Elusive

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2017, L.A. Fiore

  All rights reserved

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  ISBN-13: 978-1546749530

  ISBN-10: 1546749535

  Cover Model: Stuart Reardon

  Cover photo by Franggy Yanez

  Cover design by PopKitty Designs

  Editing by Editor in Heels, Trish Bacher

  File creation, mobi and epub, by Erica Smith

  Typeset graphics, title page art and paperback and eBook formatting by Melissa Stevens, The Illustrated Author, www.theillustratedauthor.net

  Love Bites...Def Leppard

  Just Like Heaven...The Cure

  True Colors…Cyndi Lauper

  Crash Into Me...Dave Matthews Band

  A Little Respect...Erasure

  At Last...Etta James

  Landslide...Fleetwood Mac

  Only One...Lifehouse

  Amazing...Aerosmith

  Feel Like Makin’ Love...Bad Company

  She’s Got A Way...Billy Joel

  Don’t Cry...Guns N’Roses

  Same Mistake...James Blunt

  Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’...Journey

  Anyhow...Tyler Lyle

  Dark Side...Kelly Clarkson

  All I Want Is You...U2

  Can’t Stop The Feeling...Justin Timberlake

  I Choose You...Sara Bareilles

  Should’ve Known Better...Richard Marx

  Better Place...Rachel Platten

  Man in the Mirror...Michael Jackson

  For all the lovers and the dreamers

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALEJANDRO RAMOS

  1789

  My dearest Isabella,

  I fear I will not be coming home to you. Even now my ship is sinking. Those that fired upon us wait and watch as our ship flounders. No help will be given; no help will be requested. My crew, my loyal crew, refuses to save themselves. They will go down with their ship...with their captain.

  You will never see this letter, you will never know that you were my last thought and your name my last word. All the love I have for you I am pouring into this letter—saturating the parchment, the quill, and the desk I am writing it on. The Isabella will be my tomb, but it will also be the earthly reminder of my love, our love, and how not even time or death can diminish it.

  We were betrayed; a betrayal so heinous that I cannot even put it to paper. You will never know and perhaps that is a blessing. It was a risk I took falling in love with you, and I would take it again even knowing the price I would pay.

  I love you, Isabella Ramos, with every ounce of my being. And I will wait for you; I will defy death and wait for you.

  Yours in life and death,

  Alejandro

  WILLOW

  1999

  We’ll see you soon.” Mom kissed me before hurrying to the door. “We hate to be rushing off, but this could be the lead we’ve been waiting for.”

  “What is it you’re hunting?”

  My parents were modern day Indiana Joneses. They traveled the world searching for lost treasures—a small village just outside the Amazon rainforest, the Mayan temples, the African safari, Thebes…an ancient city in Egypt. I wished I could go with them, but my parents thought stability was best for me at my age.

  Mom’s excitement showed in the way that her eyes grew wide and her voice pitched higher. “It’s called the King’s Mirror, a mirror made completely of gold. It was given to King Philip IV of Spain on the day of his coronation. When he died, the mirror vanished.”

  “Someone took it?”

  “But who?” Mom touched the tip of my nose.

  Dad hugged me. “We’ll be home before you know it.”

  “Can I come with you? I’m thirteen. I’m old enough.”

  “You have school, sweetheart. One day, when you are out of school.”

  One day. I kind of hated those two words when together because it was always ‘one day’. “Good luck.”

  “Happy birthday, Willow,” Mom said, right before the car door closed and the limo pulled from the curb.

  I felt the tears, but I held them back. I always held them back. It was only after they were out of sight that I let them fall because I hated being left behind.

  I dragged myself back inside. The brightly colored balloons were starting to deflate, the streamers were falling from the ceiling, and the cake looked like it had been hacked by a serial killer. Granddad had been called back to the museum earlier. I hadn’t invited friends to the celebration because I didn’t see my parents very often, so I spent as much time with them as I could when they were home.

  I looked out at the ocean; Granddad’s house overlooked the water in San Francisco. The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs was comforting because it was the sound of home. My parents loved me, I knew they did, but what I was beginning to understand now that I was a little bit older was they loved their jobs more. And that hurt.

  The stars were twinkling in the navy sky. I hadn’t wished upon one since I was a little kid, but I made a wish that night. I wished for someone to put me before his job, to love me madly and deeply and completely. I wished for someone to choose me. The heavens didn’t answer back. I hadn’t really expected them to. I turned from the window and cleaned up what remained of my thirteenth birthday celebration.

  Mom and Dad’s faces filled the screen on the television in Granddad’s office at the museum. I had heard people say the camera loved them and I understood that now. They looked amazing, like a glamorous movie star couple. Flashes from cameras sparked off all around them, microphones were shoved in their faces, and they were eating the attention up.

  I leaned in, wishing I was with them and could share in the excitement. “Did they find the King’s Mirror?” I asked.

  “No, the Sentential.” Granddad replied.

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you remember the story we read about the boy and the sword?” Granddad asked.

  It was usually him and me. Mom and Dad were never around. I didn’t have a grandma. I mean technically I did, but they weren’t married. Never had been. After Dad was born, she gave up her parental rights and moved to Europe. Apparently, it hadn’t been planned. She was an artist who didn’t want the responsibility of a child. Granddad had been a young man captivated by not just her beauty but her talent. He had no regrets because he gained a son…and me.

  “Oh yes. I love that story.”

  “Well, the legend of the Sentential was what inspired the story of Excalibur.”
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  “So King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table...it’s true.”

  “Some say no...” He leaned closer and I smelled cocoa. Granddad always smelled like cocoa. “But I believe they are.”

  “Me too.”

  “You know what this means, right? We have to be extra careful for the next few months.”

  “I know.”

  “No going anywhere on your own. Marco will drive you to and from school.”

  Marco was Granddad’s driver. He was nearly as old as Granddad. The security was necessary because every time Mom and Dad found something, the crazies came out of the woodwork. That’s what Granddad called them. The emails, the packages, the phone calls. Many were just people looking for their fifteen minutes of fame, but a few were unhinged.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “It won’t last long. It never does. They’ll find something else to latch onto, but in the meantime it is better to be safe than sorry.”

  “What do you do with the letters and packages?”

  “I keep them because you never know.”

  My attention was back on the television. I had always been bitter that my parents chose chasing treasure over me, but watching the fanfare and the adoration of those in the crowd...how could I compete with that?

  The doorbell rang, Granddad stood. “That will be Harry.”

  “Harry’s here?” Harry was part of my parents’ team, but he also freelanced as a diver for salvage jobs. He was also Granddad’s dear friend who was funny, kind of absentminded, and he told the best stories.

  “He wants to discuss some antiquities he pulled up recently from a yacht that sunk in the Pacific.”

  We reached the door and I opened it. Harry stood there with his mass of curly blond hair, his face covered in whiskers and wearing his signature Hawaiian print shirt. He wasn’t smiling though. He always smiled.

  “Harry?”

  “William.” His eyes shifted to me as he hunched down. “Willow.”

  “I heard you found treasure.”

  “I sure did. I have something for you. Pulled it up from an old ship. It sunk in the 1600s.”

  “No way.”

  “Way.” He uncurled his hand to reveal a necklace made of some kind of coin.

  “It is a Spanish doubloon. I had it made into a necklace for you.”

  I threw my arms around his neck. “I love it.”

  He hugged me back then stood. “The grown-ups need to talk for a minute. Maybe you should take that to the kitchen and show Pamela.”

  Pamela was our cook.

  “Oh, good idea.”

  “Pamela! I have a treasure.” I screamed and ran down the hall to the kitchen.

  My Adidas sneakers made no sound on the polished tile floor. I felt eyes on me as I walked down the dark corridor and the hair on my arms rose at the undeniable feeling that I wasn’t alone. Whispers were all around me. And the smell—like the past had somehow been bottled up—was home to me. I knew this place, every nook and cranny. So many dreams were conjured within these walls and imaginary friends brought to life.

  My grandfather owned a museum in San Francisco and he spent practically every waking moment there, which meant I spent a lot of time there too. Mr. Tuttleman, the curator, spent almost as much time there as we did. I loved it, found companionship in the stories of the pieces displayed. I wasn’t alone when I was looking at a gold headdress worn by one of the Pharaoh’s wives, or studying the remnants of a porcelain plate found in the lost city of Vlochós, wondering who had last eaten off it and what they had eaten.

  I stopped at the latest exhibit, an old gold locket found in a wreck off the coast of France. This piece fascinated me and not just because of what it was, but how it was found. Lost at sea, or so it was believed until divers uncovered it from its watery grave, like my necklace that Harry found. The ocean fascinated me. All the secrets she held. I wanted to see it, explore it. And this, the gold had eroded over time but it was the symbolism that made my eyes burn. Someone had been loved so much that their loved one had carried their image with them.

  I moved silently through the museum and took a seat on the bench in front of my very favorite painting, The Kiss by Francesco Hayez. There was another painting of the same title done years later, but this one was my favorite…the portrait of a man and a woman kissing at the base of a staircase. He was dressed much like a musketeer and she was in a pale blue gown. Were they just reuniting, were they saying goodbye or were they just so in love they couldn’t hold it back? The painting was both passionate and sweet; their love kind of reached out and grabbed you. What must it feel like to be loved like that? To be the center of someone’s world? To inspire such emotion it was impossible to contain it?

  “Willow.”

  So lost in the painting, I didn’t hear Granddad approach.

  “I thought I would find you here.” He sat down next to me, his attention turning to the painting.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Do you think he is leaving or coming back?”

  He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Maybe he never left. Maybe that’s just how they say hello.”

  My young heart sighed. “I like that.”

  “There’s a poster of this in the gift shop. Before you leave, grab one. My treat.”

  My eyes went wide. “Really?”

  “Never stop dreaming.”

  I hugged him hard; he chuckled and hugged me back.

  “I’ll be ready to leave in about an hour. Will you be okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got company,” I said as I gestured to my painting.

  His smile looked a little sad before he pressed a kiss on my head and rose. The staccato sound of his cane against the tile floor echoed in his retreat. I looked back at my painting. One day I would have that, someone who loved me like that, someone who I loved like that. One day couldn’t come soon enough.

  KACE

  NEW YORK CITY

  My stomach growled so loud people around me stared. Or maybe they were looking because I hadn’t showered in a few weeks. The shelters were full and even if they weren’t, getting the shit kicked out of me because someone wanted the bed I was on got old fast.

  My parents had died when I was so little I didn’t remember them. I had no other family so I was put in the system. There were times I remembered my mom, when I smelled vanilla. I couldn’t remember her face, but I remembered her scent. I think I had been loved, liked to believe I had. That wasn’t the case in the years since. At fourteen, I had left the group home because as bad as the streets were, they were preferable to that fucking place. I had learned during the two years I was on the streets where to go for food. I had tried to find work, but I was underage. No one would hire a homeless minor. The last place had gone so far as to call the cops on me. Instead, I learned that bakeries threw out their baked goods after the second day, when they could no longer offer them at half price for day old. I learned the trash pickup schedule for some of the area restaurants so I could dumpster dive before they were emptied. Yes, I had on more than a few occasions needed to dumpster dive for food.

  Another thing I had learned on the streets, some people pretended they couldn’t see us, and others really couldn’t. At first the lack of humanity surprised me, later it would enrage me.

  I had a few friends, it was smart to have people watching your back, but one got arrested for stealing and another one froze to death last winter. Several others got hooked on drugs. I saw them from time to time, strung out, selling themselves and dealing, anything to get the next fix. I had no money, had to tuck my pride away in order to eat, but I would never sink that low. I had two friends remaining, Snake and Einstein. Snake was more brother than friend. He would give me the shirt off his back and I’d do the same. And Einstein, the nickname had been a joke because Einstein was far from smart. But he was a good kid, even though he tended to get himself into trouble.

  Dinner was cold cuts tossed out by the local deli. We l
ived under the Brooklyn Bridge, one of the many camps for the homeless in the city. We had scored a tent when the previous owner died. The local drug lord’s dealers were out, moving through the camp selling dime bags. The number of homeless hooked on drugs was surprising, but I supposed some would rather zone out than deal with their reality.

  “We should steal some of those bags. Yuppies are always slumming this way to get a fix. We could eat a meal not from a dumpster,” Einstein said as he eyed the dealer. I recognized that look.

  “Bad idea. People who steal from Drake end up dead.” Snake wasn’t wrong.

  “He’ll never know he’s missing it. You’ve got fast hands, Kace, you could lift them with no one being the wiser.”

  “They know how much they’re carrying, Einstein. Seriously, put it out of your head.”

  “Imagine a steak right off the grill or a baked potato with butter and sour cream.”

  “And at what cost? If he doesn’t kill you, he’ll pimp you out. You seriously want to get butt fucked by some middle-aged man all for a steak?” Snake questioned then added, “Because I can tell you right now if my options were being pimped or death, I would take death. I wouldn’t even pimp myself to save Kace and he’s my best friend.”

  “I’m with Snake on this.”

  Einstein dropped it and I hoped he really did because he was playing with fire.

  I was roused from sleep when someone kicked me in the gut. I jumped to my feet to see that Snake was already awake and standing next to some dude. Judging by the amount of gold on him, he was one of Drake’s boys. Einstein was noticeably absent.

  “Boss wants to see you.”

  We were not so gently escorted to a black SUV and shoved in the back as our escorts climbed in the front.

  Snake glanced over at me. “Considering our wake-up call, I think it’s safe to say the dumb fuck didn’t heed our warning and went ahead with his plan.”

  “So fucking stupid.”

  “I meant what I said. I ain’t putting my ass on the line for him. He walked into this with his eyes fucking open.”

  “If we’re given the choice.” And that was what I feared. No one would miss Snake or me. We had no one but each other. It was why Drake hunted the homeless, no one to miss them.