JE created the characters below, I'm just using them for fun.

Jenny (JenRar) I couldn't do this story without your beta skills. Thank you for your suggestions and corrections.

Chapter 6 – Dancing with Hector

After sending out my report about the day with Bobby, I didn't have anything on the docket until Hector and I were scheduled to go out together. He was the most difficult of the guys to plan for. I didn't know him as well as the others, which wasn't really saying much, since it's not like I was weaving friendship bracelets for any of the guys while searches were running. There was a slight language barrier, I knew he was gay, and I'd never seen him soften his rough exterior – ever. Taking him to a ritzy hotel to be a bodyguard wasn't going to work because he wasn't just intimidation like Cal... He instilled fear in most people that had to look him in the eye. I struggled to find a way to set something up that would be in any way realistic.

In the end, I gave up and decided to just try having him practice having fun. Lester had said Hector liked to throw knives, hack into secure computer systems, and patrol the back alleys of Stark for shits and giggles, but none of those were really appealing to me, so I was going to try to make him have some fun my way, and if he could pull off looking like he was enjoying himself, then I'd consider the night a huge success.

Because I knew the next day was empty, I stayed up late watching movies and wondering if I was making a huge mistake in talking about my feelings with Ranger. In truth, I hated opening up, so forcing him to do it could implode on us and ruin the friendship we had. After getting myself thoroughly worked up, I finally shut off the television – every channel seemed to be running some sort of chick flick, where the guys gushed on endlessly about how much he loved the leading lady. It was fun to watch from time to time, but tonight, it was just pissing me off. The lack of realism was irritating because no man, but especially not Ranger, would ever wax poetic about his feelings like they did in the movies. It was that train of thought that got me back online, opening a new email to Ranger.

I've been thinking, and I'm sorry if I've been pushy. I hate it when people try to make me do things that are not me, so it's wrong to try to turn you into something you have no interest in being. Feel free to tell me to take my demands for more information about what you're thinking and feeling and shove them. You said you were a man of action, so I'd totally understand if you decide to stick with something like that because it's who you are. Honestly, I wasn't trying to change you. I just wanted to understand you. It would be nice to know if the man I think I know is the real man, not just the image he flashes to everyone else.

Not really satisfied with what I'd written but unable to do any better, I hit send and then crawled into bed. My alarm was off, and if anyone woke me up before noon, I was going to be pissed beyond words.

The next thought I had was that someone obviously had a death threat. I'd heard my phone ringing in the living room but easily ignored it. Now my reminder indicator was beeping to let me know I had an unheard message. My body wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, once my mind realized someone was not only trying to reach me but also leaving a message, I couldn't shut down my curiosity. I got up and grabbed at my phone, as though handling it roughly would let the caller know of my irritation.

I didn't check the caller ID, hitting the play button for my messages instead.

I relaxed the second I heard the familiar warm voice say, "Babe, how much of the day are you going to waste sleeping? Go check your email. I've got several meetings today that are going to be difficult because I have to let go of some men that I hired myself. When I get online tonight, I'm going to want a response from you." Then he hung up.

He'd been doing so well using his words, and then he'd just hung up. Would it have killed him to add a simple goodbye before hitting the end button on the call?

I was still sleepy, but now that he'd thrown down the gauntlet about a waiting email, I walked over and hit the power button on my laptop. While I was waiting for the login screen to appear, I played his message once more. He was sharing a detail about his day that he didn't have to tell me. Today wasn't going to be hard because he was firing people – if they screwed up, losing their job was probably the least of what he wanted to do to them. It was going to be hard because he hired them, which meant he felt betrayed by whatever they had done in that office to sabotage him. He was blaming himself for misjudging them or missing something before bringing them in and backing them with his name. That was what would make today difficult for him. Why did he share that detail with me?

I thought getting him to open up would make him easier to understand and relate to, but so far, it was just confusing me more and filling me with more questions. I wondered if he would be offended if I asked him to go back to just responding "Babe" to everything and letting me assign my own meaning to the word?

Before I talked myself out of anything, I figured I should at least read the email he'd sent. The first thing I noticed when I opened his message was that it was longer than his other ones had been.

Let me guess... If I'd let myself into your apartment last night, it would have smelled of greasy pizza, and you would have been balled up on your couch, watching whatever sap was on late night television because you'd eaten all the junk food in your pantry and you didn't feel motivated enough to get up and put in Ghostbusters. I'll bet you were wearing some of those stretchy pants that stop mid way between your knees and ankles and had on a black t-shirt that may or may not have come from my apartment when I wasn't looking.

Shows how much he knew... I was in cotton shorts, not yoga pants, and I was wearing the t-shirt he'd left here when he had to stay in my apartment, hiding out as he tried to clear his name. He'd left two shirts here then, and I'd worn them so much they were beginning to wear thin. There was no way I was going to admit to that, so my brief victory of seeing Ranger guess wrong was shallow at best.

Why would you think asking me questions is trying to change me? You know me well enough to know that I don't do anything I don't want to do, so if you were pushing me for something I didn't want to give, I'd say no and leave it at that.

I couldn't argue with his logic. I'd heard him say no before, although he rarely said it to me.

Most of my life is structured around discipline and routine. When I get up, how I work out, and what I eat for breakfast are prescribed from years of practice. But that doesn't mean I'm some kind of idiot that can't break out of the expected mold for the right reason. It's usually easier to continue doing the same thing unless there's a motivation to change. You've never pushed me for more, so I never had a reason to give it. I'm not saying I don't want to answer your questions, but volunteering information is foreign territory, so it may not be smooth at first. If there's something you want from me, all you have to do is ask. You know me better than anyone else. I've shared details of my life with you that no one else knows. I think you already know the difference between the real me and the one I put on display in public.

Did I? I knew he had various personas that he switched out like I changed shoes. I could easily identify gangster Ranger, boardroom Ranger, and total badass Ranger, but I wasn't so sure I could put my finger on who he was when nobody was looking...and that was who I wanted to know. The fact that he knew how I'd spent my evening told me that he knew the real me, but I wasn't so sure I could guess with nearly as much accuracy for him.

Is trust an emotion or action? Because I trust you in ways that I can't say are true about any other woman. I hope that you know me well enough to know that emotionally speaking, that's a big admission for me.

That settled it. I was definitely an idiot. I should have known better. The few times I've tried to tease Ranger, he's always turned the tables on me and taken control, showing me that no one can out-tease the Cuban sex god. And when I decide to pressure him about his emotions, he opens up in a way that leaves him vulnerable and that demands reciprocation, which means I now have the pressure do the same thing. How was I supposed to respond to that?

I decided that a shower might help me work this out, so I took my time, washed my hair, shaved my legs and then stood there under the guise of steaming the tension out of my shoulders. In truth, I was hiding from my computer so I didn't have the pressure of responding. Once I admitted that, I turned off the now tepid water and got out. Fortunately, between sleeping in and dwelling over Ranger's email, I had wasted a large portion of the day so that it was mid afternoon already. I threw on a robe, figuring I'd get dressed later to go out with Hector so I didn't need to dirty two outfits when only one was necessary.

I ate a pop-tart for a late lunch and smiled at the thought that I could at least tell Ranger I hadn't eaten all my junk food last night because I still had some for my first meal of the day. Of course, that would be admitting what I was eating, so I decided some details were better left unsaid.

I called Mary Lou and checked on Carson. She assured me he was fine, that it might have been scary at the time but that he had already bounced back and was currently at school, telling all his friends about the big guy he'd hung out with the afternoon before. I thanked her, again, and promised to call her for us to get together again soon.

I couldn't come up with anything else that demanded my attention, so I begrudgingly moved back to my laptop and hit reply.

For the record, I'm in my blue robe, not lounge pants, so there's no reason to use your crystal ball to try to figure out what I'm doing right now. Other than my wardrobe and the amount of food left in my pantry, you had the rest of my evening down pretty well...which makes me wonder why you ever break into my apartment. You'd never waste an evening vegging out watching crappy television and sucking down unhealthy food.

I didn't like the tone I was starting to set, so I quickly changed the subject, hoping he'd keep up.

I had to really think about what you wrote. I think trust is an action that comes from several emotions. I know this because I trust you – more than anyone else. I've called you when I was happy and wanted to celebrate, when I was confused and needed advice, when I was horny and needed release, and when I was in danger and needed help. Never, in any of those times, did I doubt that you would give me what I needed. I reach out to you because I trust that you'll be there when I need you. It's an action, but it's not blindly performed. I trust you because I admire you, I like you, I feel secure when I'm with you and more confident from being around you. So the trust comes from all the other things.

I sat there for three minutes with my finger hovering over the backspace key, but in the end, I lowered my hand without deleting what I'd written. Despite how needy it made me sound, I couldn't disagree with anything I'd written. It was all true, and if I was pushing him to open up to me, I owed him the same thing in return.

We all have routines or habits, and mine are so well ingrained, breaking out of them would take more than just a proper motivation. It would take repeated practice and someone patient enough to work with me over time. I run – stop smirking; I didn't mean literally. When things get intense, I shut down, and if my attempt at hiding doesn't work, I run away. It was what Joe said finally ended our relationship. He would push for me to open up to him, and I'd take off in the opposite direction. But when I looked at why I ran instead of giving in, which would have been so much easier, I had to admit that it was because the thing he wanted from me – for me to love him the same way he said he loved me – wasn't something I could give him. It wasn't that Joe was a bad guy; it was just that I finally realized no amount of pressure or logical arguments could make my heart give itself to him and only a fool would keep trying to force it. So, I gave up and told him the truth – that while I'd always love him, I couldn't force myself to be in love with him, and we had to stop the merry go round we'd been on for years. It wasn't fun anymore, and the thought of another fight and reconciliation cycle was making me nauseous.

How did I get off track and onto Joe? I had a feeling the last thing Ranger wanted to know about was my past with Morelli. Still, it was all true, and if Ranger was trying to say he wanted to open up to me, then he'd have to get used to hearing about my life, as well.

I'm sorry about your day today. I know you don't mind firing somebody if they screwed up, but I'm guessing the hard part will be because you thought you could trust them. Seeing as how you've had your trust in someone crushed so recently, I see the gift you are giving me in saying you still trust me. I'm usually bad about accepting presents, but this is one gift I'll definitely treasure.

I figured I'd probably written enough to push his attention span since his conversations weren't usually this long. But I didn't want to leave the note on such a sappy topic. I proofed what I'd written and then quickly added a closing sentence.

So what does the man of mystery do when no one is looking after a hard day? I'm guessing Pino's and bad television are out, so what's left to help you deal with the stress of a day like this one?

Before I could analyze every word any further, I hit send and then decided to start the process of getting dressed for tonight. It wasn't like I needed to impress a gay man with my outfit, but part of my plan included having Hector scare off any other guys that might approach without making a scene. So I needed to try to make myself look good enough that somebody would risk crossing Hector to talk to me. I was starting to wish I'd gotten up earlier now that the full brunt of what I had to accomplish tonight was on me.

It took four different outfit shifts and three hairstyles to finally settle on what I was going to wear to the club. The dress I had on at the moment was a deep blue and one that Ranger had once threatened to burn after a distraction because he said it had not only gotten the skip's attention but that of every other man in the bar, so I hoped it would bring the same kind of good luck tonight.

Hector was leaning against the door to the garage when I pulled up. I was three minutes early, so I refused to apologize for making him wait. As he moved toward the car, I couldn't help but appreciate the outfit he had on. Instead of the baggy clothes that usually hung on him, he was in a pair of fitted black jeans and a red silk shirt, that brought out the honey of his skin in a nice way. Admittedly, it was dark, but seeing him dressed like that kept me from focusing on the tears permanently marking his face.

He hopped in on the passenger side and smiled at me. "Hola, chica."

"Hola, Hector," I replied, already using up all my Spanish knowledge unless we were planning on going out to eat.

I began driving through Trenton to get us to Escapades, the club I'd picked for the night. It wasn't one of the places I'd usually go to for a girl's night out, since it was typically crowded with a more aggressive meat market mentality, but for our purpose tonight, I figured it would work perfectly.

The silence was starting to make me uncomfortable, until I parked the car at the back of the lot and turned to face my partner for the evening. I had no choice but to explain what I planned for us, but I wasn't sure if he'd understand it or be able to participate because of my lack of clear directions.

"How much English do you understand?" I asked, wishing he'd reply with perfect diction that his insistence of speaking only Spanish was only an act.

He lifted his thumb and forefinger close together and said, "A little."

That wasn't the answer I was hoping for. "We're going into the club, and we're going to pretend to be a couple." I watched his face very closely for any sign he understood or objected to what I was suggesting.

"Some guys might approach us to dance with me, and tonight, the answer to that will be no. I want to get rid of them without making a scene or scaring them so much they alert a bouncer to a possible threat." I wished there was a way for me to know if the message was getting through – especially about the last part, because it was the most important.

"This is a chance for you to practice a cover that's different from the ones you usually play for RangeMan," I tried to explain what I was thinking, but I couldn't tell if it really mattered to him one way or the other.

"Do you have any questions?" I asked, wishing there was a way to gauge if this was about to be a gigantic failure.

"Si," he said, not encouraging me with his Spanish response. Then in a heavily accented voice, he asked, "What if the man wants to dance with me?"

I laughed, out of a mixture of relief that he'd asked his question in English and that he was attempting to make a joke because of his sexual orientation. "That depends on how cute he is," I replied with a grin. "Before I agree to blow my cover, I want to be sure it would be worth it."

"Bien," he answered, which I thought meant good. The fact that he was still smiling told me it didn't really matter if I was right or not because we were both enjoying ourselves.

I didn't want to push my luck by saying anything else, so I nodded toward the club and then opened my door. He followed suit and met me at the front of the car to walk with me to the door. I could feel his hand on my back just below my waist. With my heels on, we were basically the same height and his presence behind me felt comfortable. There was no control or pressure coming from his hand, and he didn't seem to be tense or stiff like I'd worried that he would be.

When we entered the club and pushed past the bar, the song playing was one I liked, so I leaned back and said, "Dance?"

He nodded and replied, "Si, bailar."

We moved to the dance floor, so I assumed he'd agreed to dance with me. When he spun me around suddenly and pulled my hips tight to his own, wrapping one arm around my waist and letting the other linger on my back, I found myself wondering if I'd ever danced with someone who had moves like Hector's before. Obviously, I'd begun the night with too many misconceptions about the man in front of me, because not only did he have a great body, but he definitely knew how to use it, too. Without worries about attraction or chemistry, I was able to relax and let him lead, not worrying about him misinterpreting how I moved. It was probably the most freeing feeling I'd had in a club in a long time.

We danced for three songs in a row, and then he motioned to a table that had emptied on the edge of the floor, so I assumed that meant he wanted to take a break.

We had barely sat down when a guy that looked like he was recently out of the frat boy stage began making his way over. He locked his eyes on me, never giving Hector a second glance. "Would you like to dance?"

I turned to look at Hector, trying to send the message that this was part of the experience for him tonight and I wanted him to deal with it. His ESP must be bilingual, because he nodded and then looked at the blond boy in front of us and said something in Spanish. It wasn't overly harsh, but it didn't sound like an invitation to sit down, either.

"Does he always answer for you?" the kid pushed once more.

"Tonight I do," Hector responded, understanding enough to get the answer right to that question.

"Pity," the guy said as a final response before turning and walking away.

He wasn't bad looking, so I paused to appreciate the way his tight jeans framed his ass before looking at Hector, who seemed to be appreciating the view a little more than I had. When we looked at each other, we both started laughing.

"I not like him for you," Hector said after we pulled ourselves together.

"Why not?" I couldn't understand why it mattered who I danced with.

"He's too…" Hector paused, so I waited, figuring he was trying to get his thoughts together and translate them into English. Finally, he changed tactics and said, "He's not the boss."

"You think I need someone who can boss me around?" I wasn't sure what kind of lifestyle Hector was into, but if he thought I was a submissive in need of a strong hand to master me in the bedroom, he had totally misjudged me.

"No," Hector answered quickly, proving his sincerity. "He's not Ranger; he's not the boss."

"Oh, you think I'm with Ranger," I restated what I thought he meant.

"You should be," Hector pushed, frustrating me by leaving it there.

"Why?" I couldn't believe of all the guys at RangeMan, Hector was the one suddenly interested in my love life.

He lifted a finger and moved it from side to side, as though saying he wasn't going to do what I was asking for. "No tell secrets, but it would be good for him and you. You'll see."

"Will I?" I asked, unable to stop myself. It's not that I thought the quiet man in front of me had a crystal ball, but my love life had felt beyond my control for so long that I was desperate for any kind of prediction that I could hold onto or hope for.

Hector smiled again and said, "We dance now, talk about the boss later."

I let him take my hand and lead me back out to the dance floor. "How much later?" I pushed once he'd pressed us together once more.

"That talk needs tequila," he explained, much to my disappointment. "And Ranger."

"I can't picture those two things together," I blurted out, trying to remember if I'd ever seen Ranger drink something stronger than a beer. I'd seen him order various hard liquors to play a part, but he usually dumped them out when no one was looking, so I didn't think he drank much.

Hector laughed at my honesty and said, "Not much, but when he drinks shots, the little worm makes him talk. He'll tell you anything."

I was so lost in what he'd just said, I didn't know where to start firing questions back. Was he saying that tequila made Ranger talk about anything, and at some point, he'd confessed how he felt about me to Hector? If I got Ranger to my apartment and plied him with booze, could I get the whole truth about some of his cryptic remarks?

My mind was a swirl of possibilities so that I nearly fell over when Hector stopped moving and turned away a would-be dance partner. This time, I didn't watch the departure of my latest rejection until I felt Hector turn to face me.

"Not bad," I replied, referring to the leather-clad ass.

"The cop was better," Hector confessed, comparing this guy to Joe's famed rear end.

"True, but it takes more than a hot ass to be happy," I replied, wanting to be sure Hector understood that Joe and I were completely through.

"Maybe," he agreed, before adding, "But I'd settle for a hot ass right now."

The next hour was spent dancing with the man who had completely thrown me for a loop tonight. Every preconceived notion I'd had about him had been blown out the water. There were a few things that I thought were lost in translation, but for the most part, we were able to communicate just fine. And even when the last guy who'd tried to cut in got a little loud because he was obviously drunk, I thought Hector had handled it well. Of course, I had no way of knowing what he'd said when he'd pushed me behind him and gotten right up in the guy's face, but the wet puddle on the floor made it obvious he'd made a strong enough point that we didn't have to worry about him returning for another chance.

After that, I was exhausted and figured there was nothing else for us to do, so I drove Hector back to Haywood. He hesitated before he opened the door, and I had a feeling I knew what was about to be said. "I had fun," he began, giving me a chance to agree with him. "When you're done, we do it again, but I pick the place. Si?"

Oddly, I didn't have any reservations agreeing. "Si, you can pick the club next time."

After I'd agreed to go dancing with him again, he got out, and I drove myself back home.

Before I forgot some of the details, I took off my clothes, put on the t-shirt I'd slept in the night before, and then sat down to type up the report. Hector had used several tactics depending on the response he got from each of the guys, but he'd never had to resort to anything physical. I was curious what he'd said to the last guy but figured the end result was all he was going to be judged on, so it didn't matter.

I sent it off to Tank and copied Ranger before allowing myself to look at my inbox. I cleared out all the junk, leaving just two messages from Ranger. One had come in probably a half hour after I'd sent my message this afternoon, and the second one was received only thirty minutes ago.

The first one was probably a gut reaction reply, so I was really curious what I'd written that had made him have to respond so quickly. I opened it and smiled when I read his response.

"A robe – your blue robe? That's all you're wearing? The one time all I'd have to do is just tug on a cotton belt to see everything underneath and I'm too far away to take advantage of it. At least you've given me an image to hold onto through my meetings. I'll write more later. ~R"

Hector's words came back into my mind, and I smiled. He was right; I wouldn't have enjoyed those guys from the club because they weren't Ranger. It was time for me to admit that he was what I wanted. Now all I had to do was get him to admit to feeling the same way, and all would be well.

If I couldn't do it via email, when he got back into town, I'd find a way to invite him over for a movie – and tequila.