Do Michael And Lincoln Get Caught Direct

"I hear everything," Michael said. His ribs ached. The wound on his forearm, where he'd cut through a chain-link fence two nights ago, had started to seep through the makeshift bandage. "They're sweeping grid by grid. We have maybe twenty minutes before K-9 units get here."

"What?"

"Michael—"

They walked out together, side by side, onto the open road. The rain plastered Michael's hair to his forehead. Lincoln's jacket hung open, empty of weapons, empty of fight. The marshals swarmed them—knees on backs, cuffs clicking shut—but neither brother resisted.

The SUVs were three hundred yards away now. Flashlights cut through the rain. A voice over a loudspeaker: "This is the U.S. Marshals Service. Come out with your hands visible." do michael and lincoln get caught

"Maybe. Or maybe they'll put us both in a cell next to each other. Wouldn't be the worst thing."

"That's the plan?"

Lincoln looked at him—really looked. The way he used to when they were kids and Michael had a fever, trying to decide if it was serious enough to call someone. "Then we move. Now."