The covert intelligence community got more than they bargained for when they crossed Nick Seven in this romantic topical thriller by Tim Smith.
Nick Seven left the CIA for the tranquility of the Florida Keys, thinking he'd found an idyllic life in paradise with Felicia, his dream lover from Barbados, and that his life of intrigue was once again in the past. The last thing he wanted was to be used by his former employers as an unwilling pawn in America's war on terror.
As Nick and Felicia maneuver through a complex maze of treason, assassination and government corruption, they cross paths with a rogue agent with a personal agenda, a mentally unstable killer, and a wealthy industrialist with ties to several terrorist organizations. When Nick is set up as the fall guy for a murder he didn't commit, and Felicia becomes part of the agency's scheme, the stakes become higher and more personal. Nick's quest to get out from under the CIA's thumb and regain control of his life forces him to realize that what dreams may hold, nightmares also share.
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“Never Trust Your Dreams” excerpt:
Nick went home to pick up Felicia then proceeded to Crickett’s. The lunch crowd looked good, judging from the nearly full parking lot. He parked in his reserved spot and went inside, stopping to press the flesh with some of the usual business crowd that stopped in for their three-Martini lunch. Felicia went behind the bar and started talking to Raul.
Going to his office Nick opened the door but stopped in surprise as he saw J. P. Overman standing before him, dressed in his customary tailor-made suit. Overman had the countenance of a well-sculpted statue that was adorned with a perpetual scowl. He also possessed all the warmth and wit of a cigar store Indian, but not as much personality. His cold steel-gray eyes glared at Nick and when he spoke, his voice took on a grandiose tone of inflated self-importance.
“How did you get in here?” Nick demanded.
“You stood me up,” Overman angrily replied, ignoring the question. “I told you to be at my home at ten o’clock this morning. I don’t like it when people don’t do as they’re told.”
“And I don’t like being ordered around by some two-bit Caeser in overpriced threads,” Nick retorted.
“Let’s cut the crap,” Overman curtly replied. “You killed my daughter, and you’re going to hang for it.”
“Why would I kill your daughter?”
“Greed. You wanted to get your slimy hands on my money and when she cut you off, you got angry.”
Nick breezed past Overman to walk behind the desk, sat down in the swivel chair, leaned back and swung his legs onto the corner before lighting a cigarette. Overman made a face.
“Don’t smoke in my presence,” he ordered.
Nick took another deep drag and slowly blew a stream of smoke in Overman’s direction, giving him a look of amusement laced with boredom. “You forgot something, J.P. It was my decision to stop seeing Kristine. And I don’t need your money, or the bullshit that comes with it.”
“That’s Mr. Overman to you,” he angrily snapped.
Nick chuckled softly. “Whatever you say, J.P.”
Overman smirked at Nick. “Look at you,” he continued with a tone of total disgust. “You’re a worthless piece of slime. You killed people for a living and you do business with gangsters and street scum.”
“And I suppose your slate’s clean?” Nick countered. “That thousand dollar suit won’t hide the dirt. How did you really amass all that wealth, J.P.?”
“Don’t think you can squirm out of this by changing the subject, you bloodthirsty bastard,” he angrily continued, his voice rising along with his blood pressure. “You cast my daughter aside so you could shack up with some barefoot wetback then killed her so she wouldn’t interfere with your lecherous lifestyle.”
Nick narrowed his eyes into a squint and looked hard at the tycoon. “You’re coming dangerously close to pissing me off, J.P. I’m a fair man, so here’s my offer: you can take yourself and your racism the hell out of here under your own steam, or I can help you.”
Overman fumed, his face tensing up. “All right, Seven, I’ll leave. But you haven’t heard the end of this.”
“I wasn’t listening to the beginning of it,” Nick quipped.
Overman turned and rapidly walked out of the office, nearly knocking Felicia over on the way, and emphasized his exit by slamming the door behind him.
“Who was that?” Felicia asked.
“That was the one and only J.P. Overman, father of the deceased.”
“He gonna make trouble?”
Nick stared at the closed door for a moment. “Only if I let him.”
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