try begging
The commander was momentarily angry at the excessive remark, but he had no choice but to admit it.
"That was short-sighted of me."
He let out a long sigh and raised both hands in surrender.
"Okay. I'll let you take your hands off too."
At that moment, a deep furrow appeared between the major's eyebrows.
"I'm saying let that kid go."
I didn't think the child could handle that madman. I thought that in the worst case scenario, I would kill the child and myself. Even if I could handle it, I had an ominous feeling that if I put the two together, it would be a disaster. So even if I explained that I was just trying to separate them, Winston would not be convinced.
As expected, the blind madman glared at him and ground his teeth.
"Your hand is nothing to Grace, you should take it off."
"Major, as I told you last time, don't lose everything you have just because of one thing you lost."
One.
Leon clenched his fists until it hurt.
The one thing he lost was everything to him.
But there's only one.
He took a deep breath and barely suppressed his boiling anger.
"You're mistaken. I'm not the one who would lose everything I have because of my daughter."
"I tell you again, I have no intention of killing that kid, whether he knows my secret or not."
"It makes no difference to me whether I kill them or steal them."
The commander let out a weary sigh. Winston's obsession and madness toward the child grew worse by the day. It had only been four months, and he had no idea what would happen next.
Others, not knowing that he was such a madman, envied him. No one knows how much his mouth itched to tell the truth whenever he heard praise for his keen insight in selecting Winston and giving him command of the mop-up operation.
As I roughly wiped my face, a picture appeared before my eyes.
"This is...."
It was a photo of an ID card. An ID card with the name Nora Watson on it, the fake ID Angela Riddle had used to infiltrate him.
"Isn't it different from the promise?"
The commander was indignant. In exchange for Winston taking command of the mop-up operation, hadn't they agreed to hand over to him all records and evidence of the operation to assassinate the late king that were directly or indirectly related to him?
"I don't know what you are talking about."
The guy who had been gnashing his teeth until now suddenly changed his attitude and started acting sly. It was incredibly mean.
"I understand that Angela Riddle's belongings were not among those requested by the Commander."
"How can I trust you like this? The trust between you and me has already been broken."
"When you planted a spy under me, Commander, was our relationship of trust intact? I don't think this relationship started with trust. If you seem to have forgotten, I'll remind you that it started with threats and coercion."
Winston looked down at him as if he was sorry, grumbled, and then cornered him once more.
"Besides this, I also have Angela Riddle's diary. I don't need to tell you what's written in it."
The Commander had already been knocked out of the ring after being beaten to death in this fight, but the persistent madman did not stop.
"I hope you haven't forgotten that there is a safe in Winston Street with this name: 'If I am killed, reveal what is inside.'"
So you mean you put them both in there? The commander became lost in thought.
"Of course, it would be exposed even if Grace were murdered, not me."
"Fine. I'll get my hands dirty with this. You can run off the cliff like a bunch of crazy lemmings or whatever you want!"
If there's Grace, I'll gladly go even to the bottom of a cliff.
Leon turned around and left before the shouting had even finished.
"That's why I said it was dangerous, that damn woman... ."
I returned to the 1st Special Forces Headquarters and sat down at my desk, but I couldn't get anything done. I turned my back to the window, where the rain was pouring down, and read and reread the same part of the document until I gave up and got up from my seat.
"Major."
Campbell knocked on the office door.
"Come in."
Campbell was holding a note in his hand. The moment Leon realized what the note was about, he had no choice but to sit back down.
"I got a call from Wakefield."
It meant that the detective he hired to track down the woman had found something.
[15 nights, early to mid-March. Long-term stay alone. Fraser Hotel. Black hair. No visitors. Appeared healthy. Pregnant. Voluntarily checked out. No further destinations given. No other hotel stays in the Wakefield area since.]
The note wasn't a decisive clue, but it did help to loosen Leon's stiff neck.
At least I've confirmed that he's safe.
It was the gold that helped narrow the scope of the chase to the Wakefield area in the south-central region. In early March, the serial numbers of the gold bars that Jonathan Riddle Jr. had sold were identified in surveillance records, and a wanted notice was issued for bars with numbers close to those numbers at all gold purchase locations.
And a week ago, his guess was confirmed. A pregnant woman wearing sunglasses reported to a bank in Wakefield that she had sold two one-troy-ounce gold bars on March 7.
Although it took some time for the report to arrive, it was a satisfying harvest just to fill the gap that had been missing for several months.
The woman had sold two gold bars. Leon deduced that it was for rent or the cost of the baby. Either way, it meant that Grace was planning to have the baby in Wakefield.
"Tell them to keep an eye on the hospital and the midwife."
"Yes, I have already instructed you to do so."
"Okay. Let's go out and take a look."
As soon as the bank tipped off the suspect, we immediately concentrated our search on hospitals and maternity homes in Wakefield and the surrounding area. Of course, there was a chance that our predictions would be wrong. So we distributed leaflets to hospitals and maternity homes across the country.
A mother with blue-green eyes. A mother who won't take off her sunglasses. A mother who came alone without her family.
Any features that are unusual will be readily apparent to medical professionals and midwives.
No matter how I think about it, having the child was a brilliant strategy. It was only a matter of time before she walked into his trap.
There are now only four weeks left until the due date.
Then soon, Grace will be able to hold her child.
Suddenly the rain stopped and the clouds cleared. Leon smiled in satisfaction as the sunlight poured in through the window.
April was as capricious as his mood, going back and forth between heaven and hell.
º º º
The crying would not stop. The child had been disturbing Grace's sleep since before birth, and it seemed that he had not been able to shake off that habit while in Grace's womb. No matter how you looked at it, it was the man's child who persistently tormented people.
"That fucking son of a bitch... ."
"Shh, the baby can hear you."
A familiar voice was heard mixed with the baby's crying.
"It is not educationally good to badmouth a father in front of a child."
At that moment, Grace opened her eyes with a sharp thrill running through her entire body. The dark figure with its back to the window in the dim dawn light was as familiar as the voice.
"I wondered what would happen if I mixed fire and ice...."
The man was looking down while holding the baby in his arms.
"Anyway, it's pretty."
Although his eyes were not visible, his feelings could be felt just from his sorrowful voice. It was extremely disgusting.
"No, it's beautiful."
The man whispered as he kissed the whining baby's forehead. Grace, who was blankly staring at him, clenched her trembling fists.
Why. Why. In my mind that had turned blank, only the same words kept repeating.
I did everything I could to avoid being caught by that man. About a month or two ago, I found a suitable apartment to hide in. As soon as I did, I filled the house with his belongings that showed signs of use. If anyone came in, they would think my husband was away for a while.
Of course, it was an effort to fool the midwife. Yesterday afternoon, four days after the due date, labor pains finally began, and when the midwife I had made an appointment with came, my husband pretended to be out of town.
In addition, I deliberately drew the curtains and darkened the room. I used only red-hot bulbs for the lighting, so that the pupils appeared to be a different color than blue-green.
The midwife seemed to have no suspicions. She simply felt sorry for Grace, who was giving birth alone, and for her 'husband', who had missed the birth of the child.
But why did it turn out like this?
I wonder if the midwife finally recognized me and reported me. At that moment of frustration, the man who was holding the baby suddenly burst into laughter.
"You said that you just had to not resemble me... What did I say? I told you that you shouldn't make such a wish carelessly."
He stroked the child's hair and smiled contentedly, not even noticing Grace, who was glaring at him.