Try Begging - Chapter 153.1
Dunwich Mayflower Hotel for five nights. Alone. Black hair. She checked out on Wednesday afternoon and took a taxi to the train station.
But that was where the trail ended.
He managed to locate the porter who carried her luggage at the station, but he didn’t know her destination. During that time period, five trains stopped at the platform where she waited, and combining their subsequent stops covered dozens of locations.
“D*mn it…”
As Leon stretched out on the sofa and muttered a curse, a soldier sitting upright at a desk in the corner of the office flinched.
“Nils.”
“Yes, Major.”
“I thought I told you to go to bed.”
“No, Major.”
Leon glanced towards the window. It was still dark outside, but the clock hands were almost fifteen minutes to six am.
“Well, you’re about to finish your shift anyway. I don’t really have off hours.”
He had not left the headquarters since last Wednesday.
“I should also…”
“Forget it. Go home when it’s time.”
Leon cut off the private’s cautious reply and muttered to himself.
“Soon, the others will be starting their shifts anyway.”
Another day passed without any progress.
Thud. Thud.
The baseball he was tossing reached just short of the ceiling before falling back into his hand. Leon lay on the sofa, tossing and catching the ball, lost in thought.
That woman making a bold survival claim from the most unlikely or perhaps the most characteristic place. There have been four tips so far, spaced four to ten days apart. The last call was last Wednesday, which makes today, Friday, the ninth day.
It was about time for another call.
He mechanically tossed the baseball, repeating the information he had dwelled on over the past few days.
Sunglasses.
Yes, she would’ve started with those. The eyes are the most definitive feature. Maybe he should issue a ban on sunglasses, trying to link it somehow with the rebels.
At that thought, Leon chuckled. Only a dictator could enforce such a rule.
Maybe he could ban hair dye, too.
‘Black hair… Daisy with black hair… Grace Riddle with black hair…’
Leon’s lips curled into a wry smile at the thought of that. He may not need to ban hair dye. The image was quite alluring. If she were in front of him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist lifting her skirt and tearing at her underwear. It was obvious what would happen next.
“D*mn it…”
The thought of her freely walking around the bustling city full of men was frustrating. It was fortunate, at least, that it was clear she belonged to someone. No one would dare touch her.
Thud. Thud.
The meaningless noise began again.
Seeing her travel the country, she seemed to be in good physical condition. As his worry slightly eased, resentment resurfaced.
It was infuriating.
‘Grace Riddell, you left me. Without a word.’
To a former fiancé, she had left enough room for a final word and a punch. But for him, she disappeared without even a curse as if he wasn’t worth the effort.
And yet, she frequently called his office?
It was absolutely cruel.
She didn’t want to see him again, but she seemed intent on using him continuously.
That was even more cruel.
At that moment, Leon gripped the baseball so tightly that the veins and tendons on his hand bulged.
Ring. Ring.
The phone rang. It was the phone that was used to receive the rebel tip line right loudly. As the private stationed by the phone looked anxiously at Leon, he swiftly got up from the sofa and instructed,
“Do as we’ve arranged.”
“Yes, sir.”
The private swallowed hard and picked up the receiver.
“Special Missions Unit. How may I assist you?”
As soon as he answered the phone, he raised up and gave Leon a significant nod, signaling that the caller was a young woman.
Leon promptly took the receiver.
[ Is this where I can report a tip? ]
The voice was slightly hoarse. The familiar voice he heard every morning.
A faint shiver ran from his ears down his spine from the woman’s voice. It felt like every cell in his body was waking up. He wanted to ask her immediately where she was but had to grit his teeth to suppress the urge.
Leon grabbed a pencil rolling on the desk, and scribbled in the notebook the private offered.
Yes, that’s correct. Where are you?
The private, unaware of what the woman had said, repeated into the handset what Leon had written.
“Yes, that’s correct. Where are you?”
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE
