, and the crocodile is having the time of her life.”

He laughs. “That’s not wrong. That’s adaptive.”

We crash through the compound’s main gate in a shower of sparks and twisted metal. The jungle road ahead offers multiple branching paths, but he seems to know which direction will take us toward whatever extraction point he’s arranged.

Several vehicles follow us from the compound, their headlights visible in the side mirrors as we navigate the winding dirt road. I alternate between excited scientific observations about our tropical surroundings and surprisingly creative profanity directed at our pursuers.

“The biodiversity here is remarkable,” I note while preparing another chemical diversion. “Those sound like howler monkeys, which suggests we’re in a primary rainforest ecosystem.”

Cal focuses on the challenging road conditions. “Focus on the people shooting at us rather than the local wildlife.”

I throw another chemical device at our pursuers. “I can multitask. Also, our pursuers drive like mud-eating bottom feeders with the tactical awareness of dead fish.”

“Mud-eating bottom feeders?”

“Crocodile-inspired profanity. It’s more creative than standard human cursing.”

He takes another sharp turn that sends us sliding sideways on the loose dirt surface. I brace myself against the dashboard while calculating the physics of our trajectory and the likelihood of maintaining vehicular control.

Cal adjusts his grip on the steering wheel while navigating another series of turns.

Another vehicle gains on us from behind, close enough that I can see muzzle flashes from weapons being fired in our direction.

I throw another chemical device, which explodes in a cloud of smoke and flame that causes the pursuing vehicle to swerve off the road.

He observes the results in the rearview mirror. “Nice shot.”

I calculate the trajectory for my next throw. “Basic ballistics combined with chemical engineering. The trajectory calculations are straightforward once you account for wind resistance and gravitational acceleration.”

“You’re lecturing about physics while conducting combat operations.”

“I’m applying scientific principles to tactical situations. It’s multidisciplinary problem-solving.”

Cal grins while maintaining speed through the challenging terrain. “It’s the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen.”

The road ahead splits into three different directions, all leading deeper into jungle territory that looks increasingly wild and remote. Cal chooses the middle path, which appears to be the least traveled of the available options.

“Are you sure about this route?” I ask as we bounce over increasingly rough terrain.

“I’m sure about the compass bearing. The route is more flexible.”

I grab the dashboard as we hit a particularly large pothole. “Flexible how?”

“Flexible in the sense that all roads through this region eventually connect to the river system, and river systems connect to extraction points.”

“So we’re navigating by geographical logic rather than detailed planning.”

Cal shifts gears to handle a steep incline. “We’re navigating by geographical logic combined with tactical improvisation and professional optimism.”

“That’s either very reassuring or completely terrifying,” I say, partially echoing his earlier words.

“It’s both. Most good tactical decisions involve elements of both.”

Our remaining pursuer falls farther behind as we navigate terrain that favors our lighter vehicle over their heavier truck. The jungle closes in around the road, creating a green tunnel that muffles sound and reduces visibility to whatever our headlights illuminate.

I’m grinning with genuine excitement rather than fear.

The combination of scientific problem-solving, physical danger, and Cal’s tactical competence creates an adrenaline cocktail that my crocodile nature finds intoxicating.

“This is definitely an interesting second date,” I say while checking our remaining chemical supplies.

He navigates around a fallen tree branch. “Better or worse than dinner and a movie?”

“Significantly more memorable, though I’m curious about what you consider normal dating activities.”

“Normal dating activities don’t typically involve international criminal organizations or improvised explosive devices.”

I consider this while watching the jungle scenery. “What do they involve?”

“Restaurants, theaters, or maybe museums. You know, activities that don’t require tactical planning or combat skills.”

“That sounds disappointingly predictable.”

Cal looks at me with obvious amusement. “Most people prefer predictable to life-threatening.”

I grin back at him. “Most people don’t have PhDs in biochemistry and crocodile physiology.”

With a chuckle, he says, “Most people don’t combine scientific expertise with reptilian predator instincts.”

I grin while preparing another chemical diversion. “Most people are missing out on a lot of interesting possibilities.”