Blood froze in John's veins when a frantic teacher called him to inform him that his daughter had seemingly vanished into thin air.

As he rushed to the kindergarten, he briefly debated whether he should report her as missing to the police. He had his own ways to look for her, but it wouldn't do for a respectable gentleman to leave the cops out of the whole thing.

Sac PD assured him they were going to do everything to find his daughter, tried to reassure him by saying that the child had probably wandered off on a sudden whim and would be back soon.

Idiots. He knew Hailey, she would never walk away from where she was supposed to stay; someone must have taken her, that was the only possible explanation.

Under his secret identity he had many enemies, but he'd been secretive enough and he was pretty sure none of them would ever be able to connect him with his little girl. However, the fact that the single person who knew the truth behind Hailey's conception was currently behind bars made him feel slightly uneasy.

He'd always thought he had Lorelei completely subdued to his will, but one never knew how a cornered animal was going to react. What if she'd panicked and told everything to the police? What if she'd told Patrick instead?

His whole plan had backfired when that idiot at the FBI hadn't been able to stop his colleagues from going after the limousine. Lorelei had been caught alive, and the fact she'd previously slept with his enemy meant that there was a small chance she might have developed feelings for him.

So far he'd been trying to devise a plan to get her out of prison; he didn't want all the years he'd spent in molding her to be wasted, and wasn't really looking forward to killing off the woman that had given birth to his daughter.

However, the bitch would have to pay dearly if she had dared to betray him. He was a patient man, but never tolerated this kind of behavior from his subordinates.

As of right now, the thing that mattered most was finding his child; he would think about the rest later on. As he hurried into his house to collect some of his belongings, he found a small note that had been slipped under the front door.

'Dear Mr. Robinson,' it said. 'I don't know whether you're a psychic or not, but you don't need to be one to guess what I've done to your lovely child."

There was only one man who could have written it, and he almost burst out laughing as the irony of the situation started to sink in. The little worm was sorely mistaken if he thought he could get away so easily with hurting Red John's child; and yet he was fulfilling one of his darkest desires at the same time, if Patrick truly had the guts to kill an innocent kid then his journey to the dark side would be complete.

He felt almost proud for his enemy's choice, though he couldn't quite ignore the blind anger and fear bubbling up inside of him at the prospect of never seeing his daughter again. Deep down he'd always know that a child of his own might turn out to be his downfall, make the kingdom of fear he'd been building for years crumble to the ground and disappear.

However, he'd never regretted allowing Hailey to come into this world, and he surely never would.

Hastily he sent out orders to his minions to start the search for Patrick Jane. Luckily he had many of them at his beck and call, and soon enough one of them informed him that the man had been seen in a small coastal town; and he had a little girl with him.

John heaved a sigh of relief at the news that his daughter was still alive. Whether his foe was waiting for the right moment to kill her, or he was merely trying to fool him once again, he just couldn't say. It didn't matter though, for he would soon teach him a lesson that the man would learn with his last breath.

He drove straight to the dingy motel where Patrick had spent the night, bribed the receptionist to give him the spare key of the room he'd booked for himself and the little girl. When he opened the door, the blade of his trusty knife gleamed briefly in the dim light; however, the sight of his child cuddled up to his worst enemy made him pause for a moment.

The scene gave him mixed feelings; in a way he was slightly disappointed, for it was clear that Patrick wasn't going to carry out his threats anytime soon.

Unconsciously he took another step towards the bed, and that was when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

"Don't move," a commanding voice whispered in his ear, and he couldn't bite back a wry smirk as he recognized whom it belonged to.

From what he knew about her, and he'd gotten to know her pretty well along the years, Agent Lisbon surely wouldn't approve of what her friend had been doing. He'd probably been sneaking behind her back all this time; and yet she'd managed to show up in the nick of time to apply damage limitation, as she always did.

"Well met, Teresa," he whispered back, his finger still wrapped around the handle of the knife. He didn't move though, for he wasn't exactly keen on waking up his daughter so that she would see him in such a compromising position.

"Drop that knife," she added bluntly; he quickly evaluated his options before actually doing as he was told.

His daughter mattered to him more than he'd ever cared to admit, and now he knew he'd finally lost her. John stared at her longingly for a moment – still fast asleep against Patrick's chest – before sighing softly and following the boss of the Serious Crime Unit out of the room.

"Why don't you just shoot?" he asked her when they were far enough from innocent ears. "I know you want to."

Now that his cover had been blown for good, he wasn't really looking forward to spending whatever time was left to him as a dead man walking, looking at the world from the other end of death row. Better to end it now, and a bullet was the fastest solution.

He felt the gun wavering slightly, only to be pressed further against his skin. "You wish, bastard."

John shook his head in disappointment; Teresa Lisbon was too much of a cop to ever do anything of the kind, had Patrick been in her shoes things could have gone differently.

However, he still wasn't going to stand trial; he had to protect his daughter from ever knowing the truth, and there was an open window a few feet away from them.

With one swift move he pushed the petite woman aside, then jumped out of the window without a second thought. It was a long fall to the ground; his last thought was for his daughter, before he welcomed death with open arms.