THE FINAL CHANCE

CHAPTER 1

Linc Burrows wasn't going anywhere, not with those handcuffs binding him. It didn't matter, though. Alex wasn't taking any chances. He wasn't stepping far enough away to give the fugitive a chance to escape, but far enough where he'd have some modicum of privacy.

He held the cell phone to his ear, counting off the rings impatiently. Something hadn't sounded right to him in Pam's voice that last time he'd spoken to her. She'd been a little cool to him, a little aloof. He hadn't wanted to admit that before, so excited about the prospect of being together with his family again. Alex had wanted to hold on to whatever small sliver of hope there was left for him to hang onto.

Hope was something that was in so short a supply right now. At least, in his life, that was true.

His heart jumped when he heard her voice on the other end. "Alex?"

"Yeah, Pam, hi. Listen, uh—"

"Alex, I can't really talk right now. Not on this phone."

Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes. Then he opened them and surveyed the ceiling in that old warehouse.

He knew something was wrong.

"Who went to see you?" he asked in a husky voice.

"That man from Internal Affairs, Sullins."

"Uh-huh. Pam, I know you can't talk. But, okay, uh—I need to get a number where I can—"

As he was patting his jacket in search of a pen, he heard her say, "Alex, look, I'm sorry. This isn't going to work."

No, no, no, no! He paced in front of the window, biting back the urge to release a choked cry of pain like a wild animal caught in a hunter's trap.

"You—you said you weren't saying no," he recited her words back to her.

"I know what I said. I'm not saying no. But, Alex, I am saying I can't do this."

Again he patted his jacket. He found a pen, all right. The magic pen. The one that he needed like crazy right now. The hollowed-out one that saved his sanity for him.

"Look, Pam, everything's going to be all right—"

"No, Alex, no! It is not going to be all right!" she half shouted into the phone. He heard her sigh and then, "You're facing murder charges, Alex. And you were involved with—with some people who tried to kill our little boy."

"Pam, listen to me—"

"You never said a word about that to me. You haven't thought to explain any of it, Alex. I deserved to know what was going on."

"Pam, please—"

"Now you listen to me. You're not thinking rationally, Alex. You fled the country and now you want—what? For me to pack up everything, take Cam, and go on the run with you? Are we supposed to ride off into the sunset together? Do you think those people would really let us do that?"

He slumped against a column for support. Chewed down his pills, dry, no water, as always. They tasted like chalk; they turned his stomach. He was so tired of that taste. So tired of being a junkie.

Feeling someone's gaze on him, Alex looked up. Burrows was watching him, one eyebrow arched curiously. Alex set his jaw firmly and glared at him.

"Mind your own freakin' business!" he barked.

"What did you say?" Pam demanded hotly.

"No—not you, not you. Oh, God, Pam . . . " Turning toward the window, he lowered his voice. "Pam, for God's sake, please call me later on. On another number, okay? I know this looks bad, baby. But I promise you I'm—I'm gonna make this right."

"You can't make this right, Alex. You can't. There are some things that are just out of your control. This is one of them."

"Pam, please don't—don't make me beg, sweetheart." His voice broke, forcing him to stop momentarily. "Everything, everything I did, I did for you and Cam. To protect you both."

"I'm sure, Alex. I'm sure your heart was in the right place. I'm sure you thought that's what you were doing. But that's not a life for a child, Alex. Being on the run forever, that's no life for Cam. You know that, deep down. You're a good man. And you were a good husband to me and a good father to Cam. And I've never stopped loving you, either."

The sound of her voice now breaking tore at his heart. "But I have to put Cam first. Can you understand that? Please. Our son has to come before everything else. Even before you, Alex."

"I know, I know, Pam. I agree with that, but—"

Click. The line went dead in his ear. The end of the discussion.

For nearly a full minute, Alex stared numbly at the phone, as if that would get her back on the line. He could call her, certainly—but he knew what would happen. In all likelihood, Pam would let it go to voicemail. He couldn't leave a message. Not with Sullins dogging his every move.

Fighting off the urge to hurl the cell against the wall violently enough to destroy it, Alex replaced it in his jacket pocket. Burrows—damn Burrows—he was still watching, still staring. Holding on to whatever meager grain of pride he had left, Alex rolled his shoulders. Brushed his hair with his hands, so that he didn't look like a total lunatic. Walked back toward his hostage.

"Hope that kid brother of yours gets here soon," he muttered, letting it be known he was in control of any topic discussed.

"Or you'll what, Mahone?" Burrows challenged. "You'll kill me?"

"Hey, you're as smart as Mikey, huh?" Alex laughed. "Well, maybe not as smart. He's smarter than you. I think he's smarter than me, too . . . sometimes."

"He is. That's a fact."

Alex stared at him with the severity of a hawk. "Awww. That's somethin', huh? The proud big brother!"

Burrows shrugged. "What would killing me accomplish? It's, um . . . it's all been for nothing. Hasn't it, Alex? Abruzzi. Tweener. Haywire. You killed them all, and what do you have to show for it? Looks like nothin'."

"Shut your damn mouth!" Alex raged at him. That wasn't enough, though. Drawing his gun, he pinned it against the back of Burrows' head. "Not a good time to screw with me, man!" he threatened through gritted teeth. "Not a good time at all! I'll blow you straight into hell, you bastard!"

Burrows said nothing. To his credit, neither did the man cower. Alex was careful around him, careful not to position himself in a manner that would give his hostage a chance to gain the upper hand again. Even with the cuffs, he could fight like a riled-up longshoreman. Alex could still taste blood in his mouth from the beating Lincoln had just given him not that long ago.

Although a beating wouldn't have been so bad. He already felt beat-up on the inside and ached worse than when he'd felt Burrows' fists pummeling him. Pam's rejection had hurt more than any heavyweight champion's fists ever could.

"You kill me, you get no money, man. No boat," Linc reminded him. "You got nothing to bargain with Michael, you do that. So I suggest you calm your ass down. Let those happy pills of yours work their magic."

Alex backed up a step. He could have pistol-whipped him, caught him off guard. Knocked him straight into La-La Land. That would've shut him up.

But Alex knew he had to face the truth: He was too wounded to care anymore. He couldn't deal with Burrows right now. Luckily, he didn't have to deal with Schofield right now, either. With Michael, he knew he'd have to be alert, sharp as a knife.

Sticking the gun back into his belt, he sniffed and rubbed his face.

"I'm gonna get her back," he said, more to himself. "I'm gonna get my family back."

Over his shoulder he glanced at Burrows. The swarthy man wouldn't lift his head. Alex understood; basically, Linc was tuning him out, unwilling to provoke him any further.

Well, fine. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? For him to shut the hell up, mind his own business?

Except Alex had managed to alienate the nearest person, the only person right now, who could sympathize with what he was going through. Someone who knew intimately what it felt like to stand in that loneliest of places, when a man realizes he has lost everything and has nothing left. Nothing.

The only difference between them, Alex knew, was that Lincoln Burrows hadn't lost himself. His was a tragedy, though not as tragic as Alex's. Lincoln could look in the mirror and not hate himself, through and through. And he still had a brother, his own flesh and blood, who loved him enough to sacrifice everything for him, even laying down his own life for him.

Alex collapsed against the wall. He hated how close he'd just come to killing this man, a man who was, unlike him, innocent.

Funny, in that awful, strange way. All that was left of the life he'd once had and the love of a family he would always adore were shadows. Shadows that he could watch and reach for, but like shadows, they could never be touched. . . .