Chapter 6: Two Buttons Short
Dean's POV
"What's wrong?" Tara raised an eyebrow, her voice carrying that morning rasp.
I quickly tucked my phone away, trying to keep my expression neutral. "Nothing. Just work stuff."
She stretched like a cat, the silk nightgown shifting against her curves. "I need to use the bathroom. If you don't want to leave, I don't mind the company."
The invitation was full of flirtatious implications. For a second, I almost took the bait. But the image on my phone burned in my mind, that reconstructed face that looked too much like the woman standing in front of me.
I stepped aside, giving her space. "Go ahead."
While she was in the bathroom, I grabbed my clothes and dressed quickly.
The uniform felt different now, heavier somehow, like it was reminding me who I was supposed to be. Not some guy who lost control and let a woman handcuff him to her bed. My wrist still ached from the metal cuffs, a dull throb that matched the confusion in my head.
What the hell had I been thinking?
When she emerged, her hair was brushed back and her lips had a fresh coat of that red lipstick she favored. She looked perfect, untouchable, like the night before had been nothing more than a pleasant dream.
"You're in a hurry to leave?" She moved closer, her fingers trailing along my arm. "Why don't you stay for breakfast? I make excellent coffee."
"I've got some things to take care of," I said, moving toward the door.
She tilted her head, studying me with those sharp blue eyes. "Let me guess. That body from the river? Did your case make some progress?"
My blood went cold. "You were listening?"
Her expression shifted to pure innocence, all wide eyes and surprise. "Listening to what?"
"Nothing." I watched her carefully, looking for any crack in that perfect facade. "You seem pretty interested in my cases."
She pouted, stepping closer until I could smell her perfume again. "I'm not interested in your cases. I'm interested in you. Though you seem more interested in dead women than living ones."
As she spoke, she reached up and started buttoning my uniform shirt, her fingers brushing against my chest with each movement. The touch sent unwanted heat through me.
"Sorry about that," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I think I tore off a couple of your buttons last night. When I find them, I'll give them back."
"Don't worry about it."
I caught her hands and moved them away, putting distance between us. But she followed, pressing against me until my back hit the wall. Her body was warm and soft, molding to mine in a way that made my resolve waver.
"Are you sure you have to go right now?" she murmured, her lips barely an inch from mine.
For a moment, I forgot about the reconstruction, about the case, about everything except the way she felt against me. My hands found her waist almost automatically, and I could feel myself getting pulled back into whatever spell she'd cast the night before.
Then my phone buzzed with another text, jolting me back to reality.
"I really have to go," I said, gently but firmly moving her aside.
She didn't fight it, just smiled that mysterious smile and watched me gather the rest of my things.
"I'll see you around, Officer Dean."
The drive back to the station gave me time to think, but thinking was the last thing I wanted to do. I pulled out my phone at a red light and looked at the reconstruction again.
The more I studied it, the more differences I could see. Tara's nose was more upturned, and she had a small mole on the right side just above her nostril. Clyde had said the reconstruction was only seventy percent accurate, after all.
Still, something felt off. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something important, some detail that would tie everything together.
When I got to the station, I was surprised to find Rick already there, hunched over his computer with a cup of coffee that looked like it had been sitting there for hours.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the empty desks. Weekend shifts always felt different, quieter, like the building itself was holding its breath.
"Didn't expect to see you here on a Saturday," I said.
Rick looked up with a rueful grin. "Thank our hardworking medical examiner. He sent that email to the Chief, who called me in for overtime." He gestured at his computer screen. "Oh, and the Chief wants us both working this case together now."
I nodded. It made sense. Rick knew the local community better than I ever would, and with his help I could figure out who this Jane Doe really was much faster.
Rick's eyes narrowed as he looked me over. "You're missing some buttons there, partner."
Heat crept up my neck. "What?"
"Your shirt. Top two buttons are gone." His grin turned wicked. "You spend the night at our bar owner's place?"
"You should be investigating the dead woman, not me."
I grabbed a croissant from Rick's desk and stuffed it in my mouth, then made myself a cup of instant coffee. The coffee was bitter and burnt, typical station brew that tasted like it had been sitting in the pot since yesterday.
I changed the subject quickly. "Take a look at this reconstruction. Do you recognize her? Think she could be local?"
Rick squinted at my phone screen, then shrugged. "This is a small town compared to New York, but we still have over eight thousand people. I can't know everyone. Give me a day, though. I can make some calls, check around."
I hesitated, then decided to push. "Does she remind you of anyone? Anyone you've seen around town?"
"Remind me of who?"
"The bar owner. Tara."
Rick looked at the photo again, then back at me with raised eyebrows. "You know what? Now that you mention it, there is a resemblance. But pretty women often look alike, don't they?" He paused, studying my expression. "You're not thinking this is Tara's sister or something, are you?"
The question hit me like a punch to the gut. Sister. Why hadn't I thought of that?
"Rick," I said, trying to keep my voice casual, "Tara's not from here originally, right? How long has she been in Willowbend?"