Page 30 of Crocodile Tears (Romance Expected Dating Service #2)

The hidden passage leads through a network of service tunnels that connect several buildings in the village.

Our movements are more coordinated now, each anticipating the other’s reactions and working together with efficiency that surprises me.

Military training teaches you to adapt quickly to new team members, but Becci’s learning curve exceeds anything I’ve experienced.

“Your partial shift during stressful arguments is actually quite attractive,” she says while we navigate through a particularly narrow section.

“Your reptilian hissing when you’re angry is both terrifying and inexplicably arousing.”

She laughs, a genuine sound that makes our dangerous situation seem manageable. “We’re both disaster people. Aren’t we?”

“Complete disasters. It’s probably why this works between us.”

The passage emerges near the river where a small wooden dock extends into water that moves faster than I expected.

Captain Miranda’s boat looks exactly like what I expect from someone who operates in legal gray areas.

It’s functional, well-maintained, and designed to appear completely unremarkable to casual observation.

Captain Miranda herself turns out to be a weather-beaten woman in her fifties, whose handshake could crush walnuts. She speaks in rapid Spanish while gesturing at the current and checking equipment with professional efficiency.

“She says the river conditions are good for travel, but we need to leave immediately,” I say to Becci. “Military patrols have increased upstream, which means they’re expanding their search pattern.”

I help Becci onto the boat while Captain Miranda starts the engine and begins untying dock lines. The vessel handles the river current with surprising grace, and within minutes, we’re moving downstream at a pace that balances speed with noise control.

Becci settles beside me on a bench that’s clearly designed for passengers who might need to duck suddenly. She pulls out her improvised specimen container and begins documenting the plant species visible along the riverbank.

“You’re conducting botanical research while we’re fleeing armed pursuit teams,” I say while watching her work.

“I’m maximizing the educational value of an otherwise stressful experience.” She points toward something growing near the water’s edge. “Those are bromeliad species that indicate specific altitude and moisture conditions. The data could be useful for understanding ecosystem adaptation.”

Captain Miranda overhears our conversation and grins while adjusting the boat’s heading. “ La doctora cientifica ,” she says with obvious approval. “I like passengers who find beauty in dangerous places.”

The river journey takes us through increasingly remote territory that shows no signs of human habitation beyond occasional fishing huts and small clearings. The jungle canopy creates a green tunnel that muffles sound and provides excellent concealment from aerial surveillance.

“How did you end up working with Javier?” Becci asks Captain Miranda during a quieter stretch of the journey.

“Javier helped my nephew avoid some legal complications involving environmental activism and government mineral rights,” Miranda says in careful English. “Sometimes, the official legal system doesn’t protect people who need protection most.”

Becci nods with obvious understanding. “Academic research faces similar challenges when it conflicts with commercial interests.”

“Exactly. Occasionally, good people need unofficial help with official problems.”

The conversation continues as we navigate downstream toward our extraction point. Miranda shares stories about other researchers and activists she’s helped while Becci explains the ethical complexities of genetic research that could have military applications.

I listen while monitoring our surroundings for potential threats.

The tactical side of my brain catalogs defensive positions and escape routes, but another part appreciates the easy camaraderie developing between the two women.

Miranda represents the kind of person I’ve spent years protecting through various operations while Becci represents someone whose work could genuinely improve the world if it stays in the right hands.

“Cal?” Becci says during a lull in the conversation, “what happens when we get home?”

The question forces me to stop for a moment and think things through. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what happens to us? Does this end when we’re back in civilization, or does it continue into whatever normal looks like?”

I study her expression while formulating my response.

She’s asking about more than just romantic prospects.

She’s asking whether what we’ve discovered together can survive in environments that don’t involve life-threatening situations and tactical problem-solving.

“That depends on what kind of normal you want.”

“What kind of normal do you want?”

The question hits at the core of everything I’ve been reconsidering about civilian transition. “I thought I wanted predictable civilian routines that don’t involve tactical planning or international travel. Now, I’m not sure predictable is what either of us needs.”

Becci grins while continuing her botanical documentation. “Predictable sounds disappointingly boring after the past few days.”

“Most people prefer boring to life-threatening.”

“Most people don’t have doctorates in biochemistry and crocodile physiology.”

Captain Miranda laughs from her position at the boat’s controls. “Most people also don’t conduct scientific research while escaping from bad hombres .”

The remainder of our river journey passes in comfortable conversation punctuated by Becci’s ongoing scientific observations and my periodic security assessments. By the time we reach Puerto Limón in Costa Rica, I’ve reached several conclusions about our situation and our future prospects.

Becci represents everything I thought I wanted in civilian life: intelligence, passion, dedication to meaningful work, and complete acceptance of aspects of myself I’ve always considered liabilities.

She also represents everything I thought I was leaving behind: adventure, danger, tactical challenges, and the need to apply military skills to complex problems.

Maybe the goal isn’t choosing between my old life and civilian routine. Maybe the goal is finding someone who appreciates both aspects of who I am and building something that incorporates the best of both worlds. “Miranda,” I say as we approach the dock, “Thank you for everything.”

She secures the boat with practiced efficiency while responding. “Thank you for giving me passengers who appreciate the complexity of difficult choices. Most people want simple solutions to complicated problems.”

Becci gathers her specimen collection and prepares to disembark. “Most people don’t have the luxury of choosing between simple solutions and effective solutions.”

“Exactly,” Miranda agrees while helping us onto the dock.

As we walk toward the contact who’ll provide our clean passports and transportation home, I think about the future.

Transitioning to complete civilian life would be easier than building a relationship with someone whose work attracts international criminal attention, but easier doesn’t necessarily mean better. “Becci?”

“Yes?”

“When we get home, I want to continue this. Whatever this is, whatever it becomes, I want to find out together.”

She stops walking and turns to face me with the kind of serious expression she uses for important decisions. “Even though my research will probably continue attracting the wrong kind of attention?”

“Especially because your research will continue attracting the wrong kind of attention.” I reach for her hand and find it warm and steady. “I’m good at handling the wrong kind of attention.”

“And I’m good at handling complex research with potentially dangerous applications.”

“We make a good team.”

She grins with satisfaction as though she’s just solved a particularly challenging equation. “We make an excellent team. The data supports that conclusion.”

As we continue toward our transportation home, I think about Dr. Martinez and her advice about civilian integration.

She wanted me to find balance between my military background and normal relationships.

What she probably didn’t expect was finding someone who appreciates both aspects of who I am and brings her own complications to the equation.

Normal is overrated anyway. What Becci and I have is better than normal. It’s honest, complicated, and perfectly suited to two people whose lives don’t fit conventional patterns.

Besides, if our first two dates are any indication, conventional dating advice probably doesn’t apply to relationships that begin with professional surveillance and involve international rescue operations. I’m looking forward to finding out what our third date looks like.