The Nostradamus File

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This part of Paris hadn't changed much since the Revolution. Faceless tenements brooded on either side of the street. A thin stream of dirty water ran along a channel worn into the middle of the ancient lane. The leather soles of Nick Carter's shoes made a flat, hard sound on cobblestones that had echoed with the rumble of carts ferrying victims to the guillotine. Selena Connor walked beside him.

Selena wore a casual outfit she'd picked up in one of the designer salons. Designers loved making clothes for women like her. She was the kind of woman people noticed, with the elegance and body to carry it off. Sunglasses hid her violet eyes. Her reddish-blonde hair and tall, athletic grace turned heads wherever they went.

Nick had on a gray sport coat Selena had seen in one of the shop windows. It was always hard to find something that handled his broad shoulders but this one had fit perfectly, right off the rack. It matches your eyes, she'd said. His eyes were gray, flecked with gold, so it was close enough. He'd bought it to please her, because she liked it. Secretly, it pleased him, too. The European styling of the jacket and a half-day's black stubble on his chin almost made him look like a local.

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