The time is 1923, and the place is a fantasy city in Ireland.
Private eyes Michael McCree and Simon Hart have a case to solve: to find more than a score of stolen paintings, and especially one small valuable work of art worth more than all the others. But the case grows more complex the deeper they look into it. Soon Michael and Simon find themselves searching not just for a thief, but for a city-wide ring of criminals. And the closer they get to the paintings, the closer they find themselves to a killer.
Into this mix steps a man named Moshe—a pesky, secretive, nosy man who is nevertheless a brilliant investigator himself. He gives both the men fits, burrowing like a tick into their very private affairs, so close they have a hard time evading him.
Can the investigators solve a series of crimes and take care of the interfering Moshe, while driving their own intense relationship all the way to the bone?
One of the most intimate scenes in the novels comes in the middlish of this book, when Michael fears he has alienated Simon for once and for all. But incredibly, his flat mate silently joins him on his large four-poster bed…
Simon’s voice held all the music of heaven, playing along his ear and down his backbone, on its way to the crack in his ass. The tongue began to trace the cleavage in his buttocks, and Michael began to shake like a goddamn kid, unable to bear the outright pleasure of his wet mouth.
Simon had never put more than a finger near his asshole. And even then, it had been the kind of almost shy insertion a man like Michael might not even feel, his rear so pummeled for so many years by fingers, even fists of rough trade lovers. But this licking of his butt crack, this lapping and browsing of his most sensitive skin… Oh, God, he rose to it, arcing his buttocks and pushing the rim of his hole closer to the beloved mouth boasting a slick, hot tongue.
It was a few seconds only of outright bliss, but Michael’s mind and body feasted on a deep delight he’d never known. Too soon, Simon moved away. Michael felt his lover’s tangled chest hair grazing the length of his back, then his lips seeking his ear.
A whisper, a murmur, words almost unspoken. He strained to hear them—
Come to think of it, this novel may break all previous records for Simon, in terms of showing his deeply buried passions. Maybe it’s the presence, and the threat, of that damned pesky Moshe who’s much too close to the bone.
Well, the mystery in this book is too involved to give a wrap-up here. Perhaps you need to get the novel and find out—who the hell is Moshe, what’s his connection to Simon and to the Brown Man…and whodunnit?
On the Kindle Series page:
I’m grateful to artist/designer/author Alex A. Akira for the art of the skull, and for much more! He has been my muse for many years.