Love in the War Zone

The rain slicked the marble balustrades of the Casino de Monte-Carlo, reflecting the dazzling neon glare of high-roller supercars. Midnight in Monaco was a playground for billionaires, international spies, and lethal predators operating in the shadows.

Natasha Vance adjusted the earpiece hidden beneath her cascade of golden-auburn hair. She was perched on the roof terrace of the Hôtel de Paris across the plaza, dressed in a sleek black evening gown with a slit that revealed a suppressed Walter PPK strapped to her inner thigh. In her hands, she held a customized carbon-fiber precision surveillance scope, tracking the glass double doors of the private VIP salons.

"Target courier is moving toward the underground parking garage," her tactical spotter whispered in her ear. "Blue tuxedo, carrying the aluminum briefcase containing Reznov's biometric access codes. Move now, Aegis One."

Natasha slipped through the fire exit with fluid, predatory grace, descending the service stairs in near silence. Within sixty seconds, she dropped into the dim, subterranean parking level, her suppressed weapon drawn, moving between rows of Ferraris and Lamborghinis.

She had the courier in her sights fifteen feet away, stepping toward an armored Mercedes.

Her rifle scanner was locked onto the courier's wrist device, three seconds away from completing the biometric key download and dropping him with a tranquilizer dart, when a blur of dark motion exploded from behind a concrete pillar.