Page 1 of Glass Spinner
CHAPTER ONE
Marise’s business was finding secrets.
She didn’t advertise—her number was passed quietly between penthouses and private jets. She worked alone, and for the right price, she could slip into any life. Track down anyone.
From her apartment window, Boston unfolded in a patchwork of historic brick buildings, gleaming glass towers, and the glittering expanse of the Charles River. Twenty-one floors up, the city didn’t encroach into her space. Her living area wasn’t cluttered, decorated with modern furniture. It wasn't a home; it was a fortress for one.
When the laptop on her desk pulsed and a single notification blinked onto the screen, Marise closed her novel and opened the message. There was no subject line. No sender. No attachments. Only one sentence, followed by her instructions.
Knowles Project: Read then delete.
She read it twice. The email included the mark’s place of work, her home, her habits and where she could have the opportunity to meet her.
Marise sat back, tapping one finger against the top of her desk.
Kathleen Knowles. Even in her world, the name meant something. A brilliant environmental scientist, working on a project that could shift the global economy off fossil fuels, that is, if the rumours were true. Knowles hadn’t put out a statement or published any papers as yet.
If they were correct, oil magnates would bleed money, political dynasties would crumble, and fortunes would change hands overnight.
And someone with very deep pockets wanted to know if that future was about to become a reality. Whether they wanted to stop her or back her, Marise didn’t care. Her assignment was to find out what exactly Knowles was working on, how far she had progressed with her research, and if she was nearly there.
As always, payment had already been arranged. One that whispered of corporate bottomless budgets, and ambitions big enough to topple nations. Six figures for discretion. Ten percent now, the rest when the assignment was complete.
After she closed the email and locked it behind four layers of encryption before deleting every trace, she went to work. First, she checked the money had been put into her offshore account, and then she googled everything she could find about Kathleen Knowles. As soon as she typed out a profile, she emailed it to herself. That way, she could access it on any device.
She smiled slightly—an easy assignment for once. Knowles was reported to be a timid woman who shunned the limelight.
Marise moved to the corner cabinet and pulled out a locked briefcase. She opened it to reveal her tools: five identities, polished and ready; bundles of US and foreign currencies, secured with black bands; ten burner phones; a slim USB drive preloaded with access programs; a box of coloured contact lenses.
Marise selected an identity:Veronica Hale, an independent lifestyle consultant based in New York. Then she put into a small case the tools and cash she would need.
She packed without fuss. Skirts for day and night wear, three cocktail gowns with splits high enough to hint but not reveal, formal gowns, black slacks, silk blouses, a pair of stilettos sharp enough to double as weapons and a leather jacket that fitted like a second skin. Everything went into a suitcase, making sure nothing in it would draw a second glance from airport security. If she needed more clothes, or weapons, she’d buy them when she got there.
Her movements were automatic, efficient, with no second-guessing.
Marise had learned long ago that hesitation was a luxury.
After sliding hazel contacts into her eyes, she glanced once around the apartment as she shrugged on her coat. Everything was in its place. The weapons were sealed into hidden compartments. The security system would trigger on the smallest vibration once she left.
No one would miss her. No one ever did.
She slipped her feet into ankle boots, zipped them up, and with a single touch, armed the alarm system as she pulled the door shut behind her.
The elevator ride to the parking level was silent except for the whisper of movement. Her reflection in the mirrored walls showed a woman who appeared attractive and harmless. Long-lashed, hazel eyes, full lips, luxurious hair that swung as she moved, and an hour-glass figure. But behind the curves was a body proficient in the martial arts, and hands that could break a person’s neck in ten seconds.
A silver SUV uber was waiting outside the apartment building. Without a word, the driver put her case in the trunk,and opened the door for her. She slid into the back seat and they soon hit the expressway heading for the airport.
By the time her plane banked over the skyline of Manhattan, Marise no longer existed.
She was Veronica Hale now. A name she couldn’t afford to forget.
Veronica had a very important business to arrange. She had already worked out the ideal place to interact with Knowles, for the person who had compiled her file had been thorough. She wondered how they knew what the woman intended to do, but that wasn’t her worry.
The car from LaGuardia moved through Manhattan’s early afternoon traffic, down wide boulevards and into quieter side streets. Marise leaned back against the leather seat, scanning the city through tinted windows. Her driver didn’t speak, nor she did she encourage conversation.
Her hotel of choice was discreet, expensive, and entirely closed to the outside world. No flashing lights or branded umbrellas at the entrance. Merely a pair of anonymous glass doors tucked between two corporate buildings, and a brass plaque no larger than her hand bearing the simple name:The Alderidge.
Perfect.
