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table where his backpack lay. Maybe the dosage had been wrong. If he could slide another dose into her…
    “Where you going, Dr. Carlyle?”
    A chill ran down his spine as she drawled the words. She was still changing, and it most definitely wasn’t for the good. He abandoned the attempt to retrieve a syringe and spread his hands wide to show her he was no threat.
    “I need to sit down,” he lied. “I’m feeling faint.”
    She pointed toward the chair farthest from his pack.
    “So sit. I’ll get to you as soon as I finish with these gentlemen.”
    Wil lowered himself into the chair and turned his attention from Chiana to the men. Mick’s face was a study in confusion. Wil figured the man must feel the same fear at this change in his easy-going partner. He saw nothing but confidence in Creed, who stayed relaxed as Chiana strode closer to him.
    She placed a hand on Creed’s shoulder, rising on her toes to whisper in his ear. Mick tensed; when she moved, he attempted to grab her. She growled like a feral creature, knocking him out of her way.
    Her increasing strength alarmed Wil. Could he have so miscalculated that the new injections increased her natural tendency to hostility rather than decreased it? He looked with longing at his pack, which he’d prepared with great care. If he could grab the syringe that held the sedative and inject her…
    He shoved his chair back and slid down the table, arm out, ready to grab the pack and run. Before he could touch the handle, Chiana was there, her body slamming onto his and pinning him down.
    “Didn’t I tell you to behave?” she whispered in his ear. The words sent fear skittering down his spine as her hand closed around his throat.
    “Leave him alone.”
    Creed squatted, his face only inches from Chiana’s. Wil held his breath as the man’s big hand covered Chiana’s fingers and pulled them away, one by one. He let it out when Creed stood and brought Chiana with him. Still, Wil stayed where he was, back against the table, until he heard their footsteps moving away.
    He eased closer to watch the tableau. Mick guarded the exit, watching the man he perceived as an enemy. The stranger had his arms wrapped around Chiana, holding her helpless against his chest. She began to struggle, biting at the arms that bound her, kicking at the legs behind her.
    Across the room, Wil rummaged through his pack, found what he sought and ran over to the couple. When Chiana stilled long enough to scream at him to get the hell away, he jabbed the needle into her hip. Seconds later, she lolled unconscious in Creed’s arms.
     
    “There.” Wil pointed toward a row of bunks across the room. Creed staggered slightly as he carried Chiana to a top bunk and dropped to sit on the one below her.
    “Somebody want to tell me what the fuck is going on here?” Mick demanded.
    “You deal with it,” Creed said.
    Wil nodded and walked to the other side of the room. His voice was low as he talked to Mick, making the conversation private.
    Not that Creed cared. The woman in the bed above him was a fellow agent, not an enemy. Supposed to be, anyway. Could be all that was changing faster than anyone could control.
    “If you trust that bastard, you’re crazy.” Mick’s shout carried across the room. “The reason he’s on his own is that he nearly got his partner killed down in Haiti. Now you want me to hand mine over to him?”
    Creed covered the space between them with lithe speed. Glowering at Mick, he said, “You’re way out of your league here, jackass. I don’t know what the good doctor here did or didn’t tell you, but I’ve got something to say. Leave. Now.”
    Wil’s calmer voice echoed the suggestion more politely.
    “Your close relationship makes you too protective,” he said. “She needs to be with someone who can make quick, unemotional decisions on her behalf.”
    “So you’re choosing a man who’d sell his own mother to the devil over me.”
    Ignoring the angry outburst,