In Their Shadows

Book 2: Pseudo

by Briana Cole

Genres: Suspense

Synopsis

In this scandal-filled novel of secrets, suspense, and scamming, a female con artist's seemingly perfect double life built on lies finally catches up with her. Will appeal to fans of psychological suspense, gritty drama, and fans of De'Nesha Diamond, Kiki Swinson, Saundra, Wahida Clark, Ashley & JaQuavis, Victoria Christopher Murray, and Shelly Ellis.



Raised to be the ultimate scam artist, April has been many women to many people. She seduces, extracts fortunes, then vanishes without a trace. And now she's finally living her dream of having two perfect—separate—lives. That means two mad-successful identities, and two unsuspecting husbands. But a mysterious package has just arrived—and its contents threaten to expose April's every scandalous secret . . .



Up against a merciless, unknown adversary, April must maintain her flawless images—while revisiting her past exploits. She'll need to step-up her tricks and utilize every conniving play she's ever learned to save her freedom, and her life. But amid all those she's wronged, even April's insight and savvy can't predict who she can trust—or who wants to end her. And the ultimate price she'll have to pay promises anything but survival . . .

Release date: October 24, 2023

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 272

Sample

April awoke, disoriented; briefly unsure which one of her husbands lay beside her. Her vision cleared enough so she could make out the red digits illuminated from the clock on the nightstand: 1:43 AM. Her peripheral vision caught the floor-to-ceiling windows adorning one whole wall of the industrial high-rise. The Atlanta skyline glittered through the glass, sweeping and majestic in all its early-morning splendor. She was in a penthouse suite. That meant . . .

April glanced at the figure sleeping beside her. Sure enough, Carter was in his catatonic position, left side, mouth open, and a nasally snore that seemed magnified in the silence. Her husband Carter, not her husband Ramsey.

April relaxed against the leather headboard as the last bit of haze cleared from her head. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but Carter had wanted them to enjoy themselves the previous night. “Since you can’t be here for New Year’s Day, then we’ll celebrate tonight.” And they had. Wine, slow music, dancing in their living room. Intimate and therapeutic. For a moment, it was as if it had been real. But this time of year, just like it had been for the past eight years, was triggering. No matter how much she tried to assuage the lingering trauma.

April eased from the comfort of the satin sheets and padded across the hardwood floor. The room’s sudden chill peppered goosebumps on her forearms. Carter insisted on keeping the air conditioner on sixty-eight degrees, no matter the weather or the season. It was a habit she wouldn’t miss when she got back to her other husband. The two men were similar in more ways than one, but it was those kinds of differences she could appreciate.

April rested her forehead on the window, letting the coolness of the glass soothe her hangover headache. Too much to drink. That wasn’t like her. She was usually sober and in control. She had to be. Thankfully, last night was over. Carter was asleep and she was alone. This was one of those rare moments that she could be herself, her real self, and not the women that she pretended to be. She savored it. Even if it was only temporary. Finally, almost regrettably, April tore her gaze from the view, all emotion suppressed. No, now she was . . . numb, moving on an autopilot that had been perfected like second nature.

Carter had converted the second bedroom into a minimalistic office. As an architect, he was so meticulous she could recite everything in this room by memory. A glass drafting table buried under a cluster of blueprints dominated the room. Vague outlines of pictures hanging on the walls; proof of his brilliance in the designs of the commercial properties captured in each frame. The only light was from his laptop, which cast a chilling glow on the neatly organized files stacked on his desk. His next projects. She had been half-listening and feigning excitement the previous night as he raved about his new bids.

April slid into the executive chair and, as she had done numerous times before, typed her birthday (more like the fake birthday that Carter knew) into the password box. The Microsoft desktop appeared on the screen, cluttered with entirely too many spreadsheets, folders, and programs. Three clicks and she was on their joint banking website, keying in the same log-in information she had used too many times in the past.

She knew never to transfer too much money. Only what she needed for now. Carter wasn’t one to notice fifty dollars here, or a hundred dollars there. But he sure as hell wasn’t stupid.

Seven minutes. That was all it took for her to steal from her husband. She was used to the routine, had calculated every best- (and worst-) case scenario down to the excuses she would use if she were ever caught. Even still, as prepared as she always was, it didn’t make the task any less difficult. Or troubling.

“It’s pretty easy to have more than one life; you just have to know how to balance them. Like shifts, you clock-in one while you clock-out from another.” Even though the years had bred a dissonance between April and her mother, she still couldn’t shake the words playing in her head as she waited patiently in the dark. Like some kind of sick and twisted lullaby. Erika sure as hell hadn’t given her much in the way of an idyllic childhood. But the little tidbits of knowledge that did manage to seep through during her moments of sobriety—well, those gems had proven priceless. Like now.

As always, April tried to keep her eyes focused on the screen and ignore the photo Carter kept right beside the keyboard. Their wedding picture. She had seen it too many times to count and still, the image managed to unravel the threads of her guilty conscience. The frozen memory made her look so deceptively happy. Carter had managed to smear a bit of icing on the tip of her nose, and she had opened her mouth to laugh at the gesture. And the photographer had caught just that. Her laughing with a mouthful of red velvet cake clumped on her tongue and Carter watching her in adoration.

Never mind her embarrassment, the illusion in the picture looked entirely too . . . natural. Too comfortable. She hated it. He loved it. Which is why he hid it in his office, tucked away from the myriad of photos decorating the rest of their apartment.

A sudden light shined through the pocket of her robe. Her cell phone. Silenced, but the screen signaled the incoming call. She knew who it was without even looking at it. Deciding he could wait, April took her time finishing her transactions. She then cleared the browsing histories and recycle bin, making sure every trace of her deception had been carefully and neatly erased. By the time she readjusted the chair and swept from the room, there was only a phantom of her presence.

It was done and according to her balance, she was a few dollars closer to her goal. Her feelings weren’t as intense anymore, which was progress. The first few times, April’s eyes would sting with the threat of tears at what she did. At what she had become. Looking back on it now, it was almost humorous because she couldn’t explain her distress if she tried. And how could she even justify being a con woman with feelings, anyway? What’s wrong? Nothing and everything. Thankfully, she was past that part. Or so she liked to tell herself. It was easier not to feel at all than to feel too much.

April checked the bedroom to confirm Carter was still sleeping before settling on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her. She swiped her screen to toggle to the missed call.

The late hour was never a deterrent for Ramsey. She used to wonder if he slept at all. Another one of the subtle differences between her husbands. Carter lived by his early-to-bed-early-to-rise ideology, energized and ready to get his day started at the crack of dawn. Ramsey, on the other hand, was like a vampire, often spending the nights painting in his art studio because he insisted those were the most creative hours. She could already picture him hovering at his easel, flecks of paint caked on his fingers, guiding his brush across a half-finished canvas in methodical strokes. Creating picture poetry, he called it. For someone like April, who had never cared about painting, she now found herself fascinated by his talent. Even to the point where she chanced picking up a paintbrush herself, mimicking his movements. Of course, her artwork never turned out as beautiful as his, but she was proud just the same. Interesting how she was discovering more about herself by pretending to be someone else.

Ramsey answered on the first ring as if he’d been waiting. “What are you doing up so late, Mrs. Duncan?”

Without realizing it, April’s lips curved at the sound of his voice. “I should be asking you the same thing, but I already know you’re in the studio making something great.”

His chuckle glided through the receiver. “My wife knows me so well.”

“Of course, I do.”

“How is Virginia?”

Once again, her eyes lingered over the scenic Atlanta view through the window. Of course, she wasn’t in Virginia, but Ramsey couldn’t know that.

“Great,” she lied with practiced ease. And then just as genuinely, “Wish you were here.” That much was true. She would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t have feelings for both of her husbands. Was it love? Not necessarily. She wasn’t even sure what love was. But they did make her feel special in their own ways. And they provided her with an escape from reality. It was . . . reassuring. Which was close enough.

“I miss you too, babe,” Ramsey said. “Maybe if you can get away from work for a few days, we can take a little vacation this summer. Maybe a cruise or something. I think we both need it.”

April didn’t bother responding. If she voiced what was on her mind, she would have to admit that she didn’t plan on being around during the summer.

Ramsey didn’t seem to notice her hesitation and instead asked, “What time will you be back tomorrow?”

April looked toward the front door, where her packed suitcases already sat waiting. The flight attendant uniform that she kept for appearances’ sake had been steamed and hung near the closet, thanks to Carter. She mentally checked off her routine once she got back to her place. As laborious as it was, Mrs. Carter Evans had to switch to Mrs. Ramsey Duncan. Like rotating shifts.

“Not sure.” Her answer was intentionally vague. “It’ll probably be after six. I have some things to handle before I leave the airport.”

“Okay, well, I have a surprise for you.”

April tensed. She hated surprises with a passion. And even though Ramsey knew her attitude about his little unexpected tokens of love, he seemed to enjoy the challenge. Perhaps he thought if he impressed her enough with his affectionate spontaneity, she would learn to love it.

“I promise, it’s a good surprise,” Ramsey rushed on, clearly reading her mind.

Highly doubtful, but she would keep her thoughts about that to herself. “Okay, we’ll see.”

“By the way, I put your packages up.”

“Great, thank you. How many were there?”

“I don’t know. It was a stack of boxes on the porch. Though I’m not sure what else you could possibly be ordering.”

“Just a few things for the house.” That was partially true. Somewhere among those new boots and designer sweaters, she was sure she had purchased some new bedding and throw pillows for the living room. It usually softened Ramsey’s disapproval of her spending habits. He’d once exaggerated her shopping with the word addiction, and April had immediately dispelled the absurdity. She liked to look nice because it made her feel beautiful and valuable. Was that so bad?

“Well, it looks like you confused the delivery driver,” Ramsey said absently. “I think I saw someone else’s package mixed in with yours. Poor April is going to be upset when she doesn’t get what she ordered.”

April’s chest tightened. It felt like someone had snatched her breath from her lungs, leaving her strangled with confusion and enough fear to send a rippling tremor up her spine.

“W—what did you say?” She didn’t even realize she was whispering until she heard her voice, now suddenly foreign to her ears.

Ramsey chuckled. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s the name on the package?”

“April somebody. Not sure. Want me to check? Do you know her?”

Her mouth soured as he repeated what she had clearly heard the first time. “No,” she murmured, weakly. “Just . . . maybe leave it with the rest. I’ll check it out when I get back.” Before he had a chance to respond, she hurried on. “I’m feeling tired, so I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Erin, you okay, sweetie?” Ramsey’s voice was heightened with concern.

She couldn’t even stomach the strength to reply. Because she wasn’t okay. Not at all. She was nauseous to her core as the beginning tendrils of tension careened from temple to temple. April, April . . . the name singed clear through to her bones. Like an aggressive poison. It was a name she hadn’t heard in lifetimes. Because that’s not who she was. Not to anyone. Not anymore.

She didn’t even remember what lie she told to placate Ramsey and end the call so abruptly. But suddenly, she was alone with her thoughts, her worries, and yes, her terror.

Like a sinister collage, her aliases flooded her vision. She was Ramsey’s wife, Erin. She was also Carter’s wife, Michelle. And she had been a tapestry of women, professions, and identities in between. But only to those from her past, a past that her manipulation had forced her to bury years ago, she was April. And expected or not, a mysterious shipment to her house was the least of the baggage she would need to unpack.

“Who were you talking to last night?”

April kept her back to Carter so he couldn’t see the twinge of panic that flickered over her face. She willed her movements to remain calm as she finished filling the Keurig. “What are you talking about, sweetie?”

“Did you watch TV?”

She paused. “Maybe for a second. To be honest, I was so tired I really don’t remember.” April turned around this time, now completely composed and feigning ignorance with a downward turn of her lips. “Why? Did you hear something?” She studied him as his eyebrow creased in concentration.

It was obvious the wheels were turning in his head as he attempted to replay the previous night’s events; muddling through the aftereffects of inebriation to scrap together some semblance of coherency. He gave up with a half-hearted shrug. “I thought so. I was out of it too, so I could’ve been dreaming.”

“Well, thank you for a great night,” she deflected with a warm smile. “Obviously we both needed it.”

Carter’s face softened with adoration. “We did. I just wish you didn’t have to work on New Year’s Eve.”

“You know flights are crazy during the holiday season.” The excuse was especially true, though the airport congestion wasn’t affecting her plans in the least.

April disguised her dread with a yawn as she turned back to the counter. She hadn’t been able to sleep ever since hanging up with Ramsey. Her mind was equally exhausted, leafing through a Rolodex of people she had encountered, conversations she’d had, and anything else that could help make an association with the nameless, faceless person who had sent the mystery package. Whoever it was had done their due diligence to discover she was living under the identity of Erin Duncan. So, the fact remained. As careful as she’d been, as much as she’d covered her tracks, there was someone out there who knew the truth. Which meant he or she knew more about her than she did them and well, that was enough to have a swell of anxiety settling like a brick in her chest.

April lifted a mug to her lips and took a generous swig of coffee, the scalding liquid searing her throat like a cathartic release. But it was not enough to settle her nerves. It just didn’t make sense. There was no way someone from her past could know who, or where, she was now. It had been years since there was even a trace of April.

A mistake. That had to be the most logical answer. She had done a little shopping online before she left Ramsey last week. The packages had arrived. Of course, something had gotten mixed up during the shipping process. It happened all the time. Warehouses shipped to wrong addresses, or drivers accidently transposed numbers when really, the package was for the next house or the next street over. What were the odds that the package in her real name was actually intended for her when that identity had disappeared years ago? Pretty much nonexistent, April mused with a little more reassurance. It wasn’t like the name was uncommon. That had to be the sensical explanation. Right?

Carter must’ve sensed the slight discomfort hanging thick in the air. He was behind April in three strides, his gentle hands kneading the tender spot between her shoulder blades and the base of her neck. His fingers moved with artistic precision, using his fingertips to apply just enough pressure to have her skin pulsing in response. “Babe, you sure everything is okay?” he asked.

No, not really. “Yes. Just work.” Instinctively, her muscles tensed when his lips replaced his fingers on her neck, his hands trailing down to caress her shoulders, then arms. His breath had grown heavy with arousal, and she could only swallow her repulsion. “Carter—”

“If you weren’t working so much, then we would be able to start our family.” As if to emphasize his point, Carter’s arms circled her waist to rest, almost wistfully, on her flat stomach.

April grimaced as the words scratched her throat. “We will.”

“When?”

She pursed her lips, the familiar conversation instantly dampening her mood. Of course, he wanted children. Didn’t they all? It was only a matter of time before Ramsey would mirror those same sentiments, but thankfully, he had other things to keep him distracted for now.

But not Carter. He was on an accelerated path to creating the perfect family, the perfect image. As if he had something to prove to himself and everyone in his circle. If April were another woman, another wife, maybe. If she actually wanted that life with him, perhaps. So many variables that made his desire and hers irreconcilable.

But she had to put her desire out of her head. She had to remember she was currently playing the role of Michelle Evans, and Michelle wanted what Carter wanted. Instead, she got back into character and reasoned, “I told you I just wanted us to be married for a while first. We have plenty of time to have kids.” And she planned to be long gone before then.

The brisk knock on the door was both startling and a welcome reprieve. Instinctively, April snatched back, coffee sloshing over the lip of the cup to sting her hand. “Dammit!” She winced at the burn, immediately dumping the mug and the remaining contents, into the sink.

“Let me see it.” Carter was in his protective mode as he reached for her hand to assess the damage.

April shook her head, sidestepping his embrace. “It’s fine. Can you just see who’s at the door?” The gesture was blatantly dismissive. She knew it. He knew it. But he said nothing. April’s sigh was one of relief when she heard him move to answer the door.

She couldn’t help but feel bad about the circumstances. Was it his fault that she didn’t want kids? Or had no sexual desire? It was just another by-product of her less than idyllic past. Asexuality aside, intimacy was just not a high priority. April had been self-sufficient since the age of twelve, so she achieved gratification by other means. It was all she knew. It was all she had.

A triad of voices wafted into the kitchen, lifted in apparent merriment. Carter’s brother, Ian, and sister, Valerie. Flustered, April busied herself with wetting a paper towel and applying the cold compress to her singed skin. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that the Evans siblings decided an impromptu visit was in order. Much to April’s frustration, their close relationship compelled them to often stop by for one reason or another. She would never admit she was envious, not even to herself.

“Hey, little sis.” Ian was first in the kitchen, already swinging open the refrigerator and pulling out a fresh carton of orange juice. Noticing April nursing her wound, he frowned. “What happened to you?”

“Coffee spill,” she confessed with a strained grin. As if to prove the statement, she peeled back the paper towel and held up her hand, exposing the area below her thumb, now tinged red.

Valerie was, not so obviously, cutting her eyes in April’s direction. Then she looked at her brother, a distinct proprietary scowl marring her face. It was evident she had some kind of slick comment marinating on her tongue. Good for her for deciding to keep her thoughts to herself. April didn’t mind Ian. But as far as the middle Evans sibling, she didn’t care for her. Valerie had made it clear the. . .