Editor’s Note:

Today’s featured guest is

Below is the first chapter of his debut novel Treasure is My Trade, which is now available in ebook and paperback on Amazon. The book blends thrilling action with classic storytelling and introduces a charismatic hero comparable to Indiana Jones and Nathan Drake, perfect for pulp adventure fans.

Enjoy,

- Frank Theodat

Say hello to the new name in high adventure: Nate Colt.

Death defying action, huge set pieces, gun-slinging, swashbuckling, fist fighting and treasure are all just occupational hazards when Nate Colt is on the job.

If you've been waiting for the resurgence of high adventure storytelling, wait no longer. If you love Mission: Impossible, Uncharted, Indiana Jones, Louis L'Amour, and hard boiled private investigators then you are where you need to be.

“When she offered me the find of a lifetime, I couldn't say no because… TREASURE IS MY TRADE.”

When Nate Colt finds himself in the midst of a party filled with criminals, he has no idea what the reason could be. Yet, after being confronted by not one, but two beautiful, and dangerous, women, he finds himself jet setting across the planet, on the hunt to find something that shouldn't even exist.

From the Aegean Sea, to the mountains of South Africa, to the war-torn streets of Greece, Nate Colt will go to any length to find out if the treasure really exists, because any length is worth going to when TREASURE IS MY TRADE.

Strap on your shoulder holster, load your Beretta, buckle on your knife, and lace up those combat boots, because this is a non-stop thrill ride you won't want to end.

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Chapter 1

I swirled my drink and took a sip, then glanced around the room. Before me, countless people stood, dressed their best, rubbing elbows, enjoying themselves. I took a puff from my cigar and smiled.

The owner of the luscious 32,000 square foot mansion I was standing in, held up her glass, and with a fork, clinked it, calling all the guests' attention to her and slowing the heavy drum of the chatter to a small trickle, and then to complete silence.

“I want to thank you all for spending your afternoon here at the Drumore estate,” said the Lady Drumore, who, for being on the wrong side of fifty, was nearly as luscious as her estate. Wavy brown hair of shoulder length framed a sharply featured face and neck, which flowed into a very fit and well-curved body. Her dress stunned you, revealing just enough to keep your interest but not enough to keep it too long.

“Your time here will be well invested just by showing your face. Today we have gathered here some of the sharpest blades on the cutting edge of our industry.” The industry being crime, more or less. “If you are here, you are here for a reason.” If this was true of me, I couldn't quite wrap my head around what such a reason could be. “So make yourselves at home, drink up, eat up, and don't be afraid to indulge.”

That ‘indulge’ was punctuated with a microscopic lean forward and an ever so slight shake of her torso. In fact, it was so subtle it could have been deemed insignificant. If you hadn't been drawn in by the lean, you never would have noticed the shake and the result. Well, maybe that's not true. Other than me, I'm almost certain the words insignificant and Lady Drumore's torso had never occupied the same thought, let alone the same sentence.

“Mr. Colt?” the tinkle of a very pretty voice cooed behind me.

I turned to see another woman of whom the term insignificant could never be a descriptor.

She was tall, about 2 inches shorter than my 5'11, and her creamy white skin was hidden beneath a see-through black top covered (where it mattered) by a silk, clinging dress. And boy, was it clinging. But in all fairness, I would have been clinging too. I tore my eyes from below her neckline and locked on to beautiful blue eyes and a face that would have editors begging for it to grace the cover of their magazines.

“Yes?”

She smiled as she returned the inspection, taking in my fairly well-muscled 180 pounds hidden away in a midnight blue dinner jacket. She looked past the slight distortion under my left arm from the shoulder holster and then found her way up to my dark brown eyes. Her attention and appraisal then flitted to the short brown hair and the clean-shaven face which isn't too hard to look at, if I do say so myself. At that moment, this goddess seemed to be of the same mind.

“I've heard a lot about you,” she said.

“All good things, I hope?”

“Let's just say the term ‘handsome devil’ seems to sum you up well. But even with the emphasis on the ‘devil’ part of that phrase, you strike me as a little straight-laced for a party of this sort...“

“And of what sort is that?” I responded. I could sense that we both knew the answer, but my interest had been piqued, wondering if this woman was bold enough to speak it outright.

“Crime, Mr. Colt. This is a party of crime. And all of us here are a party to crime. And is this the case for you as well?”

“Please, call me Nate. As far as crime is concerned, I try my best not to limit myself to the full restraint of the law, but I've found it best for business to break it only as needed and never with a wanton disregard.”

I felt I had to catch my breath after that sentence. It looked like she did, too.

“As I said... Too straight-laced for such a party,” the goddess said, something akin to admiration crossing the beautiful face.

I held up the cigar in a mock toast and puffed away.

The beautiful voice caressed a gentle laugh that poured out between plump full lips with a generous mirth, almost as generous as the ample curves the dress clung to. Almost...

“You can call me Jackie. And, Nate, I do hope you'll call me.”

As she said this, her hand slipped into my jacket and brushed my chest. I felt her place something in my jacket pocket. She also deftly tapped the butt of the Beretta that sat heavily in the comfortable shoulder holster I wear most of the time in most circumstances, and all of the time when I am at a party to crime.

She floated away and I couldn't hide the smile that crept across my lips. I checked the Beretta, it was still there, and the magazine was still in it. She had a light touch, and after she had used it on me, I wished I could experience it a little more. But even still, one can never be too careful. I pulled out the item she left behind. It was a thick business card. Heavyweight paper, nearly a fabric. Bright red lettering in an easy-to-read script said “Jaclyn Dellegrotto—Acquisition Artist,” with a phone number, email, and physical address in the same script below.

‘Acquisition Artist?’ I liked that. I couldn't help but wonder if it was trademarked. I turned back to the event at hand. And to my pleased surprise, the woman of the hour was off the stage and standing less than fifteen feet from me. Her eyes locked onto mine and she dazzled me with a smile. It made a fella feel mighty special that she'd shine that light of thirty-two pearly whites on you. If she kept it up, I was going to feel a little more than just special.

“Mrs. Drumore, I am honored to be here.”

“Mr. Colt, the honor is mine.” I knew she had invited me, but I didn't expect her to know me by sight.

“Would you care to join me in my office? I have a few things I'd like to discuss before the night ends,” she delivered, in a way that didn't seem like a question.

“Oh, most certainly, although, from my understanding, isn't the night just beginning?”

“Yes, of course. But some things would be better checked off of my list than left lingering until the end of the night. Business before pleasure, if you will.”

“Well, we'll have to discuss whatever the business is first before I will or will not.”

She chuckled softly.

“Delightful. Just as I've heard. Follow me, please.”

She led the way up the main stairs, and I saw several anxious eyes lock onto me. I felt a slight chill in between my shoulder blades as I turned my back on the jealous criminals. I could practically feel the stares of countless cold-hearted bastards, who had all dreamt of being led up the stairs by the Lady of the Drumore Estate.

But brother, the hell of it was, I couldn't stop thinking about Jackie.

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