#worstbreed

      On his right, channels of Pacific and silent rows of docked boats; on his left, a dark sprawl of foliage from the park. He eases the car to a standstill, hesitates, cuts the engine. A temperate California breeze ghosting through the open driver's side window touches his skin like a hand searching for fever. 

      The roads are still empty, the foot traffic nonexistent. He's the first to arrive. There's a tracker embedded within the device he intends to give Gretchen; the odds of her following through, of Lincoln even being present at the exchange, are meager at best.

      She'll piece it together, sooner rather than later. But that's what the tracker is for. 

      To buy a little time.

      To pull his brother out of the fire.

      "Do you regret it?"

      "What ... ?" 

      "Knowin' what you know now -- do you regret helping me?"

      "You would've done the same for me."

      "You think?"

      "I know."

      His phone rings at 12:01, thirty seconds after a black Suburban pulls up on the narrow service path alongside the supply shed. From where he's parked, he can see Gretchen and two operatives, presumably armed; he can't see any sign of Lincoln.

      "We had an agreement."

      "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

      Eyes continue to survey the scene as he pockets the phone, maneuvering himself out of the car. As discussed, he's lacking a weapon. One of his brother's handguns is still at the hotel but these people are too thorough -- there's no way they'll proceed until they've patted him down and confirmed just how easily they can put a bullet in his head. 

      "You didn't answer the question."

      "I don't regret the act. Just how it turned out."

      She's all in black, color-coordinated to match the vehicle. Lips tinted arterial crimson that look vivid even in the dark, curving upward, an infinitesimal comma at each corner, as she sweeps aside a windblown strand of hair. 

      Panama all over again.

      "When the exchange is over, and LJ is safe, you and I are gonna spend some quality time."

      "When the exchange is over," she echoes with a smile, "you'd better run for your life."

      A calculative appraisal on her part precedes a nod at one of the men, who instantly moves forward. Michael's gaze doesn't stray from hers, arms held out, allowing the operative to frisk him; seconds after, he's stepping back with a curtly mirrored nod at Gretchen. Then, and only then, does she stride closer. 

      "The card, Michael."

      He draws the replica from his jeans pocket, but doesn't relinquish it. "My brother, Gretchen. Otherwise we're done here."

      "What, you didn't like the picture?" Her corrosive smile doesn't quite reach the ruthless blue of her eyes. "You'll get him back, as promised. Once I verify that you're not playing games."

      "I'm not playing games."

      "Well, don't take this the wrong way, but your word -- ? Is worthless to me. Now hand it over."

      Whether she misses the irony or chooses to overlook it is irrelevant, despite evoking a near-imperceptible curl of Michael's upper lip that's more grimace than smirk. Still watching her every move, he passes over the 'card' without further resistance. 

      "A deal's a deal." The Suburban's windows might be tinted; regardless, he knows there isn't another occupant in that vehicle. "-- but you were never gonna hold up your end, were you? He was never gonna be here."

      This time, her smile is wide enough to bare immaculately white teeth. "It's called leverage, honey. We just wanna make sure you get the message. As long as you stand down, Lincoln keeps breathing. But for now, he stays with me."  

      And there it is: the entire reason Michael came here equipped with a plan B. All that's left now is turning on his GPS and waiting for Gretchen to show him exactly where to go. He doesn't speak another word, and his expression doesn't change as he watches her retreat; watches all three parties get back into their car, watches the taillights until they round a corner and disappear from his field of vision.

      "Let me get us out of here the only way I know how."

      "... fighting -- ?" 

      "Yeah."

      The only detour he plans to spare is a trip to the hotel. To check on LJ, make sure Sucre is on standby. To retrieve the gun Linc left behind. One way or another, this is ending before sunrise.