Key to Her Heart

The third in the Hunter Series.  I just adore Rylie, she's tough and no nonsense with just enough vulnerability to make her loveable.  And of course, she's got a mouth on her.  Dillon needs someone exactly like her to keep "Biker Boy" in line.  The original three Hunter  novels I had dreamed up a long time ago and it felt good to finally get them out and finished.  Of course the series has grown.  And everytime I think...Okay, no more Hunters, I get hit in the head with another idea.  But anyway, here is the third in the series.  You can find them at All Romance ebooks under my pen name of Wendy Stone.  Enjoy!!!

Prologue

She hadn't thought it was going to be this difficult.

With a sigh, Rylie parked in the short term parking of the San Antonio International Airport, smiling when Dillon glanced her way.

Come on, girl, she thought concentrating upon putting the Mustang into first and setting the parking brake. You knew he wasn't planning on staying all along. Get over it and move on.

Dillon touched her face with his hand, sliding the back of his knuckles across her satiny skin. "Thank you," he said softly, bringing her sapphire blue eyes up to meet his amber gaze.

"What for biker boy?"

"For everything, I guess," Dillon said, shrugging his broad shoulders outlined so sexily in the leather jacket he wore. "I mean... hell, I'm terrible at good-byes."

"Then don't say it," Rylie said, trying to smile around the lump in her throat. "You're coming back in a couple of months for Shanna and Brandon's wedding, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't miss another chance to harass Austin for the world," Dillon laughed, though his eyes looked a little sad. "I'm going to miss you, Rye." He cupped her cheek in his strong palm, drawing her closer to him. Resting his forehead against hers, he breathed in deep of her spicy scent, memorizing every little detail that he could. "Maybe..." He sighed softly, not finishing his thought.

"I know," she said, closing her eyes and letting his warmth seep into her. He'd been with her since the first night he charmed his way into her bed and she knew her apartment was going to be too empty with him gone. But now that Jackson Clinton was dead and all threats from him at an end, he had no reason to stay any longer.

The press had been like scavengers, picking at the political corpse of the dead senator, bringing forth all the dirt they could find. What they couldn't prove, they fabricated until another scandal rocked the newspapers and Senator Jackson Clinton and his philandering and pilfering ways became yesterday's news.

He knew his sister was in capable hands, he knew that Brandon would love and care for her the rest of her life. There was really no reason for him to stay any longer. No reason at all, except...

Rylie.

She was so beautiful, with her tawny gold hair and sparkling blue eyes. She had lush lips that could spit venom when necessary but could also kiss him into the heights of passion and cut through his bullshit with very little effort. She kept him on his toes, made him laugh, made him sigh, and made his body sing with the caress of her hand.

"Come on, Dillon," she said, forcing herself to break the sweet spell he'd woven around them. "You don't want to miss your flight."

"Wait," he said quickly, grabbing her hand as she went to open the door to the car. "Rylie... I..." he sighed heavily. "I really hate this."

"Dillon," Rylie said, smiling gently at him. "We both knew this day was going to come. You have your life in Michigan and me; I'm a Texas girl at heart. It's okay. We had fun, didn't we?"

"It was more than fun. You know I care about you, don't you?"

"Aww, biker boy, you're going to ruin your love em and leave em reputation if you don't watch yourself." She laid her palm on his cheek, finding his lips with hers for a single sweet moment. "Be my date at the wedding?"

"There's no one else I'd rather be with." He took her lips once more, this time rougher, letting her feel a little of the maelstrom of indecision he felt inside.

She groaned, and felt a sob gathering in her chest. Pulling away from him, she wiped the smear of lipstick from his mouth, smiling tremulously at him. "That plane isn't going to wait," she whispered.

He opened his door, hearing her hit the release on the trunk so that he could get out his duffle bag. He took his pistol from its accustomed spot in the small of his back, stashing it in the duffle and locking it before slamming the trunk shut. Taking Rylie's hand in his, he headed into the airport.

Twenty minutes later, Rylie watched as he walked away from her down the concourse. He turned back once, flashing her a cocky smile, waving and blowing her a kiss.

Then he was gone.

Chapter One

Four weeks later...

"Mmm," the tall sexy blonde almost purred. She slid off the bar stool, shimmying the short black skirt down on the sleek columns of her thighs before reaching for one of the canapés that were being circulated around the room by black garbed waiters.

"Hey Rylie," the voice came from the tiny earpiece hidden deep inside of her ear. "You know what they say, a moment on the lips..."

Rylie Moore lifted her beaded bag, turning it as if searching for her lipstick. She made sure her face could be seen in the tiny camera that was hidden in one of the beads. "Brandon," she hissed. "Fuck off, I'm starving."

Popping one of the stuffed mushroom caps into her mouth, she made her way around the gaily lit event, scoping out the exits and finally seeing her target. He stalked into the ballroom of the Omni Hotel, tuxedoed and shined up, but she still saw the man who'd been in the mug-shot that had been blown up and handed out to all agents in on this op.

"I see him," she whispered, loud enough for the tiny microphone to pick up. "Scumbag, one o'clock, trashy redhead on his arm." She kept walking, slowing down as she got close enough to her suspect and 'accidentally' dropping a napkin. Bending so the tiny black dress slid up her thighs, she reached down to pick it up, the deep neckline showing off the rest of her glorious assets. "Oops," she giggled, looking up and into the face of the dark haired man, confirming his identity while batting her gloriously blue eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, using her best air head accent.

"Here, let me help you," the suspect, Antonio Pocatello, wanted for drug trafficking, armed robbery and murder, took the bait, hook, line and sinker. He reached down and took her slender hand, shaking off the redhead who gave Rylie a look that threatened eye scratching. Lifting her hand, he helped her rise, taking her knuckles right up to his mouth and kissing them noisily.

"Thank you," Rylie giggled, irritating herself with the inane sound. "I'm such a klutz sometimes."

"No one who looks like you could ever be anything as mundane as a klutz," Antonio said gallantly. He tucked her hand into the curve of his arm, never looking back at the irate redhead who stomped her foot and headed for the bar.

"Your date looks pissed," Rylie laughed, batting her lashes at the smitten Antonio and using her other hand to finger walk up his arm.

"What date?" he said, laughing uproariously at his own lame joke.

"I'm Veronica," she sighed, leaning against him and letting him feel her breasts pressing into his arm. "But most people call me Ronnie."

"Take it easy Rye, remember, this is a PG-13 op," Brandon's voice in her ear almost made her laugh but she caught herself. This was the closest any of them had been able to get to Antonio Pocatello, an up and comer on the drug trafficking business coming through Texas from Mexico. It was going to be up to her to get enough on him to bring him in. DEA wanted him and they were willing to work with Brandon and Rylie to get him.

"Well, Ronnie, I have a little business to attend to. When I'm finished, I'd love to take you somewhere that we can get some good food and maybe go dancing?" His fingers slid up her arm, left bare in the tiny black dress, his hand capturing her chin and dropping a kiss on her lush painted lips.

Rylie managed, barely, to suppress the shudder of revulsion that had her stomach flipping as she felt his tongue brush against her mouth. She pouted her pretty lips in a moue of disappointment. "Can't I come with you?" she lisped sexily, toying with a button on his shirt.

"Oh, a pretty girl like you would be bored silly." Antonio lifted his head, seeing the men he needed to talk to. He nodded at them before once more turning his attention to Rylie. "How about you sit at the bar, and wait for me?"

"I just enjoy watching a powerful man when he's working," Rylie said, sighing once more. She pressed herself against him quickly then turned with a shrug of her shoulders, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for another man to keep her company.

"Wait a minute, Ronnie," Pocatello said, his hand resting on the soft, fragrant skin of her shoulder. "Don't be that way, baby. The men that I have to meet, they won't understand me bringing a woman with me."

Rylie sighed, reaching up and taking one silky blond curl to wind it around her finger as she turned to look at him. "It's just, well, seeing a strong man work, it makes me so... wet," she whispered, licking her lips slowly until they glistened with moisture.

She could hear Brandon snort over the ear piece. "That's a hell of an acting job, Rye," he said softly.

Pocatello grabbed her around her slender waist, drawing her closer until she could feel the hard bulge of his cock pressing into her. It took everything she had not to shudder in disgust, instead she let her hands rest against his tuxedo covered chest, moving them up and over his padded shoulders.

With a lithe and sly move, she planted the tiny transmitter on the underside of his lapel. It would have been better if she could have been at the meeting, then she would have been able to ID the main players. But the bug would have to be good enough. If she pressed any harder, Pocatello might become suspicious.

Depending upon what was heard at the meeting, she might have to remove the bug before she left the ballroom, just to make sure that Pocatello had no knowledge of it. "Buy me a drink before you go?" she asked, leaning up just a bit and pressing a light kiss to his lips.

"Definitely, baby." He spun her around, the move so quick her stomach seemed to turn over, leaving her feeling suddenly nauseous. With an effort, she managed to keep the smile on her face, all the while forcing herself to breathe slowly. She let him settle her back on the same bar stool she'd recently vacated, the bartender setting a fresh drink in front of her.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he said, leaning over to brush her lips with his. "Don't go away."

"I wouldn't dream of it, lover," Rylie said, brightening her smile just a touch and lifting her drink. As soon as he turned, she set the glass back down, untouched, reaching for her small bag and opening it, rummaging through it. "He's wired," she whispered.

"Great job, Rye. Stand by."

The minutes seemed to drag as she waited for confirmation of information. She ordered another drink, this one without alcohol, listening to the band that was playing, people moving out to the small dance floor. As she watched them, listening to the music, her mind wandered.

Hot hands on her naked back, a hard chest pressing against her soft breasts, her nipples rubbing erotically against him, Dillon had held her close. They swayed together to the soft music she had playing on her stereo, feet barely moving. Her arms had lifted, twining around his neck, standing on tiptoe to bring herself even closer to him.

His amber eyes had blazed with need, held in check as he wooed her with his hands and mouth. His body had seduced her, the heat of his skin warming her naked flesh as he'd danced her into the bedroom, finally lifting her into his arms to lay her gently on the bed.

Following her down, he touched her gently, his fingers stroking over the exquisite curves of her face. "You are so beautiful, Rylie."

His words, spoken in a husky tone of need and want, sent a thrill of pleasure to rock through to her soul. Other men had told her those same words, but they never sounded like they did coming from his lips. She smiled, her blue eyes sparkling. "You just want to get laid," she teased, her fingers combing through his thick, long hair.

"Yeah, well there is that," he admitted, shrugging and making her laugh. "You can't hold that against a guy, can you?"

"No, there's always something to be said for honesty." She moaned when his hand slid over her throat, moving down until he cupped her soft breast.

"Then honestly, baby, I want to make love to you until you are too tired to even lick your lips," his mouth swooped down, taking hers in a long passionate kiss. He'd done exactly what he said he wanted to do; he seduced her, building up a slow burn that lasted throughout the night, loving her until she thought she was sated, only to start all over once more. By the time the first light of dawn peeked through the draperies of her bedroom, she'd been limp, barely able to move, the sweet aftershocks of pleasure racing through her system as she'd tried to catch her breath.

He'd looked down at her and chuckled, the sound so sexy she'd managed to open her eyes. "Tired baby?" he'd asked her, the expression on his handsome face so cocky and pleased she'd wanted to hit him...

"Rylie! Get out of there!" Brandon's voice brought her back to the present.

"What's going on?" she hissed, sliding off the bar stool even as she spoke.

"They found the wire, we're moving in. Get the fuck out of there, now!"

"I can help," she whispered. A scream caught her attention and she turned to see Pocatello staggering into the ballroom, his once immaculate white shirt covered in blood. He took two more steps before he slumped, his body falling to the floor with a thud. Three men followed him in, guns in hand as they combed the ballroom, looking for... Shit, looking for her.

"Get the bitch!"

"Fuck, I've been made," Rylie didn't bother whispering anymore, her cover was blown.

"Get the fuck out, Rylie. We're on our way."

She started towards one of the exits, cursing the spindly high heels that she'd been forced to wear. People were pushing and shoving, trying to get away from the mayhem and blood that now stained the small dance floor where Pocatello had landed. "Why couldn't this be New York City?" she cursed. "All these people would be running towards the bloodshed, not away."

Changing directions when she saw the bottleneck at the doors, she headed for the kitchen area that serviced the ballroom. Slamming through the swinging door, she dug her back up weapon out of the beaded purse. "I'm going through the kitchen," she shouted, hearing screams and the sound of gunshots behind her, feel the wind of one of the bullets as it passed her cheek, missing her by mere inches. "Fuck!"

Diving in a short black dress on slippery tile is not something she would recommend but she did it now, ducking behind the counter as two of the men burst through the kitchen doors. "FBI," she shouted over the sound of the riot in the main ballroom. "Drop your weapons and put your hands on your head."

Her answer was another bullet that struck the cabinet across from her, bursting through the metal with a raw sound. Rylie returned fire, her first shot hitting one of the men in the shoulder. His gun dropped to the floor and he grabbed his wound with his hand, cursing at the pain.

"You shot my brother, you fucking bitch. I'm going to kill you and feed you to my dogs."

Rylie slid around the cabinet, moving her position until she was sure he wouldn't know where she was. Her eyes searched the area, looking for an exit. She found the fire door standing wide open and was sure that the kitchen staff had used it to leave when the screaming and mayhem had started.

There was only one huge problem; it was across the kitchen from her, a long open space separating her from the exit. "Shit," she whispered.

"Where are you, you fucking cunt?!"

She was in front of the wide stove; the control panel on the thing looking like something that should have been on the space shuttle. Huge pots and pans littered the surface and reflected in one of the pots she could see him. There eyes met.

For a moment, she lost the ability to think as she stared at the hatred and evil in those eyes. Then he was coming around the corner of the kitchen, bringing up his gun, ignoring the fact that she had a weapon too.

He was dark haired with an olive complexion and brown eyes framed by black lashes. His body was squat, not even the tux he was wearing could make it look any thinner or more elegant. His fingers were thick, like sausages attached to his hands. She took all this in even as she raised her own weapon, her hands steady.

"FBI," she said, her voice low and steady, displaying none of the fear she felt in her gut. "Drop your weapon and I won't have to kill your ass."

"You don't have the fucking balls," he laughed, taking aim with a deliberation meant to terrify her.

"Don't make me shoot you," she said. "I don't want to do the paperwork."

"You'll be doing paperwork in hell, bitch." His finger tightened on the trigger.

The door to the kitchen burst open and Brandon dived through, startling the two. The assailant's gun belched a plume of flame as he opened fire. Rylie returned fire an instant later, only to feel her gun suddenly slip out of her hand. It felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer and hit her with it, making her forget how to breathe.

"Rylie!" Brandon shouted, firing at the man who had just shot his partner. He saw the man stagger, a scarlet rose blooming on his chest, and then he was down. More officers streamed into the kitchen, taking control of the two assailants, though one wouldn't be doing harm to anyone ever again.

"We need a medic!" Brandon yelled over the cacophony of noise. He grabbed a white cloth off the counter, falling to his knees next to Rylie and pressing it against the wound in her shoulder.

"Ouch! Fuck Brandon, that hurts."

"Yeah, I know. This just makes us even," he said, pressing harder, a picture of her over him, doing the same thing to him when he'd been shot in the chest coming to mind. He could feel the slippery warmth of her blood soaking through the cloth, staining his fingers with the sticky substance.

"What happened? Did we get enough info to do any good?" She tried to sit up but Brandon pressed her back down.

"Quit your squirming, Rye. We got enough, but I don't know what good it will do the DEA. Pocatello is a stain on the floor out there, and these two, well, you ever hear of the Bindery brothers?"

"Yeah, assassins for hire." She took a deep breath as the pain got worse for a second. "Fuck that hurts. Do you mean to tell me I killed one of the Bindery brothers?"

"No, I killed him," Brandon said, looking up as the rescue guys rushed in.

"I don't think so. Ten bucks says my bullet killed him. Hey!" she shouted as the paramedic grabbed the shoulder of her dress and ripped it open. "Do you know how expensive this dress was?"

"Now it's an expensive rag," he said calmly. He moved the towel away that Brandon had been using to staunch the blood flow and checked out her wound. "Doesn't seem too bad. We'll have to take her in, she'll need to get the bullet dug out and a tetanus shot. But she should be fine."

"Does this mean she can do her own paperwork?" Brandon asked, watching Rylie's face as she glared at him.

"Yeah, she should be able to hold a pen," the paramedic said, laughing as Rylie cursed the air blue. "The hospital might be able to do something about that Tourette's syndrome too."

"Fuck you," Rylie groaned. She took a deep breath as the combination of pain and the scents of blood and whatever they were cooking in here got to her, making her stomach heave. Breathing deep, she managed to stave off the sick feeling and not embarrass herself more by throwing up.

They loaded her onto the gurney despite her protests that she could walk. Then they wheeled her out through the ballroom. The once ornate and sophisticated ballroom looked kind of sad to her. Decorations were torn down and strewn around the floor and across tables, some of which were tipped over, their contents scattered. The oak dance floor was stained with blood, Pocatello's body was still there, waiting for the coroner. Glass crunched under the wheels of the gurney.

The elevator was empty; the trip down to the lobby was fast and painless, or at least no more painful than what she was already feeling. They wheeled her out the front lobby and into the back of the ambulance. Just as they were about to close the doors, Brandon stuck his hand in, climbing into the back of the vehicle and sitting on the padded bench.

"You don't have to come too," Rylie said.

"Do you think I could go home to Shanna if I let you go to the hospital on your own?" He smirked. "Besides, you get to do all the paperwork; I want to make sure you don't con the doctor into putting your hand into a cast or something to get out of it."

"Ha ha, ouch," Rylie groaned. The numbness of shock was slowly fading letting her feel more of the pain. "God, if I'd known you were going to be such a dick, I'd never have saved your good for nothing life," she hissed as the paramedic fiddled with something, moving her arm in the process.

"Ah, Rye, you love me and you know it." He leaned forward and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. "I think you took ten years off my life tonight."

"I need to get some information for the records," the paramedic said. "Age?"

"Twenty-nine. My birthday is March 24, 1978."

"You're only twenty-nine?" Brandon asked, ducking backwards as he realized how that sounded.

"Next time you get shot, I'm leaving you in a pool of blood."

"No, you like Shanna too much to do that to her man."

"Dammit, you got a point." She groaned as the ambulance went around a corner, her body swaying a little, moving her shoulder. She finished answering the paramedic's questions, only hesitating on one.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, seeing Brandon's eyes widen. "And that information stays between us, partner, okay?"