A/N: The case and the romance pick up in this chapter. I'm glad to see you back.

Chapter 3

Ramon stayed in his desk chair, looking thoughtfully at the door Dale had just closed behind her. There was definitely something between them, a spark of passion that he hadn't felt for anyone in a very long time. Of course, he'd been with many women, but his attraction for them had been purely physical. With Dale, he wanted to go below their surface chemistry. But how? He knew telling her who had been at that poker game with the senator and himself would be a way to get on her good side, to maybe rule him out as a suspect, but most importantly, could perhaps make her see him as a man worthy of a woman like her. But there was an unspoken agreement among gamblers who engaged in slightly illicit poker games, a sort of gambler's code.

He didn't want anyone knowing his private business any more than his fellow gamblers did, many of whom had wives or girlfriends who would frown upon these activities. Certainly no one would want the police involved. Who would welcome Ramon into a game if he was found to be a nark? He shook his head and laughed wryly to himself. This was certainly a prime example of what the Americans called being between two difficult positions. A rock and a hard place. Yes, that was the expression. But there was also another, much softer place that was causing him trouble—the feeling of Dale Travers's hands in his as they danced.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time Ramon made it home from the Mailbox Grille, it was nearly eleven o'clock. He loosened his tie and poured himself a drink, sitting heavily in his leather arm chair with a sigh. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His staff at the Grille had been abuzz all day about what had happened at Bistro Ramon the night before, and they'd stop talking, looking very guilty every time he had come near them. He didn't like this at all, hated to be the center of gossip, at least, when it was not for good reasons. Even more irritating was the way Dale kept creeping into his thoughts at the most unexpected times-her face when she laughed, the way her hips swayed to the salsa, her wide blue eyes…

He had almost drifted off when a knock at his door startled him. His eyes flew open and he looked toward the door, momentarily disoriented. Who would be at his door this late at night? When the knock came again, he got up and went to find out. He was taken aback by the vision of Dale Travers. His gaze roamed hungrily from those enchanting eyes he'd just been dreaming about, down to her black dress, leather jacket, and knee-high boots, then back up again to her lovely face. She'd applied her makeup with a slightly heavier hand, and her eyes looked sultrier, more mysterious, captivating.

"Dale," he said. "What an incredible surprise."

Under his smoldering regard, her cheeks turned a becoming pink. "Hi," she said. "I'm sorry it's so late. I wanted to talk to you."

"By all means, come in." He stepped aside so she might enter his home. "May I take your coat?"

"Sure," she said, and he helped her off with it, her enticing scent making him feel warm all over, and no longer the least bit tired. He hung it on the coat rack and gestured for her to sit in his living room.

"Would you like a drink?"

"No, thanks," she said at first, thought better of it, and asked for a glass of wine if he had it. When he returned with her glass, she was sitting on his couch. She took the drink, thanking him and meeting his eyes. There was a shyness there that she seemed to be struggling with, almost forcing herself to hold his gaze. He raised an eyebrow, and she lost the battle, looking down as she took what looked to be a fortifying sip of alcohol.

"May I?" he asked, then sat beside her before she could answer. "Are you here with news about the investigation?" he asked, incredibly curious as to why she was there, looking so sexy and nervous.

"No," she said. She cleared her throat, took another sip of wine, and set down her glass on the coffee table. "I was wondering if you'd had the chance to reconsider telling me more about that poker game with the senator."

"So direct. I love it when a woman tells me what she wants. By the way you are dressed and the lateness of the hour, I might have assumed you were here to charm me out of the information."

"Of—of course not. I wouldn't dream of playing such games with you." She crossed her legs, and his eyes helplessly followed the movement, catching a glimpse of white skin just above her boot. His mouth went dry. "Although I will admit," she continued, "I am hopeful you've changed your mind."

He scooted closer to her, stretched his arm across the back of the couch. Had there not been such an awareness between them, she might not have noticed, but he saw she had, and her cheeks darkened. Ramon, on the other hand, was not above playing the games that prospective lovers do; on the contrary, he adored these mating rituals.

"If I were to tell you, what would you offer me in return?" he asked softly. He lifted the hand behind her back, barely toying with the soft ends of her auburn hair.

"Your…cooperation might go a long way toward the state giving you the-the benefit of the doubt, should it come to that." Her words were strong, but her faintly trembling voice made Ramon smile knowingly.

One dark eyebrow rose as what she said registered. "Then you still do not believe my innocence." He was surprised by how much this wounded him.

"I'm not the one who makes that call," she hedged. "I only collect information and evidence."

He made a decision then, for, like a good poker player, he was always willing to call an opponent's bluff. She'd come to his home on a fishing expedition, using her feminine wiles to sus out what he knew. He wondered how far she was willing to go, and his pulse picked up speed at the possibilities.

"I'll tell you who was there, for…a kiss."

"What?" her voice came out in a tremulous whisper.

"You heard me, querida."

He moved closer to her while she decided, and he could see her mind working behind almost panicked eyes. His hand drifted to rest lightly on her shoulder.

"Tell me the names first, then…maybe," she managed breathlessly.

To both their surprise, Ramon listed five names in quick succession. So much for the gambler's code, he thought recklessly. Suddenly, tasting those pale pink lips was all that mattered to him in the world. He bent his head, and nuzzled into her hair to murmur into her ear. "So…may I have my reward now?"

She shivered and nodded once, her eyes drifting closed as his mouth moved over her cheek toward her slightly parted lips. His heart was pounding so loudly that he almost didn't hear her phone. When it rang again, she turned her head from his seeking mouth and reached into her dress pocket. Ramon had never wanted to throw a phone against the wall more.

"Travers," she answered, her voice unnaturally high-pitched.

He leaned back down to find her ear again, taking the delicate lobe between his teeth while she held the phone to her other ear. She gasped, and he smiled wickedly to himself.

"What?" she said so loudly that he raised his head. She moved out of his reach and stood up. "When?" Her eyes flew to his, and Ramon felt like someone had punched him in the gut. This did not sound good at all. "Okay, we'll be right there."

"What is it?" he asked as she put the phone back in her pocket.

"Senator Harper died about thirty minutes ago. I've been ordered to bring you in for questioning."

He held out his hands and grinned while he tried in vain to control his racing heart. "Are you going to handcuff me now, like in the movies?"

"I don't think that will be necessary; you're not under arrest. I hope that you'll do more of that cooperating we talked about."

He dropped his hands. "Very well. But I will definitely be keeping count of the number of kisses you owe me."

"Ramon, this is serious. I really hope that you are telling me the truth, that you had nothing to do with this. It could mean capital murder charges, and he was a state senator…"

The sparkle in Ramon's eyes dimmed. "I promise you, I have done nothing wrong."

She didn't comment, and Ramon felt his heart fall into his stomach. "I will get your coat," he said numbly.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The drive to CSDI headquarters was quiet, each of them ruminating over the evening's events. For Dale's part, she couldn't stop thinking about how quickly her guard had dropped with Ramon, how she'd nearly kissed him and would have if the phone hadn't interrupted. He brought out things in her, feelings, that she'd never felt before. He was handsome and oozing charm, and she never dreamed she'd be taken in by someone like that. She was a smart, strong, accomplished woman, and in her work, had seen many others fall prey to men like that, to their detriment. She was angry at herself that her judgment had been so compromised that she would have willingly kissed a possible murder suspect.

She glanced quickly toward the passenger seat, found that Ramon was staring pensively out the window. His cologne teased her senses, made her heart pound just thinking about how it had felt to have his lips on her cheek, his slight stubble heightening the sensation; to hear his sensual, accented voice in her ear. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to stare straight ahead and focus on her driving.

Later, she stood on the other side of the glass wall of the interrogation room with her fellow agent, Harrison. Ramon sat at the table inside the room, sitting back tiredly against the seatback, eyes closed. His hair was unusually unruly, his tie gone, and she'd never seen him look so disheveled.

"You got nothing from the waitstaff?" Dale asked.

"Nothing. Every one of them was clean. Most are college students or career service workers. The chefs were clean too, and forensics found no trace of fentanyl in the food prep area."

She'd given Harrison and her boss the names Ramon had provided, and it turned out they were all wealthy Denver businessmen, and another state senator, Cameryn Marshall, who, it seemed, was a political rival of Harper's. Other agents were in the process of seeking them out for questioning.

"What are we going to do with Rodriquez?" asked Harrison, eyeing the man at the table. "We can't hold him more than forty-eight hours."

"I'll see if I can get him to consent to letting us search his house," Dale replied. "It'll save time securing a warrant."

"Too late. The governor already saw to that. They're searching Rodriquez's house as we speak."

Dale sighed, not really surprised. "I'd also like to let him look at the security footage we got from his restaurant. Maybe he recognizes someone he didn't notice before."

"Sounds like a plan," said Harrison. "The pressure's amped up even higher to find who did this. Boss says the governor called him to put every available agent on this, and the media is going nuts with wall-to-wall coverage. Everyone's demanding an arrest. I'm going over to see how things are going at Rodriquez's house."

"Okay."

Dale found her gaze had moved to Ramon again. Things were not looking good for him, especially if they found anything suspicious at his house. She went to her desk and grabbed her laptop and a cup of coffee, then went inside the interrogation room and sat across from Ramon. He opened bleary eyes to look at her, and happily accepted the coffee she pushed toward him.

"Gracias," he said, and lifted the Styrofoam cup to his lips. He grimaced at the bitter brew, but took another sip anyway.

They regarded each other a moment, and she wondered what he must be thinking of her, of his own situation. "You haven't called a lawyer. Even though you haven't been arrested, you realize you can still call one."

"Yes. But I want to be cooperative. I've done nothing wrong," he repeated.

"Well, they want you to stay for a while. I know it's not ideal, but we have a small holding cell in the basement with a cot. At least you'll have somewhere to lie down if you want to get some sleep."

"I might take you up on that." A hint of a dimple flashed in his cheek.

It was almost instinctual, the way he reached out to touch her hand on the table in gratitude, and her first instinct was to take his, but she didn't. Instead, she looked guiltily toward the glass door, relieved no one was there to see that. She moved her hand away and took out her computer, pulled up the security footage, and turned it toward Ramon.

"Take a look at this and see if anyone or anything catches your eye that's out of the ordinary." He watched for a few minutes, pausing occasionally and squinting with interest at the screen. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he reached out a finger to point at what he was seeing. "This woman," he said, as Dale got up to stand behind him and peer down at what he indicated. "She looks very familiar, but I cannot quite place her. I do not remember seeing her that night."

Dale studied the woman, who was wearing what looked to be a blond wig, and, oddly, dark glasses in the middle of the night. She zoomed in, but Ramon still couldn't tell who it was. They let the video run a few minutes more, and off to the side, the commotion ensued when Senator Harper collapsed, and Ramon and Oliver moved to help. There was Shane, calling 911, and the rest of the patrons looked on in concern, forgetting their meals in the excitement of the moment. Dale focused on the blond woman, who, despite what was going on around her, calmly continued eating what looked like a plate of pasta.

She pointed her observation out to Ramon. "Don't you think that's weird?" she asked.

"Quite unusual," he replied.

"Is there a way we can find out if she paid with a credit card?"

"Of course. All of that information is computerized, and the table number is marked clearly on the receipts."

"Good. Oh look, she just put down cash and walked out in the midst of the hubbub. Rats," she said under her breath.

Ramon chuckled. "Did you say rats? I hope this isn't a comment on the cleanliness of my restaurant."

She couldn't help but smile, and felt herself blushing. "I try not to cuss," she explained. "Rats are the dirtiest things I can think of, so it gets my feelings across."

"Rats," he repeated. "Charming."

His eyes were soft and admiring, and she reached out to stop the video, closing her laptop. "I'll take you downstairs now if you like."

"Please. It has been a very long day."

They rode down in the elevator to the basement floor, and she tried not to react to his nearness, tried not to think about their near-kiss, but it was very difficult. Ramon was not his usual chipper self, and she supposed she couldn't blame him. When the elevator stopped, she put in the security code and the door slid open. They met the guard on duty, who was watching a video on his computer screen, snacking on a bag of chips. He arose and paused the movie.

"Hey, Clark," she said with a smile. Ramon noticed that the middle aged man wasn't immune to that smile either. He lit up like a Christmas tree at the sight of it.

"Agent Travers. Late night, eh?"

"Yeah, for all of us. Mr. Rodriquez here is not under arrest, but we are holding him. Please, provide him with anything he needs."

"Of course. This way please," he said to Ramon, with noticeably less enthusiasm.

No one else was in holding, so the two cells were empty. There was a sink, a commode, and a cot, with clean, rolled up bedding at one end. Clark opened the door and stepped aside so Ramon could enter the cell. He closed the barred door and locked it up with a clang that made Dale cringe. She hated this for him.

Clark noticed Ramon's expensive suit. "It ain't the Ritz, but there's no place safer than a jail cell."

"Thank you," said Ramon, with an ironic twist to his lips. Dale looked over the cell with new eyes. Normally, only state or federal detainees waiting for the FBI to come were kept here. It looked totally inhospitable to her now, and she felt the need to make him as comfortable as possible.

"Clark, would you mind going up and grabbing Mr. Rodriquez a bottled water, maybe a sandwich from the vending machine, please?"

"You'll be okay down here a minute?" he asked meaningfully, having sized up Ramon and found him suspicious.

"Yes. I'll be fine."

"Okay. I'll be right back."

They were alone, and Dale walked up to the locked bars. She was mindful of the cameras all over the place, so when he reached through the bars to take her hands, she stepped back out of reach, although part of her already missed his touch.

"Someday, Senorita, I fully expect to collect your debt to me." His heavy-lidded eyes focused on her lips.

"If you are cleared," she said. "Maybe."

"When. When I am cleared."

She didn't correct herself, and he frowned. To hide his expression, he turned toward the cot and began unrolling the blanket, bottom sheet, and pillow and made his bed while she looked on helplessly. He took off his suit jacket and sat down, removing his shoes. His movements were slow and laborious, and he didn't meet her eyes. He was no longer saying anything, and Dale had the sinking feeling that she had missed her chance with him, whether it was because he really was involved in the senator's murder, or because she had doubted him. Either way, it made her heart feel heavy with the loss of what might have been.

Ramon lay down, stretching out his lanky frame and pulling the single cover over himself, closing his eyes with a loud yawn. In a few minutes, he was out like a light. She watched him wistfully a while longer, until Clark returned and put Ramon's snack in the nearby mini-fridge for safe keeping.

With one last sad look at the sleeping Ramon, she whispered good-night to Clark and got back on the elevator.

A/N: Thank you for reading. More soon.