He had no idea.

Neither did Collette, having struggled toward consciousness in the middle of another raging fever to find she'd taken the faulty logic of going something cold blooded to escape. It hadn't worked yet. Sometimes an active imagination and wishful thinking was a liability instead of a benefit.

She was coming out of the fever haze while the crocodile operated on instinct. The scents, sights, and sounds of the hospital were so far outside its range of understanding that it could do nothing but react, frightened and defensive. Its growls were low and rumbling, the relative narrowness of the bed compared to its bulk keeping it from crashing over the side and making a stand on the floor.

Its gaping maw opened at Jaime, reptilian eyes watching with apparently cold impassion. It wanted sand, it wanted water, it wanted things that smelled like real things. All it had was antiseptics. It lashed it's tail, stomping forward to the end of the hospital bed, displaying at Jaime and trying to drive him off.

Collette was slowly coming to her senses, but she wasn't there yet.