Illusion Read online

  Illusion

  S. J. Cooper

  * * *

  Indie sensation and New York Times bestselling author of the Ex Games series and the Private Club series, J.S. Cooper introduces the Swept Away series—three new, dark and sexy romances about a woman marooned on a desert island with a mysterious stranger—but is he friend or foe?

  The day started like every other day. . .

  Bianca finds herself kidnapped and locked up in a van with a strange man. Ten hours later, they’re dumped on a deserted island. Bianca has no idea what’s going on and her attraction to this stranger is the only thing keeping her fear at bay.

  Jakob wants only to figure out why they’ve been left on the island and how they can get off. But as the days go by, he can’t ignore his growing fascination with Bianca.

  In order to survive, Bianca and Jakob must figure out how they’re connected, but as they grow closer, secrets are revealed that may destroy everything they thought they knew about each other.

  * * *

  J.S. Cooper is the New York Times bestselling author of multiple indie-published books, including the Ex Games series, the Private Club series, and the Martelli Brothers series. Born in London, she now lives in the US, where she is currently working on the next book in the Swept Away series.

  Fiction ∙ Gallery ∙ November 2014

  978-1-4767-9098-5 ∙ $16.00 U.S./$18.99 Can. 368 pages

  Publicity contact: Jean Anne Rose ∙ 212-698-7579

  [email protected]

  The path to true love is never an easy one.

  Dedicated to all those who keep on keeping on while searching for the one.

  acknowledgments

  To Rebecca Friedman, the best agent I could have possibly asked for. The excitement you had for Illusion from the beginning has helped me bring this story to life. To my editor at Gallery Books, Abby Zidle, for making me laugh during the editing process, even though I wanted to cry. To Katrina Jaekley and Tanya Kay Skaggs, for always being there to listen and provide feedback during every book plot dilemma. To Elizabeth He, for being my friend and daily talking sponge. To Thao Mai, for always believing in me and supporting me: from hot prof to law school to writing—you’ve always been there backing me up. To Jessica Wood, for being my writing partner in crime. To my teacher in second form English class, thanks for reading my story aloud in class and making me believe I had a talent for writing.

  All my love goes out to all the J. S. Cooper Indie Agents for providing me daily support and love. My thanks and appreciation go out to all the bloggers and readers who read and promote my books with exuberant fanfare. Your support and kindness are always in my heart.

  Thanks and appreciation to my mum for telling me to follow my dreams after earning three degrees and deciding to quit my job to become a writer. Your support and love have made me very blessed. Thanks be to God for all my blessings. All I can hope is that my books continue to provide a respite and journey for my readers. I know that I’m taken on a journey with every book I write, and these stories give me a reason to smile every day.

  prologue

  “Bianca, where are you?” His voice sounded angry, and I shivered as I opened my eyes.

  I stared at the large expanse of dark midnight blue sky through the tree branches and prayed that he wouldn’t find me. I could see the white-sand beaches from my vantage point. The whole island looked so much smaller from up here. My limbs felt numb, but I was too scared to even move an inch. If he heard the rustling of leaves, he’d know where I was. I closed my eyes again and tried not to think about falling.

  “Bianca, this isn’t funny.” His voice was hoarse, and I heard his footsteps moving closer to me. “Bianca, if you can hear me . . .” He paused, and his voice changed. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I heard a branch snap below me, and I knew he was close. All he had to do was look up. If he looked up, he’d be able to find me. This man who’d become my most intimate confidant was now my predator, and I was his prey. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath before looking down. An involuntary gasp escaped my mouth as I realized how high up I was. That was my first mistake.

  “I’ve found you,” his voice cracked as he looked up at me with dark eyes. “When will you learn? You can’t escape me.”

  “Did you hurt him?” My fingers started trembling as I looked back down at him. “Tell me. Did you hurt him?”

  “It depends on what you mean by hurt.” He lifted his hands up, and I saw that his fingers were drenched in blood.

  I closed my eyes; I had my answer.

  “I did it for us,” he said simply, and I felt my heart drop into my stomach. “Don’t you trust me?” he asked me softly as he started to climb the tree. I saw the shiny glitter of the silver knife in his left hand before he placed it into his pocket, and my heart stopped beating for a second.

  “I trust you.” I nodded and waited for him to reach me.

  That was my second mistake.

  one

  One Week Earlier

  “Can I have this seat?” A deep voice interrupted my typing, and I stifled a sigh.

  “Uh, sure,” I replied, without looking up. I had to finish my latest movie review in the next ten minutes and e-mail it to my editor if I wanted to get paid for the article.

  “Can I have some space on the table?” His voice was dry as he spoke again, and I pulled my laptop toward me quickly, my eyes never leaving my screen. “I don’t mean to disturb you.” He continued, and this time I ignored him completely. I didn’t have time for chitchat. Not when I had to finish an article on Adam Sandler’s latest movie and persuade viewers to go and watch it without completely lying about my feelings toward the acting and the poor jokes.

  I typed away as quickly as I could, but I could feel that the man was staring at me. I bit down on my lower lip to stop myself from looking up at him and asking what his problem was. It wasn’t his fault that I was on high alert and anxious. I knew that I couldn’t have an expectation of privacy if I was working at a coffee shop, but I didn’t normally have to worry about a stranger talking to me. People in New York never talked to strangers, not unless they were tourists.

  I sighed and looked up. “Did you need help with something?” My breath caught as I stared at the man’s face. He was handsome, or appeared to be under the Yankees cap that covered half of his forehead. His blue eyes looked into mine with a bright light, and I could see a hint of a smile on his full pink lips. I licked my lips unconsciously as I stared at the man across from me and attempted to brush my messy hair back. “I can move onto my back if you want. I mean, move back.” I stuttered as he stared at me with his lips twitching slightly. “I don’t mean I’ll go on my back or anything, I mean I can move farther back, if you need more space.” My face burned red as I tried to explain myself.

  “No, you’ve done enough. Thank you.” He nodded and looked down at his book in a dismissive fashion. Served me right, I suppose. I hadn’t really given him the time of day, and it would be way too obvious if I tried to start up a conversation now. I looked at my watch and then back at my article; I had five minutes to sum up a lackluster review of a movie I’d thought was inane. If I didn’t send it over, I wouldn’t get paid. And now that this was my only form of income, I needed to get paid. I went back to typing, though my mind was partially on the man I was sharing the table with. His knee was rubbing against mine, and I couldn’t help but laugh at myself for the slight thrill his touch was giving me.

  “Loser,” I whispered to myself under my breath as I wrapped up the article and attached it in an e-mail. I knew that I was sending the e-mail without rereading the article one more time so that I could try to chat with the man. Though, I really had no business try
ing to flirt with a strange man in a coffee shop. I was about to ask him what he was reading, when I got the strangest sensation that someone was watching me again. And this time I knew it wasn’t the man sharing the table with me. I looked around the coffee shop and saw an older-looking man sipping his coffee and staring at me over a newspaper. As soon as our eyes made contact, he looked away and back down at his paper. I felt my heart racing as I stared at his coffee cup on the table. It wasn’t from this coffee shop. I pressed Send on my e-mail and grabbed my bag up from the floor in a panic, spilling half of its contents on the ground.

  “You need some help?” The man looked up from his book and then stared at the ground. He leaned down and picked up my lipstick and some mints and handed them to me. Our fingers brushed each other’s as I took my belongings from him, and I felt a dart of electricity running through me at his touch.

  “Thanks.” I stared into his deep blue eyes and nodded quickly.

  “Is everything okay?” His eyes crinkled in concern, and I was about to answer, when I felt the man in the corner staring at me again.

  “I’m fine.” I looked back down at my computer screen and stifled a groan. I’d received another message from Matt, a guy I’d spoken to a couple of times on the computer, yet had decided I didn’t want to meet. I opened the e-mail slowly, not really wanting to read what he had to say. I’d much rather be talking to the hunk in front of me. I read the e-mail from Matt quickly and then deleted it without responding. He just wouldn’t leave me alone. “Stalker,” I muttered under my breath, and looked up again to see the hunk staring at me.

  “Sorry, were you talking to me?” His lips were twitching again, and I shook my head.

  “No, sorry. I just had an e-mail from this guy. If it was from you, I wouldn’t be pressing Delete, trust me.” I groaned out loud as I realized what I’d said. “I mean, because you seem like a really nice guy.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Let me know if I can be of any help.” He went back to his book, and I was about to ask him a question about what he was reading, when I felt the man in the corner staring at me again.

  “Shit.” I jumped up and grabbed my bag, hitting the hunk in the shoulder as I moved.

  “You okay?”

  “I think I’m being followed.” I said as I shook my head and nodded toward the corner where the man watching me sat. “Sorry, I have to go.” I grabbed my laptop and pushed it into my bag. “It was nice meeting you.” I gave him a quick smile and ran out of the coffee shop. “This was our serendipity moment. I hope we meet again,” I muttered as I gave the hunk one last look before darting down the street. I continued running down the street until I could no longer run anymore. I stopped outside a donut shop and leaned back against the wall, breathing deeply. I looked left and right to make sure I didn’t see the man who I was pretty sure had been following me and then rubbed my forehead.

  “You’re going crazy, Bianca,” I said to myself as I straightened up and started walking at a normal pace. I started laughing as I reached the subway station and went down to catch my train. Not one person had looked at me like I was crazy as I’d run down the street. Even though I’d been running like I was in the 100m sprint finals at the Olympics. That was part of the beauty of living in New York City. You could be who you wanted, and you weren’t judged. The other side of the coin, the side of the equation that made me stop smiling, was the wonder of what would have happened if the man had been following me. Would anyone have come to my aid? I walked on to the subway and held on to the pole without looking at anyone. As I stood there I thought about both men in the coffee shop, one I’d wanted to get to know better, and the other, I hoped I never saw again. I shook my head as I realized how different I was now. My life had changed completely in the last year and so had I.

  I never thought I was particularly brave until recently. I don’t enjoy watching horror movies. I sleep with all my doors double-locked, and I go through and check that all my windows are closed tight every night before I go to bed—and I live on the eighth floor of my apartment building. No, I’m not someone that anyone would call brave and definitely not an amateur sleuth. I’ve always been someone who likes to keep to herself. Some people would call me quiet, but those are the ones who don’t know me well. Inside, I’m a dynamo of activity and fun.

  I used to be the sort of person who froze when she heard a creak in the floorboards or heard a sudden scream. My father always used to call me his frightened little rabbit when I was growing up. I heard the term a lot, as there were always sudden and unexplainable noises in New York City. I don’t think he realized that it was his overprotectiveness that led to my lack of trust of most people. However, my whole demeanor changed when my father died. The first twenty-five years of my life faded into obscurity when my father died.

  My father died of a broken heart. Or rather I should say he died with a broken heart. I don’t think he ever got over my mother’s death. I’m not sure that I ever got over it either, even though I was a young girl when she was killed in a car accident. Her English ancestry was the reason I studied British history in college, and my love of her memory was the reason why when I was given my father’s secret box, I knew I had to do something about its contents. My mother’s death changed my father’s life, and my father’s death changed mine. The moment I read his letter to me was the moment I felt steel implanted in my backbone. It was the moment I knew that I wouldn’t allow anything to frighten me until I found out what really had happened to my mother.

  I wasn’t surprised when the letter arrived. It was only after I read the note that I looked back at the envelope for clues. Only then did I realize there was no postage stamp. Whoever had left the note for me didn’t want any clues leading back to them. I stared at the letter in my hands and shivered slightly. It read simply:

  Beauty and Charm. One survives. One is destroyed. What are your odds?

  I read it again, trying to make sense of the note. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to take from it. I picked up the envelope again to see if there was anything inside that I’d missed. While I hadn’t been surprised to receive the letter, I had been surprised by its contents. I hadn’t expected such a blatant threat, though it shouldn’t have surprised me. My father had warned me, in the letter I’d found in his box, that there were people willing to do anything to keep their secrets safe. His letter had stated that he suspected that my mother’s car accident hadn’t really been an accident. However, his suspicions had come too late. It was only on his deathbed that he had started to remember conversations and actions that had happened prior to her death. His letter spoke of his sadness and regret at having shut down after my mother’s death. He felt that if he’d not been in such a deep state of depression he would have made the connections earlier. His letter didn’t directly ask me to find out the truth, but I could read between the lines. He wanted justice for my mother. It was the reason why he’d written the letter in the first place. The only problem was, my father didn’t say whom he suspected. All he had left me was a one-page letter talking of his suspicions and two boxes full of paperwork from the corporation he’d used to work for, Bradley Inc.

  After I’d read my father’s letter and gone through the paperwork he’d left for me, I had started investigating. Well, I’d done my best to get on the inside of Bradley Inc. so I could find clues that might help me figure out what my father had found out and if my mother had been murdered. I hadn’t been careful enough with my investigation, and so I wasn’t surprised I had been contacted. But I was taken aback by the letter. Frankly, it wasn’t what I’d expected to receive.

  I stared at the letter in my hands again and frowned. There was a veiled threat and a challenge in the note: “One survives and one is destroyed.” Destroyed was a pretty powerful word. Destroyed was sending a message. I could feel my fingers trembling as they held the letter. I knew that I was getting close to the truth, close to the answers that would prove my father’s suspicions had been correct. I was about to tak
e out a pen and paper and write down the words I thought were most telling in the note, when I heard a loud banging on the apartment door.

  “Open up!” a masculine voice shouted as he banged. “Police.”

  Police? I walked to the door with a perplexed expression. “I’m coming!” I called out as I opened the door. I immediately felt something was not right—someone had made it into the building without calling up. How had he gotten into the building without someone buzzing him in? I dismissed my thoughts as I realized the police must have master keys to every building in the city, though I still felt some discomfort as I looked at him.

  “Are you okay?” The policeman had his hand on his gun in its holster, and I swallowed.

  “I’m fine. What’s going on?”

  “There was a nine-one-one call from your apartment.” He pushed past me. “And then a hang-up.”

  “I didn’t make a nine-one-one call.” I shook my head and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. “Look, you can check my calls. There is no call to nine-one-one.”

  “It was made from your landline, ma’am.”

  “I don’t have a landline.” I frowned and followed him around my apartment. My voice rose as I wondered who had called nine-one-one on me. “There must have been a mistake. I can assure you that I didn’t call nine-one-one and hang up.”

  “I’m still going to check through your apartment, if that’s okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer.

  “I already told you that I didn’t call the police, and I’m the only one who lives here.” I called after him and watched as he walked down the hallways and into my bedroom. I stood still, unable to move as I thought back to the letter that had just arrived. Had the writer of the letter sent the police to my house? And if so, why? Why would the people who killed my mother want the police involved in the matter? It didn’t make sense. I chewed on my lower lip, deep in thought, when I heard a slamming. “What’s going on?” I walked to my bedroom quickly, my heart pounding. “What are you doing in my room?” My voice was jittery, and I tried not to look in the one place I was scared he would find.