A/N: I'm sorry it has been so long since my last chapter. Things have been really busy for me, and compound that with how I generally like to take my time writing, and you have two or three weeks that have gone by. But I appreciate those who are still interested enough in this story to leave a review, both here and on Twitter. This chapter is extra long, so I hope that in some way makes up for the long wait. Thanks as always for reading my stories.

Chapter 4

Despite being in the middle of a case, as well as her concern for Ramon, Dale got up Sunday morning and went to church. The healing power of prayer and singing with the choir revived her, and after the minister's sermon, she mingled with Oliver and the other choir members for a few minutes.

"I heard about the senator on the news," Oliver said, as they gathered up the hymnbooks from everyone. The choir members removed their robes and she collected them—it was time to get them cleaned again. Oliver stood beside her and they both smiled and said their goodbyes to the other members. Sunday school classes would soon begin, and there was a general hubbub as people chatted and made their ways out of the chapel into their designated classrooms.

"Yes, it's very sad." She wished she could tell her dearest friend specifics from the case, especially how frustrated she was about it.

"And Ramon is in custody?"

"Yes." She frowned. The CSDI hadn't released the fact that they had Ramon. Bad news travelled fast.

"Is he a viable suspect?"

"Oliver, you know I can't discuss an ongoing investigation with you—"

Just then, Shane, who had begun attending church with Oliver some months before, along with Rita and Norman, also new members, converged upon them. Dale liked all of Oliver's friends, and since she'd long ago let go of Oliver as a romantic prospect, she had grown fond of Shane as well. They were loyal friends, and she knew they were going to want to know about Ramon's status in the investigation.

She smiled tightly at them all, mentally bracing herself.

"You don't honestly think Ramon had anything to do with this, do you?" asked Shane.

"As I was just telling Oliver, I can't really talk about this. I'm sorry." She tried not to be annoyed at Shane's slightly accusatory tone, knowing it was just coming from concern for a friend, especially since Dale had her own doubts about his involvement.

"Ramon doesn't have a mean bone in his body," added Rita. "He must be so frightened in that jail cell."

"He's being well fed and looked after," Dale reassured her. "If you want, you can go visit him later and see for yourself."

"We might do that," said Norman. "I've always wanted to see the inside of a prison."

Dale raised her eyebrows. "It's just a little holding cell. Trust me, a prison is quite a different situation."

"Has he retained a lawyer?" asked Shane.

"Not that I know of. He's fully cooperating."

"I've been doing some research—" Shane began, and at Dale's blank expression, Rita intervened. "We'd better get to the women's Bible study," Rita said, looking to see that they were the last ones left in the chapel. She reached for Shane's arm and practically dragged her away, Norman following close behind.

Dale was thankful for the sudden quiet and gave a relieved sigh.

Oliver remained, and she felt his comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry for that. They're just worried about Ramon, and you know how curious my wife can be." He offered an indulgent smile for the woman he obviously adored.

"I know. I get it." And I agree with them, Dale thought to herself. She hadn't been able to sleep much; Ramon's coldness toward her surprisingly unsettling.

"For what it's worth, Ramon has proven a good friend and a good person," said Oliver. "He's rather eccentric and can sometimes be…overly ebullient at times, but I truly believe he has a good heart. Poisoning someone just doesn't seem like his style. And he did try to save the senator's life at the restaurant."

"You make some good points, Oliver, and we will weigh all of this in our investigation. And be aware, you and Shane will likely have to testify to what you observed that night."

Oliver nodded. "Whatever we can do to help, of course." He looked toward the chapel door. "Now, I'd better get to the men's class. Norman will be waiting for me. Are you going to your class?"

"No. I need to get back to work." She looked around the quiet chapel, her earlier lifting of spirits having fallen again in her own turmoil. "I just need a few minutes."

Oliver nodded in understanding and turned to leave, but made sure he left her with one more thing. "Dale, you do know that I am still your friend, if you need one."

She smiled. "I know that. Thank you, Oliver."

He nodded and walked down the aisle, leaving her completely alone. She gathered the choir robes into a plastic bag and picked it up, walking down from the dais. She stopped at the first pew, and set down her bundle before staring back up at the cross hanging behind the pulpit. She sat down, closed her eyes, and stilled her mind a moment, before silently praying for guidance, for insight, for patience.

If she were to solve this case, she would definitely be needing all of these things in abundance.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Dale arrived back at the CSDI building, she took the elevator directly down to the basement, only to find that Ramon was no longer in residence. Instead, two other rather shady looking occupants sat on their respective cots, eating their breakfast from a fast-food chain. Clark was just finishing his shift, waiting for his replacement to show up, so when Dale got off the elevator, his face fell a little, then brightened at seeing the lovely agent in her church attire.

"What happened to Mr. Rodriquez?" she asked.

"Word is, the search warrant of his house didn't turn up anything, so, with nothing to keep him, they let him go. He left about a half-hour ago. These guys are being held on federal drug charges."

She frowned that she had missed Ramon, but was so happy inside that there had been no mounting evidence against him, that she offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving before she thought of the ramifications of that. She was supposed to want them to catch the murderer, and with Ramon released, they were no closer to discovering who'd poisoned the senator. It was in that moment that she finally admitted to herself how very much she wanted him to be innocent, and why. Her attraction to him was quickly moving beyond the physical. When she saw the night before that her suspicion of him had hurt him, she had hurt too. When he'd nearly kissed her, even though she'd intended to use "her wiles" as he'd called them, to get him to reveal information, she had wanted him to kiss her, and not just to get him to talk. The truth was, she liked him, way too much for comfort.

"Thanks, Clark. Have a good day."

She went back up to her office, where the rest of the morning was spent on the computer, digging further into the backgrounds of the poker game five that Ramon had provided (without his due reward). Harrison and a few other agents had conducted the interviews, and she hadn't been with them, so she read their notes and reports, studying their pictures and trying to gage whether any of them could have been the premediated murdering type.

After lunch, she began scouring recent news articles about Senator Harper that might shed light on any of his possible enemies. They were still awaiting the autopsy report, but since toxicology had pretty much determined cause of death, they weren't hopeful of anything more helpful coming from that front.

As she was scanning through a list of recent bills that the State Senate had voted upon, Dale's interest was piqued at the introduction of a bill to deregulate all prescription opioids, the mindset being, that if limits on prescription use were relaxed, people in pain would be less likely to turn to illegally obtained pain pills, which were often laced with dangerous levels of fentanyl.* Senator Harper had voted no on the bill, and it had stalled in the Senate…by one vote. She wondered if the fact that Harper had died from a fentanyl overdose was just a sad coincidence, and she jotted down a few notes to look deeper into any threats that might have come into his office. Sometimes the crazies tended to blame those in office for their personal situations.

She went out with the team in the afternoon to search the Senator's home, encountering the grieving widow in what was one of her least favorite aspects of her job. The CSDI took Harper's laptop for further analysis, and Dale had been tasked with asking his wife about who might have wanted her husband dead. It was a painful, delicate process, but it was common sense that those closest to a victim would shed the best light on whom were his worst enemies.

"That Senator, Marshall—they were always getting into heated debates on the Senate floor. I've seen them yelling at one another at parties. You might start there." She spoke passionately, tears glistening in her eyes.

Naturally, Dale thought, Marshall was the one suspect they hadn't been able to find.

"Did Marshall oppose the recent fentanyl bill?"

"Yes. You should find a video of that debate. It was something else. Cameryn Marshall clearly went over the line with that one, took it really personally."

Dale nodded, the sudden feeling that she was on to something making her heart beat faster.

"Has Marshall ever made any threats to your husband?"

"Not in so many words. But they clearly hated each other. That's all Robert would talk about some days, how Cameryn had thwarted him at every turn. He was very frustrated."

Dale took this all in, asked a few more questions, and, expressing her condolences, left soon after with the rest of the team. She and Harrison stopped outside near the company SUV.

"I think we should really focus on finding Senator Marshall." She told him of her suspicions, along with the widow's corroborating thoughts.

"I agree; Marshall seems like our best lead right now. I'll get the boss to put more people on that."

Since it was Sunday, the State Senate offices weren't open, where she might have gone for further insight, and Harrison had sent other agents out to do more field work. This left Dale again on her computer, searching for angles with time alone to struggle with her thoughts. Unerringly, they turned to Ramon. What was he doing? What was he thinking? And, more specifically, was he thinking of her?

By five o'clock, she was going a little stir crazy, needing some air, needing to get away from the office. She drove by the Grille, remembering that it was only open for brunch on Sundays. She could go home, heat up a frozen dinner and get some rest, but like the night before, her car seemed to head of its own accord toward Ramon's house. The lights were on, so he must be home, and the butterflies began flitting around in her stomach. A few days ago she would have dismissed the feeling for hunger, but she was finished lying to herself about Ramon. The truth was, she wanted to believe in him, wanted to get to know him on a deeper level. There was potential there, and as dissimilar as they were, as unlikely as it seemed, they had a real connection. She wanted to tell him tonight that when this case was over, the real killer caught, she would like to go out with him. On a date. She only hoped it wasn't too late.

And so, as she stood before his door again, the feeling of déjà vu suffusing her, she took a deep breath and knocked. When he didn't come right away, she knocked again, then heard the sound of voices on the other side. She stilled, listening over the sound of her loud pulse in her ears, but she couldn't make out any words, or who might be talking. She gasped and jumped back when the door suddenly opened, and there stood Ramon.

Her eyes traveled up his lean frame, noting with approval his casual gray slacks and black silk shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar unbuttoned, sans tie. His thick, black hair was neatly combed, his royale beard and mustache perfectly trimmed, and he smelled heavenly. He was so sexy, she was momentarily speechless. He was obviously surprised to see her, and she caught his quick glance back over his shoulder at his company. Was that a guilty expression, or something else? At that moment, a woman laughed, and Dale's eyes narrowed, and she miraculously found her voice.

"I'm sorry. I'm obviously interrupting. You have company—I'll go-"

"No," he said, his voice soft and low. He took a step toward her holding her gaze. "I want you to come in. There are some people I think you should meet," he said meaningfully. "Just go with it, please."

His eyes were imploring her to trust him, and Dale felt a peace settle over her, and she knew this was what she needed to do. She nodded, and his expression was suddenly filled with such gratitude that she felt a bit dizzy.

"It's not the cops, is it?" came the woman's voice a room away. There was answering masculine laughter.

"Of course you should stay," Ramon said to Dale, loudly enough for his other guests to hear. "By all means, querida, come in."

Before she could respond, he took her hand, hers cold with nervousness, leading her through the living room to the dining room where the now familiar card table was set up. It took all her undercover training to keep her face neutral as she beheld five faces she had come to know very well lately: the remaining players from Senator Harper's last poker game, including the illusive senator, Cameryn Marshall. She was thin, middle aged, her hair an unnatural, garish red. The years had not been kind, according to her gaunt cheeks, her rheumy green eyes rather cold and calculating above dark shadows betokening many sleepless nights. At her elbow, just like her male companions, was a cigar, smoking on an ashtray, alongside a half-filled high ball glass. An impressive stack of poker chips rested in front of her, and she held five cards in her red tipped hands.

"Who is this cute thing?" asked Marshall, glancing suspiciously at Ramon.

"This is my lover, Dahlia," announced Ramon, not missing a beat. Dale was amazed at how fast on his feet he was, how smoothly he lied. Had she not decided to trust him, she might have been disturbed by this. Then, when the significance of his words hit her, she blushed. My lover. How very…European of him. He introduced the other players by their first names while Dale's mind was working a mile a minute. What was going on here? Why were five possible murder suspects meeting in his house?

Ramon lightly squeezed the hand he still held, prompting her to respond to the offhand greetings of his other guests.

"Hello," she said. "Nice to meet you all. I didn't realize you were having a party, Darling." Two could play at this game. His eyes briefly sparkled at her, along with a hint of relief. She wasn't going to spoil whatever this was.

"Do you play poker, sweetheart?" asked one of the men, a gruff older gentleman, wearing a cowboy hat and an expensive suit.

"A bit," she said. "But I didn't bring any money with me. Ramon didn't tell me it was his card night." She tried to infuse a playful annoyance in her tone. Ramon feigned looking sheepish.

"I'll stake you," said her pretend lover, "if you'd like to play."

"Sure. But don't blame me if I lose it all." The others laughed.

"You may as well take Harper's old seat," said Marshall, nodding toward the empty chair. They'd symbolically left a full glass of scotch and an unlit cigar on the table before it.

"God rest his soul, the old bastard," she continued, lifting her glass toward the empty place. The others did the same, and each took a drink. By the relaxed atmosphere of the room, Dale could tell they had all done this more than a few times. Always a good host, Ramon took the half-empty bottle from the bar and went around the table, refilling their glasses. He held out the dead senator's chair, and Dale sat down directly across from Ramon, respectfully pushing the unused cigar and glass out of the way. By practiced feel, she surreptitiously slipped her hand into her dress pocket, muted her phone, and pressed the record button.

She thought longingly of her gun, on the off chance that things might go south, but, being off duty, she'd left it and her ID in her car. She vowed she wouldn't drink or eat anything while she was there, and she noticed that Ramon's glass was still full, looking untouched. She watched the players as they finished their current hand, pleased when Ramon won. Everyone seemed to act naturally, and there was much tipsy laughter and the teasing ribbing of long-time friends. Before Marshall dealt the next hand, Ramon pushed some of his winnings in front of Dale. She nodded thankfully, and they held gazes a moment. Despite his ready smile, there was a sober glint in his eye, and she knew he must be trying to find evidence to clear his name. She was happy to help him.

"So," Dale said conversationally, as she anteed up before receiving her cards. "What happened to the guy who used to sit in this chair?"

"Old Robert kicked the bucket," said the urban cowboy, whose name she remembered as Frank, a local banker. "Mysterious circumstances. You might have caught it on the news."

She shook her head. "I don't follow the news much." She was about to ask him to explain, but Senator Marshall interrupted.

"Oh?" she said, amidst a halo of cigar smoke. Dale tried not to cough. "What is it you do then, sweety?"

"I'm a postal worker," she said. "I work in the Dead Letter Office." Having seen Oliver earlier, it was the first thing that came to mind, and she figured she'd spoken to Oliver enough about his job over the years, and had actually been consulted on a few of his more interesting cases, that she should be able to wing it.

"We actually met at my restaurant, the Mailbox Grille," said Ramon, adding to the authenticity of her story. "It's across the street from the post office, and postal workers are frequent customers." Ramon grinned at her, showing his dimples, and she felt it like a physical caress.

"How romantic," said Marshall, her dull tone belying her words. Dale didn't think the lady had a romantic bone in her body.

The others peppered her with questions about her unusual occupation, and she was happy she could recall some of Oliver's stories. They seemed to buy her new persona, and they played hand after hand, everyone winning and losing by equal measures. Ramon made sure their glasses were never empty in hopes of loosening their tongues. So far, however, they hadn't gotten the players to admit anything incriminating, and they avoided the elephant in the room that was Harper's untimely demise. And then, their luck changed.

"So, how was your night in the pokey?" asked one of the other businessmen, Jim, a portly gentleman with a no-nonsense air about him. Dale remembered that he was a wealthy cattleman. Ramon gave an exaggerated grimace to his question.

"The food was terrible, but the cot was actually quite comfortable."

There was a smattering of laughter.

"What?" said Dale, acting the long-suffering girlfriend. "You were in jail last night? What did you do, Ramon?"

"Easy, mi amor. It was a misunderstanding. I was never arrested, and they let me go this morning."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Because I did not want to upset you with such trifling matters."

"Your boyfriend here is a prime murder suspect," said Mack. He was the CEO for an oil company, having taken over the family business after retiring from the Denver Broncos. "You can add that to your ongoing list of interesting adventures."

"Murder?" Dale said with a convincing gasp. "You don't mean of—" and she gestured to her current chair.

"Yep," replied Mack, obviously amused.

"They spent two hours in my home today, badgering me and my wife," said a deep-voiced man named Ennis, who owned a large ski resort. He was in his forties, tall, and very handsome in a Brad Pitt kind of way.

"If they really want to know who killed Robert, they should look into his dealings with the anti-pharmaceutical lobbyists," continued Ennis. "His vote on that last bill ticked a lot of the wrong people off."

Dale's eyes flitted to Marshall, who remained unusually silent on a subject that seemed to hit very close to home. She casually puffed on her cigar, and took another drink while seeming to be closely perusing her cards. The familiarity of her general posture and attitude in the midst of the drama clicked in Dale's mind, and she remembered the blond wigged woman in the security video from the Bistro that night.

Ramon caught her eye, and inclined his head in acknowledgement of her insight. So, he had apparently come to the same realization about Cameryn Marshall.

"What do you mean?" asked Ramon carefully.

"I'm saying, whoever offed Robert had a grudge, and it had nothing to do with the way he cheated at cards," Ennis replied pointedly. "If you ask me, it was all political."

As one, the men turned to look at Senator Marshall. It was then that Dale understood what was really happening there. All of them suspected Marshall. Feeling their eyes on her, Marshall finally looked up from her cards.

"Now don't you guys start. I had nothing to do with that arrogant windbag's death, though I'd like to personally shake the hand of the person who did it. The world is a much better place without him."

"Come on, Cami," said Frank, "we all know you had a personal stake in that bill passing, after your grandson died from fentanyl poisoning."

This was a tidbit that Dale hadn't known. She looked with wide eyes at Ramon, then back at Marshall.

"I think you'd better stop it right there," Marshall said coldly. "What happened to Devon was—was—" She couldn't seem to find an adjective terrible enough. "But I didn't do it."

"After his car accident, the doctors wouldn't give Devon more pain meds," said Jim. "We understand how desperate he was to find relief."

"And when Robert wouldn't go along with your bill to change the opioid laws, you took it very personally," Ennis added.

Frank laid down his cards. "Lord knows we listened to the two of you caterwaul like a couple of tomcats every poker night. We'd about decided to kick one of you out if you didn't shut up about it."

"And by one, you mean me?" asked Marshall, rising from her chair. "Well, Harper's dead and I'm not sorry. He deserved it. He could have saved thousands of lives if he wasn't in bed with the pharmaceutical companies. We lost by one vote—his!" By now, the once seemingly emotionless woman's eyes were bright with unshed tears, but Frank was immune.

"And so you murdered my friend," he said icily. He loudly pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "You went to Ramon's restaurant and coldly dosed his water with that same poison that killed your grandson."

"Like I said, he deserved it."

That sounded pretty close to a confession to Dale, and she was in the midst of standing up too to make an arrest when Frank drew his gun from the holster hidden beneath his suit jacket, pointing it straight at Cameryn Marshall.

"And you deserve this, you heartless bi—"
"Hey," said Dale calmly, though her heart was racing with adrenalin. "Put down the gun. You don't have to do this. I'm a state agent, investigating Harper's murder, and I'm about to put her under arrest."

She nodded toward Ramon, and he moved to stand behind Senator Marshall, his hands gripping both her arms. The others suddenly went into action to bravely intervene, moving to help Ramon or standing on either side of Frank.

"Put the gun down, Frank. She's not worth going to prison for," said Jim.

The room was fraught with tension as Marshall stood still, her eyes never leaving the gun pointing at her heart, her face white with fear. Dale didn't know how much time passed, but it seemed like an eternity before Frank did the wise thing and lowered his weapon. Jim took it and handed it to Dale, who made sure it was on safety before depositing it into her pocket. The other men held Dale while she read Marshall her rights.

"Do you have something to secure her with?" she asked Ramon. He nodded and went to get zip ties from a drawer in the kitchen (she hoped he had them for household use), and she called the CSDI and the local police for backup. When she got off the phone, Marshall was sitting in her chair, zip-tied at her hands and ankles and oddly silent. She was apparently taking the part about "remaining silent" to heart.

Dale was just turning off the recorder on her phone when Ramon stood before her, presenting her with his own phone. "I recorded the evening's events, just in case."

Dale smiled and held up hers. "Same here."

Her fellow agents and the Denver PD came soon, and an hour passed while everyone gave statements and Senator Marshall was taken away to the CSDI holding cell to await the FBI's arrival. She would face federal charges for murdering a state senator. Jim had a concealed carry permit for his gun, and unless Marshall decided to press charges against him, the CSDI would not be pursuing any action and he was allowed to leave. Ramon's phone was confiscated so they could take his recording, and Dale shared hers with their boss at the CSDI. When everyone had left, Dale stayed a little longer to talk to Ramon, since she had driven her own car there—had it been three hours before?

She found him sitting quietly at the card table, sipping his scotch since no one had apparently suffered any symptoms of poisoning. She watched him, how his shoulders seemed slumped now that their adrenalin had dissipated, how his hair shown blue-black beneath the dining room lights. He must have felt her gaze, for he turned to look at her, standing immediately as a gentleman would. It was then that the full impact of what had just transpired sank in, and she looked up at him, ready to give him a piece of her mind.

"What were you thinking?" she said quietly, although he could clearly hear the anger in her voice. "The sting was a good idea, but you could have put this in the hands of the CSDI. Someone might have been killed."

"I am sorry," he said automatically, but she could read him well enough to know that he really wasn't sorry. Naturally, her anger increased tenfold. "And I had no idea Frank had a gun. The way they ganged up on her was not my intention. I wanted to loosen her tongue with alcohol and get her to confess, and record it along with witnesses. Those other men must have planned the rest themselves."

She regarded him a moment. "This is the truth, Ramon?"

"I swear by all that is holy, this is the truth. I went back to the Bistro and looked at that security footage again, when I wasn't exhausted in an interrogation room. I recognized those dark red nails, like the claws of the devil I always thought when we played cards. I was not far from wrong. I did not think that was enough information to go back to the CSDI with. It was little more than a feeling—many women have long red nails you know, and the video was too blurry to see her face. I needed to get more proof, so I put out the call in the usual way, through a gambling app we all use to communicate. I said that we should commemorate Robert's memory by having one last game in his honor. They all agreed to meet…and you know the rest."

"There's an app?" she said, suddenly furious again. "Why didn't you tell us there was a way to get in touch with Marshall? We've been looking all over creation for her."

He shrugged. "I gave you her name, querida. I thought with all of your secret information, you would have no trouble finding her. I had no idea you could not." A thought occurred to him. "Why did you come here tonight? Have you been spying on me?"

"What? No." Although now she wished she had been.

"Then why?" He stepped closer to her, his hands going to her shoulders. "Did you come to give me what you owe me?" His smile was almost feline, and her heart skipped a beat. One hand skimmed over her neck, sliding beneath her hair at her nape, and she felt her anger slipping away. She wanted to close her eyes and glory in the sensuality of his touch, but she reminded herself she still had something she needed to say.

"I—I came to apologize," she said shakily. "I could tell I hurt your feelings when I doubted you. But I was just—"

And then his lips were on hers and she drew in a surprised breath. He took his time, moving his mouth over hers, experimenting with the way their lips fit together, while he held his large hands against her flushed cheeks to guide his movements. But with a small whimper of impatience, she opened her mouth to him. He obeyed her unspoken request, deepening the kiss, his mouth and tongue hot and masterful, tasting of expensive scotch and masculine hunger. Dale felt like she was drowning in raw, mindless feeling, her pulse loud in her ears, her breathing shallow, making her feel faint with longing.

He left her mouth to rain kisses over her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, whispering all the while what she knew must be Spanish praises and endearments. When he'd caught his breath, he feasted on her lips again, long, slow kisses that had her clinging to him, her hands mussing up that perfect, silky hair of his. Too soon, he pulled away, his chest rising and falling as heavily as hers.

"Mi corazón…you are making me crazy with desire."

She flushed further at his bluntness, at the intense heat in the dark pools of his eyes. She had never known anyone like him, so passionate, so knowledgeable in the ways of drawing out such intense pleasure with his kisses. She was shaking so much it was almost embarrassing, and when she tried to step out of his embrace, he instinctively held onto her so her weak knees wouldn't collapse beneath her. He led her to a chair at the card table, and she sat heavily. He turned another chair toward her, and sat, taking her trembling hands in his.

"What are we going to do about this?" he asked her seriously.

She shook her head a few times before saying helplessly: "I don't know."

She met his eyes and moved one hand up to caress his cheek, to cup the soft beard on his chin in feminine appreciation. She remembered how it had felt against her neck, how his soft mustache had added an extra tactile layer of excitement to his kisses. Her thumb traced the sensual bottom curve of his lip, and she smiled a little, remembering.

"You must not look at me this way," he said hoarsely. "No red-blooded man could resist you when you look at him like that."

She dropped her hand guiltily, but he caught it, brought it to his lips. He closed his eyes and inhaled, as if he were smelling the most wonderful perfume.

"So now, has my debt been paid?" she asked, trying with humor to bring them out of the haze of passion.

"Never," he said, and he leaned forward to find her lips once more.

A/N: Phew. That chapter took a lot out of me. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. More when I can—their story is not over yet. I hope you are inspired to leave a review.

*I don't intend to express my political opinion either way regarding the issue of opioids, other than to say that it is a serious crisis sadly affecting so many people today. These are just viewpoints I have heard that might be a topical issue in a state legislature, and the views expressed here are only those of my fictional characters. Also, I don't know whether such a bill has ever been introduced in the Colorado legislature, and I'm by no means an expert on law enforcement, so forgive me if I don't get everything just right. I'm basically just making stuff up for my (and hopefully your) entertainment ;)