Sorry, Marianne - I really do try to post on a regular schedule so you're not hanging out there too long. Some weeks are better for that than others.

A/N: The next few chapters are a little shorter, so bear with me. I don't actually write in chapter format and have to go back to find the logical breaks when I post. Sometimes it breaks up nicely, other times it's a little tougher to find the best place to stop.

Chapter 6

"What kind of a situation? Don? Are you all right? Where's Twilliger? He hasn't passed any of the check points."

"They can hear you?"

Twilliger's voice was as bland as his face, and it took Don a minute to register it through Megan's voice and the blood thundering in his head.

He pressed one hand automatically against his ear. On a normal day at the Bureau, he deftly juggled half a dozen conversations at once, but trying to follow two right now was scrambling his nerves. "He's right here. Hang on, Megan." At least he knew the mike still worked.

He turned his gaze to Twilliger. "That's right." He dropped his eyes to the lighter, shifted his other leg to see if that was in any better shape than the first one. It seemed to be trapped somehow as well, though not as painfully. He could feel his holster digging into his right hip, wondered if there was any way to work his gun free.

"Right there? Twilliger? Don, can you give me any better information?"

"They're ahead of us too? And the side routes?"

He frowned at Twilliger, trying to get a read on him. The last thing he'd expected was that the guy would want to chat. He let his eyes drop closed for just a second as the world jumped and blurred, made himself reopen them. "Bet on it. It's the end of the road for you."

"Maybe." Twilliger took a step toward him and Don couldn't suppress a sharp intake of breath. "Or maybe we can all work something out."

Don squinted to watch the lighter slide between the blunt fingers, into the other palm, then back again. He felt sweat drench his hairline, pool between his shoulder blades under the vest. "Not gonna happen."

Twilliger took another step in his direction and he half-expected him to snatch away the earpiece, but he didn't. In fact, it almost seemed as if he was keeping his distance - staying out of reach. Well, he was a cautious bastard - they knew that much about him. And a downright paranoid one, if he thought there was any danger of Don leaping up and trying something dramatic. Breathing and staying conscious were about as much as his dance card was gonna hold right now.

"We'll see." Twilliger pointed. "I want that."

He wanted…? Don scoured a film of sweat from his eyes and frowned more deeply, trying to follow. He lifted his head to track the direction of the pointing finger, dropped it leadenly back to the pavement with a crack that made sparks glitter across his vision . Da - okay. We won't be trying that again. "I don't know - ?"

"That. Your phone."

The sound of sirens was louder now, followed by the squealing of brakes. Twilliger's hand clenched on the lighter and Don grit his teeth. "Tell David to stay back."

"Don?" David this time, questioning and tense. Don couldn't guess how much he could see.

"Just - hang tight. Okay?" Too much talking. He closed his eyes again and breathed carefully, trying to ease the relentless knife thrusting through his abdomen, forced his eyes back open.

"I want to talk to them too." Twilliger's voice was still bland, but his thumb eased away from the top of the lighter.

Don wished he could think a little more clearly. If he gave up his phone…well. It wasn't quite like giving up his gun, and at least it would keep Twilliger here and dialoguing with them while he worked out what to do. He fumbled for the cellphone attached to the left side of his belt, heard it clatter on the pavement as it shook loose.

"Push it over here. Toward me."

Yeah, right. Don't want to risk any snappy moves from the half-dead guy. Half-dead. That reminded him of what his dad had said and he groaned. Dad. If only you knew…

"Toward me."

Sounds tense - that's not good. Serial killers like to be in control, in charge…better if he's kept calm for the time being…don't want him feeling the need to watch something burn…or someone…

Don patted awkwardly at the warm blacktop, trying to locate the phone without lifting his head again. His groping hand touched smooth plastic and curled around it and he hesitated, just for a second wondering what would happen if he were to throw it as far as he could manage…no. Too risky. Bad tactical plan. He pushed it instead in Twilliger's general direction, heard the small skittering sound as it skimmed over the roadway. He wondered how much of this was carrying to Megan and David. "Twilliger wants to talk to you."

He could almost visualize Megan's expression in the pause that followed, then, "Don, David says your car is on its side, but he can't see much else beyond it. Are you injured?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Don could see Twilliger scoop up the cell phone, shifted for a quick glimpse of his blood soaked pant leg. "Affirmative."

He heard David swear softly, then Megan again. "Are you mobile?"

Twilliger was wiping the cell phone clean on his trousers. Freak. "Negative. How's Wainwright?"

"He's okay." David this time. "Just took a dive."

"Wainwright." Twilliger came closer, bent his knees and crouched just out of reach. "I know him. We've been doing this together for a long time." Don winced, hoping Wainwright wasn't listening. "You must be the FBI guy?"

"Yeah." Don fought the urge to let his eyes close again. Better if he could keep them open and on Twilliger. But he wished that he could at least lose the vest and cool off a little. It wasn't like it was going to do him any good against fire anyway. But of course, if there was gunplay…

"I don't know you very well. Have you been watching my work for long?"

God. He sounds like he thinks I'm a fan or something. Never mind - keep him calm, keep him talking… "Couple months."

Twilliger nodded seriously. "Not long at all. You missed some of the best ones."

For a second, Don wondered if the rush of rage that pulsed through him would actually give him the strength to push the car aside so he could get his hands around Twilliger's fat neck. Instead, it receded abruptly, leaving him drained and dizzy. "Yeah, well, there - were - lots of pictures," he hissed.

Twilliger nodded again. "What made you decide it was me?"

Don grimaced. What, are we bonding here? "…DNA."

"Oh." Twilliger looked as he must look when faced with an unusual tax predicament to work out. "What makes you think it's mine?"

Don pushed one hand against the worst of the pain in his right side, made a fist with the other. "Matched it - to your kids."

"Oh." Twilliger looked irritated, as though they had cheated somehow. "And this DNA - it's certain…?"

"Yeah." Not that he wasn't enjoying this little chat, but breathing was getting harder and his throat ached with dryness.

Twilliger nodded again and looked back at the phone. "What's the number?"

"What?" God. Focus, Don, focus!

"I want to talk to them. What's the number?"

Right. Don could just hear Megan and David and the others' fierce whispered tactical discussion, a confusion of overlapping sound - but he couldn't quite follow the thread. "Speed dial - " breathe " - button three. Megan? Twilliger wants to talk." He hesitated, wanting to add more - to advise, remind, coach - but he couldn't do that with Twilliger listening, even if he'd had the breath to spare. He was just going to have to trust her.

Okay, he did trust her, he just didn't want her making any inadvisable decisions on his account…the faint sound of her cell ring carried over his earpiece, and he could tell she was adjusting things to make sure that he could hear too. Good woman.

"So, Mr. Twilliger."Megan's voice was professional, brisk, grim. "What can I do for you?"

TBC