Tuesday, December 12, 2017

Chameleon's Death Dance (Chameleon Assassin, Book 4) by B.R. Kingsolver

Release date: December 12, 2017
Subgenre: Post-apocalyptic, dystopian

About Chameleon's Death Dance:


Even a chameleon can be a target.

Libby makes her money as a thief and an assassin, but a girl has to have a cover. To her surprise, her business installing security systems in 23rd century Toronto is taking off, as is her romance with Wil—North America’s top cop.

Then an insurance company hires her to recover a fortune in stolen art and jewelry. Bring them the stolen goods and they'll pay an outrageous fee, no questions asked.

The Vancouver art scene is hot, in more ways than one. Billionaires compete for bragging rights, and they aren't picky who they deal with.

With big money and reputations on the line, Libby is on a collision course with the super-rich. When too many questions make the art thieves uncomfortable, one of the world’s top assassins is hired to eliminate those who know too much—including Libby.



Danielle Kincaid hit the Vancouver social scene with a splash. Variously called ‘a breath of fresh air,’ ‘an arrogant bitch,’ ‘refreshingly open and intelligent,’ ‘a promiscuous slut,’ ‘a spoiled rich girl,’ and probably a few dozen other labels—depending on the particular commenter’s point of view—she was certainly prominent. In a city with entrenched, and some might say fossilized, upper-crust families dating back before The Fall, the Kincaid name gave her instant access to high society that no one could deny.
Scion of the industrial dynasty founded by Daniel Kincaid two hundred years before, Danielle was a tall, dark blonde girl in her mid-twenties, beautiful, educated, and uninhibited. That she was wildly wealthy went without saying. She was a Kincaid.
Daniel Kincaid had been a visionary. Founder of a computer software company in Scotland at the end of the twentieth century, he paid close attention to the scientists who foretold an environmental catastrophe as humanity polluted the planet and changed the climate. He expanded his business empire to Northern Ireland, and then to Canada.
His three sons and one daughter inherited their father’s smarts and ambition, further expanding the business that became a dominant player in computer controls for solar, wind, and hydro energy production and distribution. Also like their father, they evidently enjoyed procreation and had a lot of children, who also had a lot of children. The business grew and prospered, and the family grew and prospered.
Danielle was the dynasty founder’s great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter. At her birth, the family probably expected her either to join the business, or to marry well and extend their wealth, influence, and power. Or both. But the older corporate families that controlled the world’s economy considered it quite acceptable for members of their newest generation to sow a few wild oats after university. Whether it was called ‘seasoning,’ or ‘gaining a broader perspective,’ it kept the young inheritors’ wild and undisciplined behavior out of the corporate halls until they were ready to settle down and get serious about making a few more billion or trillion credits to pass on to the following generation.
That would have been Danielle’s path in life had she survived past her first birthday. Not only had Danielle died at an early age, but her parents and her younger siblings, who she never met, had taken an ill-fated airplane ride a few years later, leaving no close relatives.
Since the Kincaid clan was so large, and spread so widely around the world, it was easy to take her identity and create the person she might have become. Through manipulation of various databases, including those inside Kincaid Controls Corporation, plus the planting of fake news stories on various net sites, she came back to life.

“Danielle! I’m so glad you could make it!” Marian Clark leaned close and we air-kissed each other’s cheek. Marian was the kind of effusive, cheerful woman whose speech was always somewhat breathy and excited. She was also the hottest and most exclusive hostess at the top end of Vancouver society. Her dark hair was perfectly coifed, her blue silk dress cost enough to support a middle-class family for a year, and her jewelry was even more lavish than my own.
I’d been in town for over a month, and had finally managed an invitation to one of her soirees. Of course I came. I would have crawled over broken glass to get there. If I could impress Marian and her friends, I’d be in—on the guest list of everyone who was anyone.
She introduced me to Sheila Robertson and Laura Henriquez—women who were also members of Vancouver social royalty—and turned me over to them to take me around and introduce me.
I recorded everything with a device in my bra. That was not the time to miss a name or forget an expression. Any of those people could be useful or harmful to my reasons for being in Vancouver. Not to mention linking a name to some of the jewelry they wore would help later to identify its location. In general, the jewelry was incredible. I tried not to drool, and was glad I hadn’t scrimped on my own wardrobe and accessories. Nothing about Marian or her guests could be described as understated.
Marian also was as subtle as a sledgehammer. The purpose of the cocktail party and dinner was to raise funds for Marian’s favorite charity, and I was quickly steered toward her secretary, who was collecting the guests’ contributions. Cheryl Frind, who had helped me to get the invitation, suggested that ten thousand would be a proper donation. But I was playing a Kincaid, and I didn’t plan to take years climbing the social ladder. The fifty thousand I contributed caused the secretary’s eyes to widen slightly, and she gave my face a thorough study. I gave her a slight, acknowledging smile, and received an almost imperceptible nod in response. We were on the same page, and that was good.
Cheryl retrieved me from Sheila and Laura and handed me a flute of champagne immediately after the funds changed hands.
“I don’t know what you gave, but you impressed a couple of people,” Cheryl muttered. “I could see it in their faces.”
I smiled at the curvy, short-haired blonde who had become my closest friend in Vancouver. Barely over thirty, she had grown up in one of the city’s prominent families and married into another.
“It’s only money,” I said, taking a sip of the bubbly. “Getting in the good graces of this crowd is worth it.”
She gave me a searching look. “That sounded almost like a business comment. You’ll damage your party girl reputation if you’re not careful.”
With a laugh, I said, “Kincaids are given a shot of business with our mothers’ teats every morning. If I stumble across an opportunity, why wouldn’t I let my family know about it? They didn’t send me to university to study art.”
“You know, that’s part of what I like about you,” Cheryl said. “You don’t try to pretend you’re just a pretty face.”

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About the Chameleon Assassin series:

Book 1: Chameleon Assassin

Book 2: Chameleon Uncovered

Book 3: Chameleon's Challenge

Book 4: Chameleon's Death Dance


About B.R. Kingsolver:

BR Kingsolver, author of the Telepathic Clans and Chameleon Assassin series, grew up surrounded by writers, artists, myths, and folklore in Santa Fe, The City Different, in the Land of Enchantment.

After living all over the US and exploring the world--from Amsterdam to the Romanian Alps, and Russia to the Rocky Mountains--Kingsolver trades time between Baltimore and Albuquerque. With an education in nursing and biology and a Master's degree in business, Kingsolver has done everything from construction to newspaper editor and jewelry to computers.

Kingsolver, a passionate lifetime skier, currently spends time writing and working with computers while living nine blocks from the harbor in Baltimore as servant in residence to a very demanding cat.

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