Page 68 of Captivating Anika
“Based on the state of the body, confirmation is difficult, so we have to wait for the medical examiner, hopefully tomorrow.”
Definitely not good. Jesus. Although, I don’t think it’s going to be completely unexpected, this is going to be yet another blow to Anika.
“The body was in a shallow grave only a few hundred yards up the hill from where her vehicle was parked,” he continues. “A cadaver dog team the FBI brought in found it.”
Yeah, this is going to devastate her.
“What about Cooper? Any news on him?”
Having him caught would get rid of a large portion of Anika’s stress. She’s been having nightmares every night since the piece of shit attacked her on Monday.
“We’ve got a few leads, put surveillance on his brother, but nothing so far.”
Shit.
Until Cooper is caught, I definitely don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone.
Anika
“…doesn’t listen. It drives me crazy.”
I make sympathetic noises as I continue to cut, trying to keep my focus on Diana—particularly her bob, which I’m trimming—but my mind keeps zoning out.
Lack of sleep, for one. Both my body and my mind are making sleep difficult, and I know from experience, pain and fatigue become like a never-ending loop.
God, even my fingers are hurting as I try to control my scissors for a straight cut.
“…think I’m overreacting? Anika?”
“What? I’m sorry,” I apologize immediately, shaking my head. “My mind was drifting. I haven’t been sleeping well,” I admit.
“No, no, it’s fine. I’m just rambling. It’s what Frank says, anyway, that I talk too much.”
I put a hand on Diana’s shoulder.
“You’re not talking too much. I just suck at listening today.”
I feel bad when she doesn’t even try to engage with me after that, and instead follows along with a discussion between Monique and Landon on which football player has the best ass. But it does allow me to concentrate on finishing her haircut without messing it up.
“Are you okay with Molly blow-drying your hair?” I ask when I’m done.
“Yes, of course.”
I go find Molly, who is folding towels in the supply room, and ask her to take over for me. Then I grab a water from the fridge and duck into my office.
Diana was my last client this afternoon. My twelfth today. We split Kim’s clients between us and I worked through lunch to try and accommodate them. Some customers grumbled when they had to wait a bit longer, and one person even walked out.
Opening my drawer, I take out my ibuprofen and shake two tablets in my hand. I’m running low again. At the rate I’ve been popping these, I’ll burn a hole in my stomach before long. I’ve been eating them like candy.
I can’t keep up like this. We need another hairdresser, but I don’t have the energy to go through the whole hiring process. I guess I can look at some of the old résumés from three years ago when I actually hired Kim.
“Hey, do you have a minute?” Monique asks, sticking her head around the door.
I wave her in.
“Talk to me,” she starts, taking a seat on the visitor’s chair. “Because it’s painfully clear you are not doing well.”
This is what I didn’t want, for my health to become a hindrance at the salon, which is why I’ve successfully hidden it for well over a year. If you’re not a hundred percent, people start questioning your capabilities. Clients are afraid you’ll be unreliable, and employees start worrying how long they’ll have a job.