Detective Horatio Caine squinted into the Miami sun, hands on his hips. "Dinosaurs, you say? Then they must call you...the tricera-cops." He slid the sunglasses on and turned to one side, gazing out over the water.
Becker closed his eyes in pain, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd heard that pun nineteen times in the past month, but this was definitely the worst.
As a consequence, Becker completely missed the telltale wave that would have let him warn Detective Caine - most likely by shouting "RUN!" at the top of his lungs - about the giant crocodile ("Deinosuchus rugosus," Connor identified it much later), which heaved itself out of the water to make Caine lunch in four seconds flat.
Afterward, Becker did some shouting, and shooting, and then a good deal of running, with just a touch of hiding. He also managed not to get eaten. Once they were sitting relatively safely behind a concrete public building in the park, Connor said, between panting breaths: "Well. I guess we could say...he had a deadly sense of humor?"
Abby, not missing a beat, reached over and smacked him upside the head.