Chapter 22
Hog
“Two? Why do we need two?”
The damn cart I’ve been pushing around Walmart won’t hold one of those double dog beds, let alone two.
“I thought the entire purpose of buying one this big is so the dogs could share it,” I point out.
It doesn’t even slow Anika down as she manhandles the foam beds until she has them shoved in the cart. It won’t fit anything else, and we haven’t even gotten to the food yet.
“One for at home, one for work,” she explains.
“The salon or the firehouse?”
“Either one. We take it where we need it.”
I don’t bother pointing out if we only had one, we could take it where it was needed too. I have a feeling it will fall on deaf ears. She’s already moving to the next aisle, where she’s picking out food bowls by the time I catch up.
Shopping isn’t my thing, but it clearly is something Anika enjoys, which is the only reason I’m following her around Walmart at eight thirty on a Monday morning.
The truth is, we do need at least some of this dog stuff the cart is piled high with. We’re supposed to pick up “the boys,” as Anika calls them, this morning. Their appointment with the vet was supposed to be first thing this morning, and Anika wants to make sure we’re there at nine. That way she has time to play with them before she has to go to work.
Aside from the nightmare early this morning, surprisingly, she doesn’t appear to have any major aftereffects from yesterday’s events. At least none I can see. She hit the floor running this morning, had breakfast waiting when I got out of the shower, and we were out of the house by eight to drop her mother’s car off on our way to Walmart. Right now, she is marching through the store on a mission, wearing a smile.
We have beds, bowls, leashes, treats, toys, and a massive bag of food I ended up carrying through the store on my shoulder. But Anika is happy in the passenger seat, despite a slight tug-of-war we had at the cash register. It didn’t take long, and was resolved when I pointed out the bill was less than half the mortgage payment I technically owed her for crashing at her place for as long as I have, and it was up to her which one she wanted me to pay.
It’s nine o’clock on the dot when I pull up in front of the shelter. I haven’t even turned off the engine when Anika is out of the truck, heading for the front door. I follow slower, diving in the back seat to grab the dogs’ leashes first.
When I walk in, she’s already sitting on her butt on the concrete floor, the dogs going nuts around her. I crouch down and they briefly come to say hello before crawling all over Anika again.
“I see how it’s gonna be,” I grumble, my knees popping as I stand back up.
“They’re like kids,” Annie shares. “They want their mommy when they’re little, but once they start growing, they’ll shadow their dad.”
I have no personal experience, but I guess we’ll find out. For now, I’m getting a kick out of watching Anika loving hard on the pups. I have a feeling she’d be that way with kids too, getting down on their level to connect with them. I’m more of an observer, but she dives right in.
Like last night. That was unexpected, but it felt damn good, hearing those words from her. Then the conversation early this morning was another eye-opener. For a long time—even before I backed off last year—I’ve held in my feelings, figuring she wasn’t at the same place. I’m getting the sense that’s no longer an issue.
Anika wants to sit in the back seat to keep the dogs company. Every so often I check my rearview mirror to find her grinning, ear to ear, both pups half-draped over her lap, tongues lolling. I don’t blame them.
When I turn down our street and see the police cruiser parked along the curb in front of her house, a quick glance in the mirror shows Anika’s happy grin gone.
Fuck.
“Cute,” Evans shares as we watch the pups sniffing around the backyard, with Anika keeping watch from the deck.
I have a suspicion she’s out there to delay what she’s afraid might be coming.
“How old?”
“Four months, according to the vet.”
“Two of them?”
“Couldn’t pick one.”
“Hmm.”
He doesn’t even bother hiding the smirk on his face.
“Is there news?” I ask, changing the topic.
Immediately his expression changes.
“Yes, but let’s wait for Anika.”
“Just tell me if you’re planning to tell her about Kim.”
“Yes.”
As if summoned, Anika comes in a moment later, followed by the two rambunctious pups, who greet Evans and myself as if they didn’t just see us five minutes ago. She fills their water bowl, and the two slobber noisily, dripping all over the floor. Then both dogs jump on the couch, curl around each other, and promptly fall asleep, completely ignoring the oversized dog bed next to them on the floor. That bodes well.
“Would you like some coffee?” Anika asks Evans, who shakes his head. “Can I get you something else?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Why don’t we sit down.”
Anika’s eyes lock on me, holding a silent plea. I reach for her hand and lead her to the couch. She ends up sitting down next to the pile of assorted dogs, and I squeeze in between her and the armrest. More foreboding, I suspect.
“This morning, Brian Cooper was transported by the feds from the hospital to an undisclosed location. A safe house,” Bill starts, taking a seat in the club chair. “He talked quite a bit last night. Turns out he is the one who got his brother involved in chip walking after Chris lost his job. Something he regrets now, because not only is the organization holding him responsible for the money his brother skimmed, but after Chris failed to retrieve those chips, they decided to grab him off the street and are now threatening to kill him unless Brian can come up with it.”
“So what now?” Anika wants to know. “Are those people going to come after me?”
When Evans throws a glance my way, I know he’s about to crush Anika, so I scoot a little closer and grab the box of tissues from the side table.
“No. First of all, because Livingston got Brian to cooperate last night and call his contact in the organization to stall for time. But also, because the FBI plans to make it public that they not only found Kim Cooper’s car with the casino chips inside, but since then have also been able to locate Kim’s body.”
Anika gasps and claps a hand over her mouth.
“I’m so sorry,” Evans offers.
“She’s dead?”
The detective nods, and tears start rolling down Anika’s face. I pass her a handful of tissues.
“Was she killed?”
“Looks that way. She was found not too far from her car in a shallow grave.”
Anika shakes her head, then suddenly jumps up from the couch and makes a run for the bathroom.
Shit.
I follow her but find the door closed in my face. I hear water running and soft crying. I’m torn whether to force my way in, or give her a few moments to herself. Deciding on the latter, I return to the living room.
“Tell me this is the end of it,” I grumble. “At least for her.”
“It should be,” Evans says, as he gets to his feet. “With the information they got last night, the feds are starting to pick apart the organization. Hopefully, once we find Chris Cooper, we’ll be able to get some answers for the missing pieces.”
Behind me, I hear the bathroom door open followed by Anika’s voice.
“How long have you known?”
I turn around, assuming she’s addressing the detective, but she’s looking straight to me.
Anika
Amazing how a splash of cold water can lift the fog.
It didn’t immediately sink when Hog grabbed for that tissue box before Evans even mentioned Kim, but it’s clear to me now. The blood is roaring in my ears.
“Sweetheart…”
“How long?” I repeat.
“Bill told me they’d found a body on Thursday, but they hadn’t confirmed the identity. He confirmed it Friday morning.”
“And, for the record, I asked him to keep it to himself,” Evans adds.
My eyes shoot to him, I’m pissed.
“So, you figured you could tell him, but not the poor little woman?” I snarl.
“Yes,” he confirms calmly. “The feds felt it was important at the time to keep that information under wraps.”
“But you could tell Hog and not me,” I persist. “Why? Because I’m not trustworthy? You didn’t think I could keep my mouth shut?”
“Anika…”
I ignore Hog and continue staring down Evans, who doesn’t appear impressed in the least.
“Your mouth shut, yeah, but you can’t hide grief. Not from friends and loved ones. Besides, I would’ve opted to tell you and not him, had one of his friends and colleagues been found dead.”
That takes the wind out of my sails, and suddenly the overwhelming sadness is back, and I feel myself start tearing up again.
Hog runs his hand up my spine and curls it around the back of my neck, turning me into his chest. Behind me, I hear Evans announce he’ll be in touch. Before I hear the front door close behind him, I find myself on the couch, sitting on Hog’s lap, two excited puppies crawling all over us.
I try to stay mad but I only have energy for one big emotion at the time, and sadness wins. I’m not even sure he deserves my anger. I have no doubt his motivation was protecting me.
“Oh shit, I have to let Monique and the others know. The salon…should I close it? I can’t expect them to work after getting news like this, can I?”
I’m spinning, one thought after another, including concern for Kim’s poor mother. Who will make arrangements for Kim? Should I?
“Slow down,” Hog suggests, that big hand of his still rubbing up and down my spine in firm, rhythmic strokes.
I experience his touch like the only thing anchoring me to the ground, when I feel like a ping-pong ball careening off the walls.
“For my two cents, I would put a notice on the salon door, something like closed due to family death or whatever,” he suggests. “Today is only half a day, and it’ll buy some time. Give you a chance to figure out what all needs to happen, both in terms of arrangements, the salon, and Kim’s mother. But I would start by calling Monique and Landon, see what they want to do after today. Maybe they can help you shuffle your clients for the week so you can have your hands free.”
I’m nodding my head. Breaking things down helps, it makes it easier for me to focus on one thing at a time.
“Thank you.”
I kiss his cheek before getting to my feet. I find my purse in the hallway where I tossed it on the bench, and fish out my phone. I head back inside to find Hog still sitting where I left him, but the dogs have taken my place on his lap. I sit down beside him, needing him close when I make these calls.
“They found Kim,” I tell Monique when she answers on the third ring.
It’s quiet on the other side.
“Monique?” I prompt.
“God…is…is she okay?”
“No, honey. She’s not…she’s dead.”
“Oh no, he got to her?”
I know she’s referring to Chris Cooper which, I guess, is the most logical conclusion, but it doesn’t really make sense. Evans said her body was found buried close to the car, which would suggest when her car was found Sunday a week ago, Kim would already have been dead. If Chris was responsible, why would he have shown up at the salon on Monday looking for her?
“I have no idea. They’re still investigating,” I share. “And we need to figure out what to do about the salon.”
“Okay, what do you need me to do?”
That’s vintage Monique, shrugging it off and moving forward. We’re alike in that respect, which is probably why we get along so well.
“If you could pass the word to everyone else, I’m going to head to the salon, put a sign up that we are closed, and start calling clients. I’m not sure what the rest of the week is going to bring. I need to get in touch with Kim’s mother, there’s probably a ton that needs to be done.”
Once again, I feel Hog’s hand on my back, this time stroking in circles, as I start to spin.
“Hold on,” Monique pipes up. “Take a breath and listen. You do what you need to do for Kim and her mother. However long it takes. Leave the salon to me. I’ll go there, contact the rest, and we’ll take it from there. I’ve got your back.”
I blow out a breath, forcing a calm I don’t really feel. I’m so used to holding on to all the strings, handing off control over any part of my life makes me uneasy. Especially since it seems to have become more of a norm than an exception nowadays.
Not quite the successful and independent woman I liked to think I was.
“Thank you,” I tell Monique. “That would be extremely helpful.”
“Not to worry. Let me get on this and I’ll call you later.”
The moment she ends the call I turn my face into Hog’s shoulder and burst out crying. Again.
“Sweetheart…”
“I think…I’m having…a nervous breakdown,” I sob.
The pups start whimpering, trying to get at my face.
“You’re not having a nervous breakdown,” Hog says firmly. “You’re processing.”
Then he pulls me up with him.
“Put some comfortable shoes on. We’re going for a walk. Nothing like some fresh air to clear your head.”
Then he calls the dogs to the entryway, puts on their harnesses, and clips on the leashes. He leaves me no choice but to shove my feet into my Skechers and follow him and the dogs outside.