<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi2.wp.com%2Fwww.booknista.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2016%2F10%2FIMG_20161026_081813.jpg%3Ffit%3D300%252C300&amp;hash=731e559437edb38de2dadb3c85afd5a6" href="https://i2.wp.com/www.booknista.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/IMG_20161026_081813.jpg?fit=300%2C300" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Terry Morgan</a>vigorously shook her collapsed umbrella, trying to get as much water off of it under the awning of the shop before entering.  It was typical that her day off would be as miserable as this.  Then again, maybe she was just trying to find a reason not to enter the shop.  The last time she'd been in a tattoo parlor hadn't been a pleasant experience.  But the tattoo she'd gotten then had all but disappeared under burn scars.  She needed to bring back the rose in honor of her mother, Rose.  And maybe because Megan had always insisted she get it back.  Besides, she'd lost so many nerve endings from the burns that the tattooing would surely be less painful now than it had been then.<br/><br/>Entering the shop, she immediately noticed she wasn't the first in line.  And was almost tempted to walk back out, not wishing to listen to that equipment and watch the procedure on someone else.  But Terry had put this off long enough.  This was not only to honor her mother, but Megan.  The two most important women in her life, both gone way too soon.  As a homicide cop, she'd been shot, stabbed and even bitten by perps.  And then there was the fire.  So why so afraid of a needle?  Maybe because, unlike all those other instances of pain, this pain she was consciously choosing to suffer.<br/><br/>Terry leaned her umbrella in a corner of the waiting room, near a radiator.  The heat of the radiator would probably dry it out faster and keep it from making too much of a puddle on the floor.  Five foot six, light brown hair and slim of build, she was hardly an imposing woman.  Though attractive, she tended to downplay that attractiveness. She did it through her style of dress (black leather jacket over a brown shirt and grey slacks), her hair style (tied up in a bun) and a curt way of speaking that left others uncertain whether she was angry with them. It was her effort to earn the respect of her peers, not by her appearance or charm, but by her performance on the job.<br/><br/>Glancing at the girl in the waiting room chair, she said "Sorry to interrupt".  Then she turned to the other woman and asked "Is there a sign-in sheet here?" breaking into an uncharacteristic smile.  A nervous smile.  Through her 10 years of experience as a detective, she'd deduced that the girl with all the tattoos had to be the proprietor or an employee.