A/N: Sorry that it's taken so long to get this chapter out. Things have been busy at school. I sense some of you might not be too sure about this story. I get it—it's an unconventional match. But I appreciate those who are taking a chance with me. Thanks so much for continuing to read and review.

Chapter 2

Dale didn't know what had come over her in that kitchen with Ramon. She'd been dancing with him. How on earth had he gotten her to do that? It was like he had some strange power over her, like he was Mesmer or something. All she knew was, one minute she was helping him do the dishes, and the next she was salsa dancing by the sink. Maybe it was those dimples, she thought, or the sparkle in his dark chocolate eyes. She shook her head at herself. Her pulse was still high, like she'd drunk too much coffee, and her blood hummed in her veins as if she were on the precipice of a great cliff, looking down.

"Hey, Travers, you okay?"

Her fellow agent, Harrison Schrick, looked at her in concern from the driver's side of the agency SUV.

"Yeah," she said. "Just thinking…"

"Well, I said your name twice, and you didn't answer, so those thoughts must be pretty deep."

"Oh, sorry." She was glad it was dark so he wouldn't see her embarrassment. "What were you saying?"

"What do you think of the owner, Rodriguez? Did he seem shady to you?"

"I don't know," she replied. Not a lie; she had no idea who this man really was. "He played poker with the Senator. He wasn't a fan. He did give the guy CPR, so if he'd wanted him dead, he could have just stood by and done nothing."

"So you're thinking this was no accidental overdose then?"

Dale sighed. "Early days, Harry. He's a political figure—he could have a number of enemies. There are lots of sickos out there too, who get obsessed or angry, or simply like to cause chaos. Early days," she repeated.

Back at the office, while they waited for the senator's test results, she sat at her desk and turned on her computer. She didn't know why she seemed hesitant, but when she plugged Ramon's name into the state and federal database, she couldn't help but feel like she was spying on a friend. But her first order of business was to do a thorough background check on him in an effort to see who they were really dealing with. She admitted to herself that there was also a good deal of personal curiosity on her own part, and like a child writing a letter to Santa, she wanted to believe he was real. When his driver's license photo came up on the screen, she felt her heart lurch, and she quickly looked down from those soulful eyes to his list of stats.

Ramon Alejandro Rodriquez. Born: Barcelona, Spain. Age: 42. Height: 5' 11". His immigration status was legal and up to date, as were his several licenses and certifications: restauranteur with liquor license, dance instructor, realtor, DJ, wedding officiant, skydiving instructor, substitute teacher, marriage counselor, massage therapist, CPR and First Aid, and…private detective? Dale felt her jaw drop. He'd only been in the US for ten years. She pulled up his passport information. He was a Spanish national but had visited or lived in at least twenty countries in Europe, South America, and the Middle East. Before the US, he'd lived in Canada for two years. He had his undergrad in Art History from the Universitat de Barcelona, and a master's degree in Business Administration from Oxford.

Further digging led to a rabbit hole of newspaper and internet articles in the places where he'd lived, touting his early career in bull fighting in Spain, a heroic mission with the French Foreign Legion where he was awarded a Legion Medal of National Defence. The accompanying picture had him wearing his khaki uniform and white kepi, as the President of France pinned on his medal.

Holy moly, she thought. How could all of this be true about one man, especially one so young? She scrolled back up to look at his face. He had a kind, open expression, with a hint of mischief, as if he knew something that you did not. Nowhere in his records was there a trace of any red flags, indiscretions, arrests, or court appearances. Not even a traffic ticket. He was current on his taxes and had no credit card debt or outstanding loans. He'd implied at his poker game months before that he was descendent from royalty. Could this be why details of his private life were nonexistent? Had some powerful entity in his background kept his record clean all these years, for the sake of his family name?
She sighed, drawing her hands through her hair in frustration. Her research was showing many details about him, but at the same time, she felt like she'd learned nothing at all. There were no real clues to his character. Could a man with his varied skills and adventurous nature be capable of attempted murder? Of course, she couldn't rule anything out yet, but neither could she pin anything on him at this point.

A check of his social media brought about further insight, and a simple search found pictures of him with several beautiful women. She wasn't surprised, given his good looks and minor celebrity as a weatherman for KBC. His taste seemed to run toward the willowy and glamorous, two things that Dale definitely was not-though why this thought occurred to her, she didn't pause to analyze. Annoyed with herself, she clicked out of those pages and sat at her desk, stifling a yawn. It was late at night, and she was very tired. Maybe she could get in a few hours of sleep before any updates came on the Senator.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Her ringing phone awoke her, and she blindly reached for it and answered without looking. It was Harry.

"Travers, the preliminary tox report came in for Harper. It was fentanyl. Not a lethal dose, but enough to put him out for a while. He's still unconscious in the hospital."

"Anything to indicate it wasn't accidental?" Dale asked, sitting up in bed.

"Not conclusively. But they found it in his drinking water at the restaurant. He didn't have a prescription for it, so if he was a user, it was the illegal stuff. Weird he'd put it in water though."

"Yeah. I'll go back and talk to Rodriquez. Guess we should start bringing back the wait staff for more questions."

"I'll call them in," said Harry. "Oh, and head's up: this thing hit the media this morning, so speculation is abounding now."

Dale frowned. "Great. Thanks."

Thirty minutes later, Dale was in her car driving past Bistro Ramon. No one was there, and she could see through the window that the police tape was still intact inside the restaurant around Harper's table. A sign on the door announced it was closed until further notice. She drove on to his other establishment, the Mailbox Grille. Inside, patrons were eating breakfast, and Dale found Ramon at the bar, preparing gourmet coffees with a very impressive espresso machine. She watched him a moment, trying to dispassionately note how gracefully his lithe body moved, his dexterous fingers creating flowers with cream atop cappuccinos while at the same time laughing with customers and smiling with every dimple. He caught sight of her, and his eyes widened with so much pleasure that Dale felt her cheeks grow warm.

"Dale," he said. "What a very pleasant surprise. What may I get you?"

"I'm not here for the coffee—"

"Nonsense. You look like a woman who demands a good cup of café."

She inhaled the rich coffee fumes and nodded, unable to deny it. "Okay. Sure. But I need to talk to you in private. I have a few more questions."

He didn't seem too concerned. "Oh, and you are a police officer, so you must have a donut to go with it…"

"Now that's an offensive stereotype. And besides, I'm actually a state agent, so—wow." He'd reached under the counter and brought out a beautiful chocolate éclair on a pretty plate. He pushed it across the bar toward her.

"I apologize that we don't serve donuts, but this seems much more worthy of a beautiful woman like you." His eyes were aglow with humor, and he actually winked at her. Winked. This man had no shame. A few moments later, and he set a latte in a bowl-sized cup beside the delectable pastry, adding a sprinkle of nutmeg with a flourish. He nodded toward one of his workers, who took over at the espresso machine and he gestured that Dale follow him back to his office, while carrying her cup for her.

His office and heavy mahogany desk were immaculate, and she was almost jealous, thinking of the stacks of files and empty coffee mugs littering her desk at the CSDI. On his walls were framed photos of Ramon bullfighting, skydiving, and atop a high mountain somewhere in the snow, standing beside a Spanish flag.

"Please," he said, indicating the chair in front of his desk. He set down her coffee and she sat, holding the plated éclair in her lap. He sat across from her in his big leather chair, steepling his fingers as he waited.

"Senator Harper ingested a poisonous substance, though we don't know at this point whether it was an accident or intentional."

Ramon didn't appear surprised by this. "I saw on the news this morning he is still alive, thank Goodness."

"Yes. I need you to fill in some blanks for me. Aside from his arrogance, why do you dislike the man?"

"Because he cheated my out of ten-thousand dollars."

Her jaw dropped. "Poker?"

"Yes."

"How do you know he cheated?"

"It was his deck. In the course of our play, I counted five aces, but when I mentioned it, suddenly the extra had disappeared from the deck, and everyone laughed it off."

"Who else was at this poker game?" she asked.

"It is not my place to divulge that information."

"You realize that you have just given yourself motive."

"Am I a suspect?" he asked, his face relaxing into obvious delight. "I have never been a suspect before."

"Not officially. You're a person of interest, however."

"So, you are saying that you are interested in me?"

This was serious business, but she had to struggle not to smile at his audacity. "The CSDI is interested in you, yes."

She regarded him a moment, then reached for her coffee and took a sip. It was delicious. She gave a bite of the éclair a similar mental review. "Don't leave town," she finally said, reluctantly setting the plate on his desk. She moved to stand.

He gestured toward her abandoned coffee and pastry. "Please, stay and finish your breakfast. It will be a shame to waste it, and you look like you didn't have time to eat this morning." He was right, and the éclair was calling her name, but she made the sacrifice and turned to leave.

He rose instantly, his tone suddenly earnest. "Dale, please."

"Yes?"

His face had lost all humor, and he stood before her solemnly, his posture admirably straight.

"You must believe me; I did nothing to the senator. Pistols at dawn would be more my style, perhaps, or steel against steel. Never something as devious or dishonorable as poisoning."

His face registered such moral outrage that Dale instinctively believed him. But whatever her instincts were telling her, she had to deal first with evidence, motive, and opportunity. Unless new information came to light, for the moment, Ramon seemed their most likely suspect.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "We must investigate every possibility. We'll be in touch."

He was in the way of the exit, and when she took a step to walk around him, his face relaxed, and he put his hand on her arm to stop her. "One moment," he said softly. He reached for the inside pocket of his suit and brought out a snowy white handkerchief. Gently, he lowered the linen to the corner of her lips, rubbing gently. Her lips parted automatically, and she watched his eyes darken to an unfathomable black. He showed her the smear of chocolate he'd wiped off for her, then stuck the handkerchief back into his pocket, his gaze heavy on hers.

She stared up at him, her pulse jumping, her lips tingling at his touch.

"I could not let you go back to your serious work with chocolate marring your beautiful face." The teasing twinkle was back, along with an underlying emotion she couldn't identify.

"Thanks," she managed, and he stepped aside so she could brush past him, inhaling his expensive cologne.

"Until we meet again, lovely Dale."

She paused, but didn't turn back, then went on out of his office, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Back in her car, Dale sat a few moments, staring ahead blindly. She wondered if she could excuse herself from this case. She could claim she was a friend of Ramon's, that she worried she might not be able to be unbiased. But then, would that set a precedent for future cases, when her superiors might have reason to doubt her impartiality merely because she knew the person? She sighed, leaning her head against the steering wheel.

And then another thought occurred to her, and it disturbed her more than she wanted to admit. She raised her head. Could Ramon be using their obvious physical connection to manipulate her, hoping to distract her into looking toward another suspect? Her gut was telling her he was innocent, but the facts were beginning to lean in another direction. It was too soon to arrest him, of course, as they still weren't sure this wasn't just an accidental overdose.

She needed to find out who else was at that poker game. Could she use their mutual attraction to get Ramon to share those names with her? Dale was not one to play games with men, but this was official CSDI business. She had gone undercover before; wouldn't this be the same thing? She knew that it must be his honor that kept him from telling who had been at that game, unless it was someone who had more damning information about Ramon. Either way, this struck Dale as a vital piece of information that could either rule him out or condemn him.

Being seductive with Ramon though could be very dangerous, in more ways than one. It might not even work, and she could be left embarrassed personally and professionally. He seemed much more adept at turning on the charm. If she attempted it, it would be best before he got too spooked and lawyered up though, she told herself. It would mean putting herself out there in a way that was terrifying, that was against her old-fashioned ideas about relationships, and she vowed right then that she would not let it go too far, no matter how desperate she was for information.

Resolved, Dale started her car and headed toward agency headquarters to run the new information she'd gleaned from Ramon by Harry and her boss. Perhaps they had gotten something from the waitstaff, or maybe the senator had awakened with an explanation that totally left Ramon out of the picture. She decided she would pray for that, which would certainly be the best outcome for everyone, and if that was not the case, she would pray for the strength to keep her wits about her, to protect her from evil…not to mention her vulnerable heart.

A/N: Up next, an old-fashioned game of chicken. Thank you for reading.