plik

Our  hero,  Miles  Diamond,  narrowly  averts
financial  catastrophe  when  he  is  hired  by  David
Travis  to  find  his  missing  twin  brother.
Unfortunately,

Miles‟

new

case

almost

immediately  throws  him  into  a  dangerous  world
of  sex  trafficking,  drugs  and  international
terrorism  where  he  is  soon  in  as  much danger  as
the  man  he  is  trying  to  find.  So  far,  Miles  has
survived an attempt to drown him, a bomb aboard
an  airplane,  a  pitched  gun  battle,  a  fall  from  the
roof of Notre Dame Cathedral and enough hot sex
to bring an ordinary man to his knees.

As part three opens, Miles‟ pals Rudy and

Jackson comb the records offices in Paris searching
for clues while Miles is out beating the bushes in
hot pursuit of his own investigations. New friends
are flushed out and old acquaintances appear on
the scene to help point the way as the intrepid trio
continue their search for the missing twin.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are products of the author‟s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

The Case of the Missing Twin Three

ISBN: 978-1-55487-998-4

Cover art by Martine Jardin

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The Case of the Missing Twin

Three

The Adventures of Miles Diamond

Derek Adams

Chapter Eight

y hands grasped the empty air as I went
over the edge of the low parapet. I had the

incredible  sensation  of  flying—briefly—then  the
gut-wrenching  terror  of  free-fall  took  over.  Even
so, it seemed that everything was in slow motion. I
had time to think about what a relief it was that I
had fallen over backward—that way I couldn‟t see
the cobbled pavement racing to meet me as I fell. I
rather  expected  the  events  of  my  life  to  flash
before  my  eyes  as  I‟d  always  heard  they  did  at
times  like  this.  I  hate  to  admit  it,  but  nothing
worth mentioning crossed my mind.

Strange to say, I didn‟t hit the ground nearly as

hard as I thought I would. I was still conscious for
one  thing.  Moreover,  there  was  no  pain,  just  a
mild jarring  sensation  as  I  imprinted  my  body  in
the  earth.  Everything  still  seemed  so  real—my
eyes could still see the pure blue morning sky, my
ears  still  recorded  the  sounds  around  me.  There
were birds twittering in the trees, horns honking,
cars shifting gears. I had no idea a ghost retained

Derek Adams

human faculties. This was very strange.

“Diamond!”
I even imagined that I heard the voices of

friends, like my buddy Rudy, calling my name.

“Diamond!”
There it was again. Only this voice was

Jackson‟s. Perhaps death was just entering another
dimension. I wondered if people had sex here and
if they did, how would I do it without benefit of
those body parts I‟d grown so accustomed to.

“For Christ‟s sake, Diamond. Say something.

Are you all right?”

I looked down. My feet were still there, but one

of  my  shoes  was  missing.  The  voice…Rudy‟s
voice,  seemed  to  be  coming  from  below  me.
However,  if  I  was  on  the  ground,  how  was  that
possible?  I  focused  beyond  my  toes  and  Rudy‟s
flaming  red  hair  filled  my  vision.  He  was  about
ten feet below me, looking up anxiously.

“Rudy, can you hear me?” I called out

tentatively.

“Of course I can hear you, Miles. Can you get

down from there?”

“Down from where?” Two facts began to sink

in—I  hadn‟t  landed  on  the  ground  and  I  wasn‟t
dead.  I  sat  up  slowly,  testing  my  limbs.  It
appeared  that  I  wasn‟t  finished  with  my  body
after all. Good thing actually—I‟m used to it and I
know how it works. Fortunately, it was beginning

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

to look like I could save my worries regarding sex
after  death  for  another  day.  “What  happened?”  I
asked.  My  voice  was  the  same,  although  I  must
admit, it sounded a bit shaky.

“Come on down and I‟ll tell you.”
Rudy and Jackson came over near the edge of

whatever  I  was  lying  on  and  I  inched  down  till
they  grabbed  my  legs  and  lowered  me  to  their
level.  I  held  on  to  both  of  them  for  support  till  I
was sure I was relatively in one piece.

“Thanks,” I said weakly. I suddenly felt an

overpowering urge to sit down.

“That was one spectacular scene, Miles,”

Jackson  said  admiringly,  clapping  a  gentle  hand
on  my  shoulder.  “I  figured  we‟d  have  to  scrape
you up off the street with a spatula, like that goon
of Chin‟s. You got really lucky, man.”

“Oh, Jesus,” I whispered as the reality of what

just  happened  set  in.  Luck  had  really  been  with
me.  Looking  behind  me,  I  saw  that  I  had  landed
on  a  tent  that  cathedral  renovation  crews  had
erected to protect them from the weather. The man
who  had  been  chasing  me  hadn‟t  been  so
fortunate—he had landed six feet to the west and
missed  the  tent  by  a  good  three  feet.  “This
detective gig is getting to be a little too exciting for
me,” I muttered.

“Come on, Miles,” Rudy said as he led me

away from the mess Chin‟s goon had made when

Derek Adams

he landed. “I‟ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

“Where‟s

Chin?”

looked

around

apprehensively.

“I don‟t think we‟ll be seeing him around here.”

Jackson  gestured  at  the  policemen  who  were
beginning  to  swarm  around  the  area.  “If  you  ask
me,  the  sooner  we  get  away  from  this  place,  the
better  off  we‟re  going  to  be.  I  don‟t  know  about
you fellows, but I‟d personally just as soon skip an
in-depth  interview  with  the  local  gendarmerie.”
Jackson  looked  at  me  pointedly.  “That  is  unless
you  want  to  tell  the  cops  why  you  were  dancing
on the roof of the church.”

“Good plan, Jackson.” Hell, any plan was a

good plan at this point.

“Here you go, Cinderella.” Rudy chuckled as

he  handed  me  my  shoe.  We  pushed  our  way
through  the  knot  of  spectators  that  had  gathered
around  the  scene  and  mingled  with  milling
Japanese tourists as they spewed forth from three
big buses.

Once we determined that the police weren‟t

following us, we crossed the river and ducked into
a narrow side street, looking for a café. After we
had settled at the table and I‟d downed the first of
the two espressos I‟d ordered, I felt much better. I
was beginning to appreciate being alive and in one
piece a whole lot.

“The people who‟ve been looking for Daniel

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

Travis are dropping around us like rain.” I shook
my head and looked over at Rudy and Jackson. “I
hope you guys have some ideas, because there‟s
nobody left to ask for directions.”

“Speaking of directions, you do still have the

paper with the name, don‟t you?” Rudy looked at
me as if he thought I was going to tell him I ate it.
The  man  just  doesn‟t  seem  to  have  much  faith  in
me.  That‟s  fine—he‟ll  be  even  more  impressed
when I pull all this out of the fire.

“Of course I‟ve still got the paper.” I dug it out

of my pants pocket and smoothed it on the marble
tabletop. “Youssef ben Fahd es Vosges, where are
you now?”

“I think we should assume he‟s here in Paris. If

we don‟t start with that, we‟ve got nothing.”

“I agree with Jackson, Miles. Fortunately, the

French are fanatic about record keeping. Guests in
hotels, the residents of apartment buildings—they
have it all written down somewhere. We‟ll go to
the government records office and see what we
can find out.”

“That could take months,” I protested, not too

pleased at the idea of piling through endless
stacks of musty registration cards.

“You got any better ideas?” Rudy glared

challengingly. The man could be cruel at times.

“I‟ve had the ideas—not to mention other

things—scared right out of me recently.” I heaved

Derek Adams

a  huge  sigh.  “Since  there‟s  no  one  left  to  follow
around, it looks like your plan is the only game in
town.  We  just  have  to  settle  down  and  do  some
real work. With any luck, Chin will be laying low
for a while, which will give us time to concentrate
without  constantly  looking  over  our  shoulders.
Any  idea  where  we  might  find  these  records
offices?”

“I think I can help us with that.” It was Rudy

again,  waving  a  green  guidebook  over  his  head.
He  could  be  annoyingly  efficient.  “It‟s  the
Michelin  Guide  to  Paris.  I  picked  it  up  at  a  little
book stall along the Seine this morning. It seems to
have advice on every subject.”

“I‟m following you, man.” I hauled myself

wearily  out  of  my  chair.  After  we  had  paid  the
check and left the restaurant, Jackson scanned the
area suspiciously. Aside from an old man in a hat
and  overcoat,  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  sunshine
about a block away, the street was empty. “I think
we‟re safe now, Jackson. Everyone who was after
us is either dead or in hiding.”

“I hope you‟re right,” Jackson muttered. His big

body settled into a more relaxed stance and he fell
in beside me as Rudy led the way for our assault
on the forces of the French bureaucracy.

“Here we are.” Rudy stopped at the doors of

what appeared to be a palace. “No guarantees, but
at least it‟s a start. If we all get to work and get

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

really  lucky,  we  may  just  find  our  man.”  We
walked into the cavernous lobby, dodging harried
bureaucrats  as  we  approached  the  information
desk.

After Rudy had finished chatting animatedly to

the  woman  behind  the  desk,  I  excused  myself  to
go  the  bathroom.  “I‟ll  meet  you  upstairs,  guys.”
After I‟d done my business, I decided to wash up.
I  looked  terrible.  My  elbows  were  raw,  sliding
across  the  roof  had  ripped  out  the  knees  of  my
pants and my shirt looked like it had been through
a  document  shredder—a  dirty  one  at  that.  I
washed my face and tried to subdue my hair. The
results  weren‟t  all  I  could  have  hoped  for,  but
they‟d have to do for now.

I trudged up the stairs Rudy and Jackson had

used,  heaving  a  sigh  as  I  contemplated  the  task
awaiting  us.  As  I  reached  out  to  pull  open  the
door  leading  to  the  records  office,  a  heavy  hand
clamped  onto  my  shoulder.  I  spun  around  and
found  myself  staring  at  a  very  broad  chest,
covered in an official-looking blue fabric. Looking
up,  I  got  a  glimpse  of  a  handsome  Gallic  face.  It
wasn‟t smiling.

“I don‟t speak French,” I replied to a torrent of

words that echoed in the bare hall. I thought that
would solve the problem. My mistake. The
guard‟s huge paw closed over my arm as we sped
down the hall, my feet barely touching the

Derek Adams

ground. The next thing I knew, we were in a small
room with no windows, furnished with a desk and
a single chair.

“Take off your clothes.” Things were looking

up, I thought. At least he spoke English.

“I‟m meeting some friends in the Records Hall,”

I said brightly, hoping to convince him I wasn‟t a
terrorist bent on blowing the place sky-high.

“Take off your clothes.” Maybe he only knew

the  one  phrase.  It  was  a  pity  I  didn‟t  know  the
French  equivalent.  It  hardly  seemed  fair  that  his
body  could  remain  hidden  while  I  bared  my  all.
His  hand  moved  to  the  holster  at  his  hip.  I
stripped.

He frisked me like I might be carrying some

weapon under my skin. He rubbed his  big hands
across  my  chest  and  down  my  sides.  His  fingers
tangled  in  my  pubes  as  he  probed  between  my
legs.  My  cock,  as  usual,  couldn‟t  make  the
distinction  between  a  man  feeling  me  up  or
patting me down. The longer he had his hands on
me, the closer I came to popping a rod. During his
thorough inspection of my furry ass, a stray finger
burrowed into my crack and grazed the lips of my
chute.

I grunted and my big dick snapped to

throbbing attention. The guard grabbed it and
proceeded to give it the same attention he‟d been
lavishing on the rest of my anatomy. I had to

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

award  the  man  high  marks  for  thoroughness.  He
shucked  back  my  foreskin,  leaving  the  rosy  head
of my cock exposed to view. It swelled and pulsed
as  the  pressure  of  his  fist  around  the  shaft
increased.

He paused long enough to lock the door, then

proceeded to undress, folding his uniform neatly,
laying it across a small chair in the corner. As his
body came into view, I definitely liked what I was
seeing.  Broad  shoulders,  well-defined  chest,
muscular  arms,  washboard  stomach—the  man
was  built.  His  big  brown  tits  stood  up  from  his
pecs like pencil erasers, making my tongue itch for
a  chance  to  taste  them.  He  grinned  as  he  came
back and stood in front of me. It was the first time
his expression had changed since we met.

His succulent tit was right at lip level, so I

leaned forward and kissed it, my tongue lingering
on  the  hard  point  of  flesh.  He  cupped  my  ass  in
his  hands  and  our  bellies  slapped  together,
pressing our straining cocks between two walls of
solid muscle, his smooth, mine hairy. His fat piece
mashed against me so tight I could have taken his
pulse with it.

He massaged my butt vigorously, quickly

getting  me  hotter  than  the  cord  on  a  cheap
appliance. In the meantime, my hands roamed up
and  down  his  broad  back,  exploring  the  ridge  of
his  spine.  I  followed  the  indentation  down

Derek Adams

between  his  cheeks,  across  his  tightly  puckered
hole, all the way to his big balls. I had just started
tickling  them  when  two  thick  fingers  suddenly
breached my hole. Figuring I was in no position to
question  the  man‟s  authority  to  proceed,  I  flexed
my  sphincter  around  his  invading  digits,  just  to
make sure everything was in good working order.

The dude made a couple of quick moves and,

next thing I knew, I was on top of the desk in the
corner, my legs draped over his broad shoulders.
While  he  occupied  his  time  fingering  my  hole
vigorously, I reached up and went to work on his
tits,  twisting  and  pulling  on  them,  getting  off  on
the  way  it  made  his  dick  bounce  up  and  down.
Clear juice started to drizzle out of his spout about
then,  glistening  like  tiny  jewels  as  it  splattered
down on my gut.

Just when I thought I couldn‟t get any hotter,

the  guard  cranked  my  furnace  up  another  notch.
He  grabbed  my  nut-sac  in  his  big  hand  and
popped  my  balls  out  into  a  tight  knot.  My  toes
curled and my ass hole opened up for him like an
oyster in a warm current.

“Stick it in me, man,” I groaned. He‟d mastered

that  basic-English  phrase  well  enough.  He
straightened  up,  grabbed  his  cock,  took  aim  and
punched  forward,  sinking  about  four  inches  into
me on the first try. I wrapped my legs around his
narrow  waist  and  clasped  my  hands  around  his

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

neck, pulling him down against me.

His tongue shot deep into my mouth, then he

started  rubbing  against  me  like  a  big  cat,  every
point  of  contact  between  us  creating  its  own  tiny
universe  of  pleasurable  sensations.  He  pumped
his hips slowly at first, stirring his dick all around
inside  of  me,  giving  me  shivers  every  time  the
thick  ridge  of  his  cockhead  raked  over  my
prostate.  After  I  started  writhing  and  bucking
underneath  him,  he  picked  up  the  pace,  quickly
creating my favorite kind of friction.

His cock in me, his hot body pressed against

me,  his  sexy  voice  murmuring  in  my  ear  in  a
language  I  couldn‟t  understand—it  was  all  too
much.  Sensing  my  condition  from  the  way  my
sphincter  spasmed  around  his  big  butt  plug  of  a
prick,  he  bent  his  head,  popped  my  cock  in  his
mouth and started sucking me off.

That did it. I howled as my jism spurted into his

mouth in thick gobs. He grabbed my pecs in a grip
of  steel  and  started  humping  me  like  mad.  Then
the  floodgates  opened  and  he  filled  my  hot  ass
with  genuine  French  cream.  I  felt  his  cock  knob
bulge  rhythmically,  every  pulse  accompanied  by
an ecstatic shudder that racked his big frame. He
kept shooting till cum was practically running out
my  ears,  never  letting  my  prick  out  of  the  warm
prison of his mouth. When it was all over but the
panting, he laid on top of me with his full weight,

Derek Adams

his sticky lips pressed to my throat.

After we both started breathing normally again,

he got up and held out his hand. I grabbed it and
he pulled me to my feet effortlessly. I gave him a
final quick hug and we both dressed, our eyes still
locked  together  like  we  couldn‟t  see  enough  of
each  other.  I  was  starting  to  want  him  all  over
again, but there wasn‟t time for it right now. Other
matters were more pressing. Besides, Rudy would
kill me if I didn‟t show up to help in our search for
Mr. Fahd.

My guard escorted me to the records office and

raised two fingers to the brim of his cap in a brisk
farewell salute. Just as I reached for the door, it
flew open and Rudy came rushing out with
Jackson close on his heels.

Rudy gave me one look, took a deep breath

and shook his head. “You don‟t have to tell me
what you were doing, Miles, I can smell it.”

“I got detained through no fault of my own.” I

was ready to say more, but Rudy cut me off.

“Miles Diamond, putting the dick back in

detective  once  again.  Honest  to  God,  every  time
there‟s  dirty  work  to  be  done,  you  disappear.
Then,  after  we  get  the  puzzle  solved,  you
reappear, reeking of sex.”

“So what did you find out?” I asked, doing my

best to look abashed.

“Well, while we were waiting for someone to

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

help us get started, I leafed through my guidebook
and made an interesting discovery. I was thinking
about that torn piece of paper. The  es Vosges part
didn‟t  sound  like  an  Arabic  name.  I  turned  up  a
Place  des  Vosges  in  the  guidebook.  It‟s  a
fashionable  block  of  townhouses  in  the  Marais
District.”

“Where‟s that?”
“Not too far from here. I suggest we find a

hotel,  clean  ourselves  up,  then  go  and  pay  a  call
on  Mr.  Fahd.  With  any  luck,  he  may  still  be  in
possession of the prize.”

“I‟m right behind you, as usual,” I said, a trifle

ungraciously.  I  was  beginning  to  think  I  might
have to share my fee with Rudy. Truth be told, my
little  detective  business  could  use  some  brains.
Maybe  I  could  convince  him  to  give  up  his
consulting business and become my partner.

We made it to the Place des Vosges right

around  sunset.  After  we  left  the  records  office,
we‟d  located  a  cheap  hotel  on  the  Rue  St.  Denis.
Sex  shops  and  prostitutes  lined  the  street,  which
led  Rudy  to  suggest  that  I  should  feel  right  at
home. I ignored the jibe, but made a mental note
to  put  any  plans  of  a  business  partnership  on
terminal  hold.  Once  we  checked  in,  I  showered
and  shaved,  then  changed  into  the  new  clothes
Rudy  had  insisted  we  buy.  The  shirt  was  black
silk—Rudy‟s choice. It set me back quite a bit, but

Derek Adams

Rudy convinced me that since I was on the verge
of  finding  the  missing  Travis  twin  and  collecting
the rest of my fee, I owed it to myself. It probably
also  assuaged  any  guilt  he  felt  about  the  cash  he
dropped  on  the  costly  threads  he  bought  for
himself  and  Jackson.  I  had  to  admit  the  shirt  felt
good next to my skin—not as good as the guard‟s
silky belly had felt, but nice nonetheless.

The Place de Vosges was only about five

minutes  from  our  hotel  by  cab.  It  was  an
impressive  square,  surrounded  by  elegant
townhouses, completed, so Rudy announced after
consulting his guidebook, in  I6I2. It seemed to be
in  good  shape,  all  things  considered  and  was
apparently  quite  popular  with  people  who  could
afford  to  live  in  houses  that  old.  We  found  the
address  listed  in  the  phone  book  but  the  owners
had  the  place  locked  up  tighter  than  a  drum.
Repeated  assaults  on  the  doorbell  and  a  huge
brass knocker  failed to get any results, except for
curious stares from the occasional passerby,

“We can‟t give it up this easily,” Rudy opined

as we walked through the formal garden in the
center of the square, considering our options.
“Maybe they‟ve just gone out for the evening.”

“Don‟t people like that usually have servants

on tap all the time?”

“Yeah,” Jackson agreed. “If the folks living here

are in cahoots with De Groot, maybe they‟ve

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

blown town till things cool down.”

“So, we settle in and stake the place out,” Rudy

suggested reasonably. “What other options do we
have?”

“Uh….” I lapsed into a gloomy silence, unable

to think of a single one.

“I think I can deal with a few weeks in Paris.

What about you, Jackson?”

“A few weeks!” I yelped. “Weeks. A few

weeks? You‟re out of your mind, Rudy.”

“Patience is an important trait for detectives,

Miles. Surely you know that.”

“If I recall correctly, surveillance bored you to

death within half an hour back in Amsterdam.”

“Oh, that.” Rudy deflected my objections with a

dismissive gesture. “That was different.”

“Why?”
“Miles, this is Paris.” His tone indicated that

that was the logical conclusion to our discussion of
the subject.

“No kidding? I suppose you‟ve already worked

out the logistics regarding this little stakeout?”

“Naturally. You take the first shift and we‟ll go

back to the hotel to get all rested up for our shift
tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow,” Rudy answered vaguely. He

smiled idiotically as he spoke. I was just itching to
pop him one. “While you‟re watching the place,

Derek Adams

maybe you can come up with a plan so we can get
this  all  wrapped  up.  Don‟t  forget,  you‟re  the
detective.  At  least  that‟s  what  the  sign  on  your
door back home says.”

“Right.” I ignored the crack. I wasn‟t going to

forget it, just mull it over till I thought of a snappy
comeback.

“Have a good night, Miles.” Jackson clapped a

hand on my shoulder.

“Right.”
“See you tomorrow,” Rudy reiterated.
“Right.”  They  disappeared  through  the  gates

leading out of the square and I settled down on an
uncomfortable park bench. I had the vague feeling
I‟d just gotten fucked. Funny, I usually enjoyed it a
whole lot more than this.

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

Chapter Nine

e waited and watched for days, but no one
came, no one went. Rudy even went so far

as to check with the inhabitants of the neighboring
houses, but they proved to be a discreet lot. Fahd
lived  there,  that  much  we  did  know.  He  had
owned  the  house  for  the  past  three  years  and  he
employed  two  full-time  servants  when  he  was  in
residence.  One  elderly  woman  who  lived  across
the square thought that a blond man lived there as
well,  but  she  assured  us  indignantly  that  she
wasn‟t a snoop when Rudy pressed her for details.

Bottom line, we had no choice, but to wait it

out,  hoping  to  get  some  leads  before  we  worked
our  way  through  the  money  David  Travis  had
given  me  for  expenses.  I  had  drawn  permanent
night  watch  duty,  but  a  discovery  I  had  made
brightened my spirits considerably, even though it
also raised my frustration level to new heights.

The bakery and Georges, the baker, were only

about a ten-minute walk from our stakeout.

Derek Adams

Naturally, I popped by every morning after Rudy
and Jackson relieved me. We were each pulling an
eight-hour  shift,  but  Jackson  always  insisted  on
walking Rudy from the hotel to The Big V, as we‟d
taken  to  calling  the,  by  now,  all  too  familiar
courtyard.

“What‟s up?” Jackson sat down beside me on

the  park  bench.  I  jumped  guiltily,  trying  not  to
look  like  I‟d  been  napping.  Actually,  I‟d  only
closed  my  eyes  briefly  against  the  glare  of  the
early morning sun.

“Nothing, as always.” I stood and stretched to

get  the  circulation  back  in  my  cramped  muscles.
“I‟m  beginning  to  think  they‟ve  moved  out
permanently.”

“I‟m convinced our persistence will pay off,”

Rudy countered. “These guys always return to the
scene of the crime.”

“This isn‟t actually the scene of the crime,

Rudy.  As  far  as  we  know,  this  isn‟t  the  scene  of
anything  except  a  stalemated  stakeout  and  a
potentially  devastating  case  of  hemorrhoids.  I‟m
about  ready  to  fold  up  our  tent  and  rethink  the
whole proposition.”

“Are you prepared to return all of Travis‟s

money when you admit defeat?” Jackson‟s
comment brought me up short.

“Well, since you put it that way…” My chances

of ever being able to scare up that amount of

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

money were fairly—make that extremely—
remote.

“Face it, Miles, Elmo‟s right. We have no other

options. It could be a hell of a lot worse. We could
be staking out a cheap motel in Tacoma.”

“Elmo?” I blurted, missing the remainder of

Rudy‟s thought as I considered the name. I looked
at Jackson. He eyed the pavement, his feet
shuffling in a little dance of extreme discomfort.

“Jeez, babe! You know I hate that name.”
“It‟s a great name,” Rudy countered, resting his

hand briefly on Jackson‟s bull neck. “I like it.”

“Oh….well.” Jackson heaved a resigned sigh,

obviously conceding the point to Rudy.

“Well, fellows, I think I‟ll be on my way. You

two have a great day.” I left them standing in the
sunshine, doing my level best to suppress a wave
of laughter that threatened to choke me. Elmo and
Babe. Life is entirely too funny sometimes.

Georges was making an elaborate production of

stacking bread in the window when I  opened the
door of his shop. I arrived every morning at eight-
thirty,  regular  as  clockwork  and  Georges  always
made  a  point  of  waiting  on  me  personally.  His
wife—Georges  was  married  to  the  dark-haired
woman  who  had  been  in  the  shop  the  first  day  I
stumbled  in  looking  for  directions—wasn‟t  in
evidence  this  morning.  She  usually  took  up  her

Derek Adams

post near his elbow, glaring at me malevolently. I
had  quickly  learned  to  ignore  her,  much  as
Georges  himself  did.  “Bonjour,  Miles.”  Georges
smiled happily when I entered the shop. “You are
looking very well today.” I had taken off my jacket
on the way over, stopping just outside the shop to
roll my shirtsleeves up to my biceps. He looked at
me, a hunger in his eyes that no amount of bread
could  assuage.  He  was  wearing  the  same  sexy
shirt that showed off his chest so well, causing the
lump  in  my  pants  to  tingle  and  throb,  just  as  it
always did when I looked at him.

“Morning, Georges. You‟re looking well

yourself.”  I  licked  my  lips  and  winked  at  him,
only  a  heartbeat  away  from  jumping  him,  right
then and there.

“Come on into the back. I would like to show

you where I work.”

“Delighted.” My stomach suddenly filled with

fluttering  butterflies  as  I  considered  the
possibilities. This was a new twist! I didn‟t see his
wife  hovering  around  and  my  libido  soared  up
into  the  danger  zone.  I  followed  him  around  the
counter and through the door into the kitchen.

A layer of flour covered everything, giving it all

a slightly ghostly look. The smell of baking bread
permeated  the  air,  almost,  but  not  quite,
overpowering  the  distinctive  aroma  of  Georges
himself.

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

“Where is Madame Derain?” I asked, trying to

sound casual. I half expected to see her lurking in
the huge flour bin near the back door.

“She is with the accountant this morning. She

will  be  gone  for  several  hours.”  This  was  very
good news indeed. Georges stopped abruptly and
I  narrowly  missed  colliding  with  him.  He  turned
and  the  next  thing  I  knew,  his  arms  wrapped
around  my  waist  and  our  tongues  entwined  in  a
passionate kiss. I put my hands on his broad chest,
my  fingers  going  instinctively  for  his  succulent
nipples.  They  were  hard  against  the  balls  of  my
thumbs  and  judging  by  his  shuddering  response
to my touch, very sensitive.

I finally broke our kiss, pushed Georges back

against the edge of the large table in the center of
the  room  and  set  about  discovering  just  how
sensitive  they  really  were.  He  whimpered,
tangling his fingers in my hair, holding my mouth
right on target. I chewed the thick meaty point on
his  left  pec  till  he  was  panting,  then  set  about
working over its twin.

He deftly unbuckled my belt and unzipped my

fly.  I  did  the  same  for  him  and  pulled  his  work
pants  down  around  his  knees.  Georges  was
obviously raring to go. His fat prick jutted up out
of  the  thatch  of  his  pubes,  stretching  towards  his
navel.  I  forced  his  lean  thighs  apart  and  ran  a
tentative  finger  across  his  tight  ass  pucker.  He

Derek Adams

whimpered and his bung throbbed invitingly.

I wanted his ass and I wanted it bad. I took a

step back, flipped him around and helped him out
of his pants. I got naked as well and knelt behind
him,  cupping  his  glorious  buttocks  in  my  hands.
They  were  pale,  smooth  and  firm  as  melons.  I
kissed  both  cheeks  gently,  then  began  tonguing
the  damp  furrow  between  them.  He  leaned
forward  onto  the  table,  his  big  hands  pulling  the
two perfect globes wide apart.

He had a tightly puckered asshole, ringed with

fine  dark  hairs.  I  licked  them  away  from  my
target,  then  lapped  sensually  across  the  delicate
flesh.  He  tasted  of  soap  and  sweat  and  funk—a
heady mixture that made my dick throb eagerly. I
poked  him  gently  with  the  tip  of  my  tongue  and
his  ring  dilated  slightly,  letting  me  fight  my  way
beyond  it  to  Georges‟  hidden  delights.  He  was
clean, hot and silky soft inside. When I reached up
between  his  legs  and  squeezed  his  hooded prick,
the honey squirted out of him, oozing between my
fingers  and  dripping  to  the  floor  like  drops  of
spun glass.

I smeared his juice on my cock, milking myself

as well to come up with enough of the slick stuff
to  ease  the  way  when  I  moved  on  to  the  next
phase of my seduction. I gave his ass hole a final
poke  and  stood  up,  rubbing  the  shaft  of  my
throbbing cock up and down his crack.

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

I was just getting ready to aim my arrow at his

quivering  bullseye  when  Georges  spun  around
and  hit  the  floor  on  his  knees,  obviously  anxious
to  see  what  he  was  getting  himself  into  or  what
was ready to get into him, to be more precise. He
wrapped  his  floury  fingers  around  my  prick,
licked  the  sticky  head,  then  shucked  my  foreskin
forward over the tip of his tongue. He nibbled the
tender  overhang  till  I  thought  my  knees  would
buckle, then lunged forward and butted me in the
gut  with  his  forehead,  his  lips  tight  around  the
base  of  my  cock.  His  hands  splayed  on  my  ass,
pulling me forward, almost as though he wanted
to swallow me, cock first. I took it for as long as I
could, then grabbed him by the arms and hauled
him back to his feet, kissing his sticky lips.

“Fuck?” I asked urgently.
“Fuck!” he agreed, favoring me with a lewd

wink.

I turned him around again and took careful

aim.  I  pushed  forward  slowly,  savoring  the
sensations  as  his  tight  little  pucker  gradually
expanded  to  let  me  in.  I‟d  feed  him  two  inches,
then  pull  back  one,  in  two,  back  one,  continuing
till I had buried my long cock to the hilt. Damn, he
felt good! I leaned against him for a long time, not
moving,  just  flexing  the  muscles  in  my  groin
enough  to  swell  the  big  knob  on  the  end  of  my
dick. He felt it all right, groaning his appreciation

Derek Adams

softly.

I started fucking him slow and easy, pulling out

till only the head was still wedged up in him, then
driving  it  in  to  the  hilt.  His  muscular  butt  thrust
back to meet my every stroke, encouraging me to
pound  harder  and  faster.  Soon,  I  was  slamming
into  him  with  all  my  strength,  making  the  old
wooden  table  under  us  buck  and  creak  with  the
strain.

Georges arched his back like a bow as he craned

his  neck  to  kiss  me.  I  wrapped  my  arms  around
his chest and kept on driving, sweat pouring off of
me  in  the  overheated  room  as  I  rapidly
approached the point of no return.

He was jacking himself frantically, grinding his

ass  against  my  hips,  his  muscles  knotted  by  the
intensity  of  his  rapidly  approaching  orgasm.  I
reached  between  his  legs  and  started  squeezing
his  nuts,  wanting  him  to  shoot  with  me  and
knowing that the time was now.

“Mon Dieu!” he growled, shuddering as his

spunk started pumping. I looked over his
shoulder and saw it hit the table, creamy colored
against the pure white of the flour. My toes curled
right about then and I joined him, shooting jizz up
his butt like a fountain.

Afterward, I held him tight, licking the sweat

off his neck and stroking his flat belly. I was ready
to go all over again and I got the feeling that he

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

had  no  intention  of  giving  up  possession  of  my
prick  unless  he  had  to.  Just  as  I  was  starting  to
fondle  his  fat  nuts  in  preparation  for  round  two,
the bell above the front door rang.

Georges tensed slightly. “Customer,”“ he

muttered unhappily. “I must go and wait on them.
You will stay here?”

“I will definitely…” That was as far as I got.

The  mystery  customer  was  none  other  than
Madame  Derain,  back  rather  early  from  her
appointment. Georges‟ ass hole clamped down so
tight  that  my  dick  popped  out  of  him like  a  cork
out of a bottle of champagne. His good wife took
one  look,  dropped  her  purse  and  picked  up  a
lethal-looking rolling pin. I lunged for my clothes,
but she cut me off, backing me into a corner.

Georges tried to come to my rescue, but she

whacked  him  across  the  shoulders  with  her
weapon,  knocking  him  to  his  knees.  The  woman
had blood in her eyes and I had no doubt that she
was  going  to  kill  me  if  she  got  the  chance.  It
occurred  to  me  out  of  the  blue  that  the  crime  of
passion  had  originated  in  France  and  they
considered it a good defense in cases like this. Not
only  would  she  probably  beat  me  to  death,  she
might  possibly  get  a  medal  for  going  to  the
trouble.

I crept slowly around the table, looking for a

chance to make good my escape. I feinted to the

Derek Adams

right, threw her off balance for a split second and
made a beeline for the door. I grabbed my pants,
but she was on me in a flash, gripping one of the
legs and refusing to let go.

The bitch was strong as an ox, holding my

pants  with  one  hand,  swinging  the  rolling  pin
wildly with  the  other.  I  felt  the  breeze  as  the  pin
flew by uncomfortably close to my nose. I gave the
pants a final desperate yank, lost my balance and
fell over backward into the bin of flour. A cloud of
fine  white  dust  enveloped  me.  It  filled  my  eyes,
nose  and  mouth,  choking  me  as  I  scrambled
around,  trying  to  get  my  feet  under  me  again.
Meanwhile,  Madame  Derain  was  pounding  the
side of the bin vigorously, making my ears ring.

“Run!” Georges screamed, coming up behind

his  wife  and  pinning  her  arms  to  her  sides.  I
leaped  out  of  the  bin,  grabbed  my  wallet  off  the
floor  and  flew  out  the  back  door  into  an  alley,
stark naked except for a coating of baker‟s flour.

I thought briefly about returning for my pants,

but Georges lost his grip on the little lady and she
lunged toward me, effectively changing my mind.
I dashed down the alley, looking desperately for
shelter. There was none anywhere.

The sharp tattoo of high heels against the

cobblestones  made  me  redouble  my  efforts.  I
dashed  back  into  the  Rue  St.  Sabin,  narrowly
missing  a  housewife  laden  with  parcels.  She

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

started screaming at the top of her lungs as I
hightailed it on down the street.

The streets were full of people at this hour of

the day and I caused quite a stir as I loped along,
trailing  a  fine  white  cloud  in  my  wake.  This  was
absolutely  the  worst!  I‟d  made  many  a  hasty
retreat  in  my  day,  but  never  totally  naked,  my
wallet  wedged  between  my  clenched  teeth.  I
would  have  hailed  a  cab  if  I  had  seen  one,  but
unfortunately,  the  traffic  consisted  primarily  of
buses  and  delivery  trucks.  The  few  private  cars
that  happened  along  sped  up  when  their  drivers
got  a  glimpse  of  me.  All  of  a  sudden, I  burst  out
into  a  large  square  with  a  tall  column  in  the
middle. I was in the Place de la Bastille, one of the
great  tourist  attractions  in  the  city.  A  crowd  was
beginning to gather behind me, so a retreat in that
direction  seemed  unwise.  I  dodged  through  the
heavy  traffic,  my  progress  accompanied  by
squealing  brakes  and  the  shriek  of  metal  against
metal  as  I  brought  traffic  to  a  sudden  halt.  A
gaggle  of  Japanese  tourists,  clustered  around  the
base  of  the  column  in  the  center  of  the  square,
turned on me, cameras clicking, as I dived through
their ranks. I thought briefly of slipping into a tour
bus, but a burly driver blocked my way.

A fire escape attached to a building on the

opposite side of the square caught my eye and I
ran desperately on. By the time I reached my goal,

Derek Adams

my lungs were ready to burst. The street was
deserted, but I heard sirens wailing in the distance
and had no doubt they were wailing for me.

I crouched below the fire ladder, then sprang

up with all my strength, arms extended. I caught
the  lowest  rung  and  somehow  hauled  myself  up
to the first landing. The window would not budge,
making ingress impossible. I scrambled to the next
level and another shutout. By the time I struggled
up to the fifth landing, I began to think I had made
a  tactical  error  and  cut  myself  off  from  further
flight. When I gave this window a desperate yank,
it gave slightly. I put all my strength into it and it
opened enough for me to wriggle inside to what I
hoped was safety.

I collapsed onto the wood floor and rolled over

onto  my  back,  my  heart  pounding  like  it  might
burst.  How  did  I  manage  to  get  into  these
undignified  scrapes  all  the  time?  My  cock,  that
was  how.  I  had  had  hours  of  pleasure  following
the dictates of my randy, one-eyed buddy, but he
tended to be somewhat less than discreet at times.
The problem was he had almost total control over
my  life.  Maybe  it  was  time  to  take  charge  and
learn  to  say  no.  I  glared  down  at  my  crotch
accusingly.

A door creaked open nearby diverting my

attention. I started to sit up, then froze when I
heard what sounded distinctly like a gun cocking.

Derek Adams

Chapter Ten

ot moving seemed like a terrific idea—partly,
because I was still gasping air into my flour-

coated lungs, but mostly because the gun aimed at
a spot in the middle of my forehead looked so real.
I  was  somewhat  relieved  that  the  resident  of  the
flat  had  issued  the  command  to  freeze  in
English—unless,  of  course,  I  was  learning  to
translate French threats. I opened my eyes a little
more,  trying  to  focus  on  a  point  slightly  beyond
the barrel of the gun in order to gauge the person
behind the trigger finger.

The gun wielder was a woman—tall,

statuesque,  blonde  and  beautiful.  The  expensive-
looking  dress  and  spike  heels  she  wore  were
oddly  at  variance  with  her  proficient  handling  of
the  gun.  Her  feet  were  slightly  apart  and  she
gripped  the  butt  of  the  weapon  in  both  hands,
sighting—rather  accurately,  I  noted—down  the
barrel. I detected no fear in the wide blue eyes in
her perfect oval of a face, only determination.

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

“Isobel,” she said calmly, never taking her eyes

off  me  for  a  second,  “call  the  police.”  My  eyes
shifted  slightly  to  the  right  and  I  saw  a  striking
dark-haired woman hovering in the doorway, her
hands  over  her  mouth.  Her  dark  eyes  were
frightened,  but  she  moved  quickly  to  follow  the
blonde‟s order.

“Sarah?” I croaked, my memory suddenly

kicking into gear. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but
the  gun  didn‟t  waver.  “Sarah.  It‟s  Miles.”  Sarah
Collier and I had been in college together. She was
the brilliant type and had agreed to help me with a
class  we‟d  taken  together  the  semester  before  I‟d
dropped out. She and I had also taken advantage
of  each  other‟s  company  to  provide  a  convenient
shield  from  the  prying  eyes  and  imaginations  of
the aggressively straight majority on campus. We
had  made  a  handsome  couple  and  if  either  of  us
had  been  hetero,  we  might  have  developed  a
relationship. As it turned out, I left school under a
cloud—make  that  a  shitstorm—and  Sarah  had
gone  on  to  graduate  with  honors  and  a  full
scholarship  to  complete  her  graduate  studies  at
Columbia  University.  I  had  occasionally  thought
of  Sarah  and  wondered  where  she  was.  Now  I
knew.

“Miles Diamond? What class did we take

together?” She was obviously still suspicious.

“Hillerman‟s History of Western Philosophy.

Derek Adams

Tom  Seegar  must  have  dropped  his  pencil  ten
thousand times so he could bend down and try to
look  up  your  skirt.  One  day  you  were  so  fed  up
that you strapped a dildo to your thigh, and when
he did the pencil-drop routine, you flashed him a
crotch  shot  he‟ll  never  forget.  Hillerman  had  to
dismiss class early because of the uproar.”

“Holy shit, she‟s got a fucking dick,” Sarah

growled,  doing  a  fair  imitation  of  Seegar.  “You
must  be  Miles,  because  no  one  else  in  the  world
knows  the  truth  behind  that  little  story.”  Sarah
lowered  the  gun  and  stood  looking  at  me,  hands
on hips.

“Sarah, what is it?” The dark-haired woman

had taken a tentative step back into the room and
was looking at me in astonishment. “You know
this perverted person?”

“Isobel, I‟d like you to meet an old school chum

of mine. Miles Diamond, Isobel Valois.”

“Delighted,” I mumbled, cupping my hands

over my crotch. “I don‟t usually like to drop in on
old friends looking like this,” I offered feebly, by
way of explaining my nakedness. “I‟ve had a
rough morning.”

“No doubt,” Sarah deadpanned. “Just out

showing off your body to the inhabitants, or does
this betoken some precipitate departure from the
arms of illicit bliss?”

“Pardon?” Sarah could be a little too literary at

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

times.

“Get caught dipping your wick in a forbidden

hole?”

“Something like that. You wouldn‟t have a

spare robe, would you?” Isobel‟s eyes were boring
into me, making me extremely uncomfortable.

“Why does he look like that?” she asked, her

hand fluttering to Sarah‟s shoulder, obviously still
poised to run at the first sign of trouble.

“He‟s a man, dear,” Sarah drawled. “They all

look like that, more or less. Actually, he looks
better than most. It‟s one of the main reasons I‟m a
lesbian.”

“Very funny, Sarah,” I groused, not too pleased

by her flight into humor at my expense. “Could I
bother you for a shower?” My coating of flour and
sweat was starting to dry, pulling uncomfortably
at my body hair when I moved.

“I mean the farine,” Isobel persisted.
“Oh, the flour. Good question. Why exactly are

you coated with flour this morning, Miles? Is this
a new fetish that I‟m not aware of?”

“I got into a little scrape at a bakery. It wasn‟t

my fault.”

“He must have been rather upset,” Sarah

ventured, a bemused look on her face.

“She,” I corrected.
“She?” Sarah‟s eyebrows arched in disbelief.

“You haven‟t gone straight on us, have you?”

Derek Adams

“The wife. The baker was quite pleased. At least

until his wife returned unexpectedly.”

“It‟s a relief to know that some things in my life

are constant. You‟re obviously still up to your old
tricks. Remember Dennis Payton?”

“Never mind that,” I winced. “That wasn‟t my

fault either. Now, can I get that shower?”

“Please.” Sarah nodded. “Isobel‟s brother stays

with us at times. I‟ll see if he‟s left any clothes here
that might fit you.”

I scrambled up off the floor and scurried past

the two women. Isobel kept her distance, watching
me  over  Sarah‟s  shoulder.  She  said  something  in
French  as  I  stepped  into  the  bathroom  and  Sarah
laughed  heartily.  I  started  to  ask  what  was  so
funny, but thought better of it.

“Isobel‟s brother must be a midget.” I stepped

out  of  the  bathroom  a  few  minutes  later,  tugging
at  the  t-shirt  Sarah  had  left  for  me.  The  trousers
were about ten inches short of covering my ankles
and  the  shirt  left  a  six-inch  swath  of  bare  skin
around my midsection.

“Jean Claude isn‟t a midget, Miles,” Sarah

replied, offering me a cup of coffee. “He‟s actually
rather tall for a  fifteen-year old. Next time I‟ll try
to have something lying around in your size.” We
settled  into  chairs  around  the  dining  room  table.
The  pants  were  so  tight  that  my  balls  were
practically crammed up my asshole. I pulled at the

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

crotch without much effect.

“So, Miles, what brings you to Paris? Besides, of

course, the opportunity to diddle bakers and dash
naked around the streets of Paris? Is this a
vacation jaunt?”

“Hardly. I‟m working on a case.”
“A case?” Sarah‟s eyebrows arched.
“I‟m  a  detective.”  I  favored  her  with  a  stern

glance.

“Well, now, that explains everything. You were

staking  out  a  bakery,  cleverly  disguised  as  a
powdered-sugar  donut.”  Isobel  giggled  into  her
cup and I shot her a look. The giggle exploded into
a  full-fledged  laugh.  It  was  contagious  and  we
were  all  gasping  by  the  time  we  regained  our
composure.

“I really am a detective and I really do have a

client.  Just  in  the  nick  of  time,  too.  I  was  on  the
verge of changing careers before this came up. I‟m
beginning to think that perhaps it still might be a
good  idea.  I‟ve  been  tied  up,  knocked  out,
bombed, shot at and chased off the roof of  Notre
Dame.”

“That was you?” Sarah looked at me in genuine

surprise.

“You heard about that, huh?”
“My dear, you‟re the talk of the town. Its been

in all the papers. The police are quite interested in
interviewing you about your exploits—not to

Derek Adams

mention  the  little  matter  of  the  dead  man  who
wasn‟t  quite  as  resilient  as  you  appear  to  be.
Please go on. I‟m fascinated.”

Sarah and I had been confidants in years past. I

trusted  her  and  admired  her  powers  of  logic.  It
was  possible  that  she  might  even  be  able  to shed
some  new  light  on  the  subject.  “I  thought  I  was
dealing with a simple kidnapping at first, but now
I‟m not so sure.” I downed my coffee, refilled the
cup, then continued. “A guy comes into my office
out  of  the  blue,  looking  for  his  twin  brother—his
officially dead  twin brother. The  dead  twin turns
out to be very much alive and has actually fallen
into the hands of folks who deal in the flesh trade.
The  trail  leads  from  Seattle  to  Amsterdam,  then
peters out here in Paris. Our last hope appears to
be a house in  the city owned by someone named
Fahd.”

“Fahd!” Sarah set down her cup with a clatter

and  leaned  forward,  looking  at  me  intently.
“Youssef  ben  Fahd?”  I  nodded.  “Well,  this  is
interesting.”

“You know him?”
“I profiled him in Paris Match last year. He‟s a

wealthy

Moroccan

businessman.

Very

progressive.  He  was  in  the  government  until  his
efforts  at  reform  stepped  on  too  many  powerful
toes. He moved here to Paris about three years ago
I  believe.  He  still  has  influence  at  home,  but  he‟s

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

keeping a low profile until the Moroccan political
climate changes.”

“Then he‟s not likely to be involved in anything

as shady as white slavery.”

“Not a chance!” She shook her head decisively.
“Well, whoever kidnapped my client‟s brother

had Fahd‟s name and address on him when he
was shot. Maybe I‟m barking up the wrong tree.” I
slumped back dejectedly, my last lead apparently
going up in smoke.

“Just exactly who got kidnapped?” Sarah‟s

journalistic  instinct  was  showing.  I  could  see  the
wheels  turning  behind  her  beautiful  face.  “This
has  all  the  makings  of  a  delicious  exclusive  for
me.”

“You have to promise to keep quiet till I get this

mess solved,” I insisted. “If too much information
gets out, whoever kidnapped the guy is fully
capable of killing him and burying the evidence.”

“Of course,” she snorted. “Spill it.”
“Daniel Travis. He‟s a very…”
“Dan! Good God!”
“You  know  him  then?”  This  was  better  than  I

had dared to hope.

“He‟s Youssef‟s lover. They met shortly after

Dan came here to go to school. I can‟t believe
this.”

“Believe it. His twin brother, David, came to me

just a few days ago. Life has been a bit tenuous

Derek Adams

since we met.”

“Something‟s wrong with that one,” Sarah

opined, tapping her lacquered nails on the edge of
the table.

“You know him too?”
“I met him once at Fahd‟s house when I was

working  on  the  article.  I  didn‟t  like  him.  He  and
his  brother  look  alike,  but  the  similarity  ends
there. David plays Hyde to Dan‟s Jekyll. You say
he came to you. Why?”

“He told me he didn‟t believe his brother was

dead and that he had to find him. Said he wanted
to  assure  discretion  so  he  stayed  away  from
detective agencies in San Francisco. He gave me a
big  enough  retainer  to  ease  any  qualms  I  might
otherwise have felt about his story.” I filled Sarah
in on the details as Travis had related them to me.
After I finished, she sat silently for a long time.

“Youssef will move heaven and earth to get

Dan back. I‟m absolutely sure about that. I got to
know both of them rather well while I was doing
the piece on Youssef. They adore each other. This
is terrible.” She sighed gloomily, pushing her hair
back with a graceful gesture. “You say the house is
empty?”

“We‟ve been watching it around the clock for

five days now. Not a sign of life in the place.”

“I wonder where Ahmed is keeping himself.”
“Who?”

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

“Youssef‟s nephew. He‟s the young man‟s

guardian, but he has difficulty controlling him.”

“Problem child, huh?”
“You could say that. He‟s nineteen, handsome

and  rich  as  Midas.  Terrorists  assassinated  his
parents a few years ago. Youssef took him in and
tries to ride herd on him—not always successfully,
I might add. Poor kid was severely traumatized by
his  parents‟  death  so  his  uncle  has  been  lenient.
Probably  too  lenient.  He  comes  and  goes  as  he
pleases,  deaf  to  all  of  his  uncle‟s  pleas  to  be
careful. He appears to take great joy in eluding his
body-guards.”

“You sure know a great deal about this Fahd

and his family.”

“I‟m very thorough, my dear.”
“She is brilliant,” Isobel said fiercely. “She has a

trunk full of awards which she won‟t let me
display.”

“Thanks, darling.” Sarah smiled as she stroked

Isobel‟s arm.

“You‟re very welcome.” Isobel beamed at her

lover.

“Isobel is my most avid fan,” Sarah said,

turning back to me.

“I‟m impressed.”
“Don‟t be.” She shrugged dismissively. “Most

awards are merely scraps of paper handed out by
fools to placate people they are afraid of. All I ask

Derek Adams

is editorial control and payment upon completion
of an assignment. They can keep their damned
prizes.”

“I really should go,” I said, rising from the

table, tugging ineffectually at the t-shirt. “Thanks
again for the clothes.”

“You‟re welcome. I‟m sure Jean Claude won‟t

miss them. He‟s probably already outgrown them.
Can I drop you at your hotel?”

“If it‟s no trouble,” I replied, relieved that I

wouldn‟t have to take the Metro in this getup.

“No trouble at all. I have to go to my office and

I always take my car. I love driving here. It keeps
you on your toes.”

Sarah maneuvered through the heavy traffic

with  hair-raising  expertise,  dropping  me  at  the
door  to  my  hotel  in  record  time.  “Keep  in  touch,
Miles,” she demanded, pressing her business card
into my hand as I leaned through  the  window to
thank  her.  “If  you  hear  anything,  let  me  know.
Remember, you owe me.”

“I‟ll remember. Thanks again.”
The desk clerk looked at me over the top of his

glasses  when  I  asked  for  the  key,  but  made  no
remark about my appearance. Rudy wasn‟t nearly
so reticent. I‟d just put the key into the lock when
the  door  to  his  room  flew  open.  “Great  outfit,
Miles,”  he  quipped,  a  broad  grin  creeping  across
his  face.  “Glad  to  see  you‟re  finally  taking  an

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

interest in your appearance. Pedal pushers and a
middy top. You look very smart.”

“Go fuck yourself, Rudy. I‟ve had a trying day.”
“What the hell happened to your clothes?”

Jackson barked, sticking his head around the
doorframe. “You look ridiculous.”

“I‟m sure this has something to do with sex, am

I correct?” Rudy‟s smirk was maddening.

“What the hell are you two doing back here at

the  same  time?”  I  was  determined  to  change  the
subject.  “Isn‟t  someone  supposed  to  be  minding
the store?”

“We have a man on it in our absence,” Rudy

announced casually. “We decided we deserved
the afternoon off.”

“Oh, you did, did you? How nice. And what if

Fahd‟s nephew returns while the two of you are
here playing house?”

“Nephew?”
I said nothing, figuring he could chew on that

bit  of  information  for  a  few  minutes  while  I
changed  my  clothes.  When  I  peeled  out  of  my
pants, my cock and balls sighed in relief. I pulled
on  the  trousers  draped  over  the  chair  under  the
window, then chose a t-shirt from the selection we
had  recently  purchased.  The  French  sure  as  hell
knew how to tailor clothes, I thought, glancing at
myself  in  the  mirror  above  the  chest  of  drawers
across the room. Very nice. Very nice, indeed.

Derek Adams

“Nephew?” Rudy echoed, a dogged expression

on his face. “What‟s this about a nephew?”

“I have been gathering information.”
“Yeah, I‟ll bet. Not to mention a new wardrobe.

So, what did you find out?” I filled them in briefly,
leaving out the part about the gun, the baker and
the flour. No use handing Rudy more ammunition
than he already had at his disposal.

“Interesting. I‟m sure if anything happens while

we‟re gone, our man will call. I left the number of
the hotel, along with enough cash to ensure total
and complete recall of details.”

“Is this anyone we know?”
“The news vendor at the entrance to the

courtyard. I‟ve been getting acquainted with him
during the course of the past few days. He was in
the Resistance during the war.”

“Great. I‟m glad to hear that. I hope it won‟t be

too  much  trouble  for  you  to  check  in  with  him
from  time  to  time.  As  long  as  it  doesn‟t  interfere
with your home life or your tours of the city, that
is.” My tone was venomous, but Rudy appeared to
be immune. Instead of looking sheepish, he turned
the conversation back my way almost at once.

“I dropped by the bakery shortly after you left

us  this  morning.”  I‟d  made  the  mistake  of  telling
them  about  the  place  after  my  tumble  from  the
roof of the cathedral. I should have known better,
but  my  traumatic  experience  had  left  me

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

understandably rattled. “It was closed.”

“Oh?” I did my best to appear uninterested.
“Yes. Evidently your baker friend had an

accident and was rushed to hospital.” I looked up
in alarm, but Rudy motioned for me to be quiet.
“He‟s all right. I understand he ran into a rolling
pin, powered by his dear wife.”

“That‟s terrible.” I studied the toes of my shoes

intently, wishing he‟d just shut up.

“And that‟s not all.”
“I‟ll bet,” I muttered.
“There  was  quite  a  crowd  around  the  place.  It

seems that a naked man went streaking along the
street  this  morning,  white  as  a  ghost.  You
wouldn‟t  know  anything  about  that,  would  you
Miles?” I refused to rise to the bait. Let him guess.
“I  found  your  clothes  in  the  alley,  Miles.  You
might as well „fess up.”

“I was following my heart, Rudy.” Damn, he‟d

cornered me once again.

“I‟d aim a bit lower if I were telling the tale,” he

shot back, chuckling wickedly. “You really are
something else.”

“Thanks, I‟m sure. Now why don‟t you get out

and let me relax for a few hours? There must be a
tower you could find to climb somewhere. Maybe
you could ring a few bells or count the pigeons.”

“We‟re going to tour Versailles and have a

picnic,” Jackson put in timidly. I hope he felt as

Derek Adams

guilty as he looked.

“Fine. If you happen to run into Marie

Antoinette,  give  her  my  best.  I  hope  you  get
carried off by army ants,” I called out after them.
They were definitely having too much fun for my
taste.  I  lay  down  on  the  bed,  closed  my  eyes  for
just  a  moment  and  immediately  fell  into  a  deep
sleep.

I woke up just as the sun was setting. I splashed

some  water  on  my  face,  grabbed  a  jacket  and
headed  back  to  the  Place  des  Vosges.  If  the
nephew had been out of town when all this broke
loose, it was just possible that he would come back
before he found out what was going down.  I had
no  doubt  that  he  would  do  a  disappearing  act  if
Fahd had been able to contact him, so the chances
were  slim  to  none.  Still,  it  gave  me  a  reason  to
park my ass on that bench for yet another endless
night.

I was surprised to find Jackson back at his post

when I arrived. He‟d seen nothing and wasn‟t too
optimistic regarding our prospects. “Rudy told me
the  money‟s  running  low,”  he  sighed,  shrugging
his  heavy  shoulders  resignedly.  “We  may  be
pissing up a rope on this one, buddy.”

“I‟ve spent a good part of my life doing just

that.” I chuckled grimly. “I really thought this
might be the break I needed.”

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

“Cheer up, Miles. It ain‟t over till it‟s over. You

gave me a break back in Seattle, so I‟m pulling
hard for you. Hang in there, man.”

I watched Jackson disappear through the gates,

then  turned  my  attention  back  to  the  darkened
windows  of  number  37.  All  I  got  for  my  trouble
was a stiff neck from sitting in one position for so
long.  A  bell  in  a  distant  church  tower  tolled  the
hour.  Midnight.  I  got  up  to  stretch  and  suddenly
became aware that someone was watching me.

I looked across the square and saw a guy

standing under a street lamp, smoking a cigarette.
I‟d seen him before during my all-night vigils, just
hanging around. Up till now, however, he hadn‟t
paid  any  attention  to  me.  Now,  he  was  focusing
on me so strongly that I could practically feel the
heat. He took a last drag on his smoke, crushed it
out  beneath  his  heel  and  sauntered  over  in  my
direction.

I liked the looks of him. He was tall and tight-

bodied with one of those faces that are so ugly
they‟re sexy. His big nose looked like it had been
broken a couple of times and he had a scar over
his left eye that cut right through his eyebrow. He
smiled when he approached and I noticed that he
had a chip out of one of his front teeth.

“You are American, no?” He stopped in front of

me and fished a cigarette out of a crumpled pack.
The strong smell of Gauloises filled the night air.

Derek Adams

“Yes, I‟m afraid so. You‟re French, right?” He

chuckled at that and sat down next to me.

“You are…how do you say it, a sexy fucker?”

He looked at me for confirmation.

“So are you,” I replied. It was true—there was

no  beauty  in  his  battered  face,  but  he  exuded  an
animal  attraction  that  already  had  my  cock
stirring. “What‟s your name?”

“Pierre.”
“Miles. Pleased to meet you.” We shook hands

solemnly, then he leaned back and took a deep
drag on his cigarette.

“Would you like a smoke?” He fished the pack

out of his pocket and held it over to me.

“Thanks.” I took one, straightened it out and

leaned over toward the match he struck. I inhaled
and damn near choked to death. “These things are
strong!” I gasped, wheezing like an old man.

“Not so strong as you are,” Pierre replied,

slapping  me  on  the  back.  “I  have  been  watching
you  for  several  nights.  You  are  very  beautiful.  Is
that right?”

“Handsome is better when you‟re talking about

men. Thanks for the compliment.”

“I don‟t bullshit, man. I mean it.” He paused

briefly. “Why are you here every night? I see you
every time I come here. There are more interesting
places in Paris for you to go.”

“I‟ve been waiting for you,” I teased.

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

“Zut alors!” He shook his head dismissively.

“No one waits for me. They wait for the beautiful
boys. I get into too many fights.” He gestured at
his face, then tossed the butt of his cigarette onto
the path.

“I said I was waiting for you,” I repeated,

cupping his chin in my hand and turning his head
toward  me.  “Kiss  me.”  His  eyes  widened  in
surprise and disbelief. I wasn‟t one to keep him in
suspense, so I leaned toward him and brushed my
lips against his. The effect was electric. He put his
hands  on  my  shoulders  and  his  tongue  flickered
out,  tracing  the  contours  of  my  lips.  He  tasted  of
cigarettes and wine. I put my hand on the back of
his  head,  parted  my  lips  and  sucked  his  tongue
into  my  mouth.  He  whimpered  softly,  his  kisses
becoming more urgent as we continued.

He put his hands on my chest, squeezing my

pecs,  rubbing  the  balls  of  his  thumbs  against  my
nipples.  They  popped  up  hard  and  tight  beneath
the  thin  fabric  of  my  shirt.  He  fumbled  with  the
buttons on my pants and dug his fingers into my
fly. I did the same for him, hauling his thick uncut
piece out and stroking it till it started to leak. The
smell  of  sex  soon  filled  my  nostrils,  bringing  out
the  animal  that  always  lurked  just  beneath  the
surface.

“Let‟s fuck,” I mumbled, talking around his

probing tongue. We stood up and Pierre led me

Derek Adams

into a bank of shrubs growing around the base of
the huge equestrian statue dominating the square.
He  had  my  pants  down  around  my  ankles  in  a
flash. Without missing a beat, he hit the ground on
his  knees  and  deep-throated  my  dick  in  one
smooth, breathtaking move.

I kneaded the muscles in his shoulders and

groaned. The man‟s technique was enough to roll
my  eyes  back  in  my  head.  He  lashed  his  tongue
against  the  head  of  my  cock,  the  action  shooting
sparks  along  the  shaft  to  my  balls  and  beyond.
After he had me gasping with this action, he deep-
throated  me,  slamming  his  forehead  against  my
belly,  his  throat  muscles  jacking  me  like  a warm,
wet hand.

I leaned forward and slipped my hand into his

pants,  my  fingers  following  his  crack  all  the  way
down. When one of my unruly digits slipped into
his  tight,  hot  manhole,  he  gripped  my  thighs
fiercely,  and  his  cock-work  became  even  more
inspirational.  I  finally  managed  to  pull  him  back
to his feet and strip him out of his tight pants, so I
could feast my eyes on his butt.

He may not have had a handsome face, but his

ass  was  pure  poetry.  His  cheeks  were  firm  and
full,  glowing  white  in  the  light  from  a  distant
street lamp. He leaned forward, bracing his hands
on  his  knees.  “Fuck  me,  man,”  he  growled,
looking over his shoulder at me.  “Make it last all

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

night long.”

I gripped my swollen cock around the base,

shucked the skin back and  pressed the bare knob
against  his  ass  hole.  I  steadied  him  with  my  free
hand while I sank into him slow and easy. Once I
got past the tight ring of muscle guarding his rear
entry,  I  slid  it  home  like  a  knife  cutting  warm
butter.  When  my  pubes  were  dusting  his  crack,  I
stood still, savoring the throbbing heat of his guts.
He was panting raggedly, the muscles in his back
knotted.

I pulled him against me and stroked his chest

and belly to give him time to relax and get into it.
Within the space of about five minutes, his cock
was hard again and he rubbed up against me, his
butt muscles flexing.

“Ready?” I nibbled at his ear and flexed my

groin muscles to balloon my cockhead deep inside
of him. He grabbed one of my hands and started
sucking on my fingers, one after the other. He had
me  so  turned  on  by  this  point  that  each  one  felt
like  a  miniature  cock.  Sparks  of  lustful  pleasure
shot down to the pit of my gut. I started to pump
deep  thrusts  that  soon  left  him  gasping  and limp
in my arms. I reached down and cupped his balls
in  my  palm.  I  rubbed  them  up  and  down  his
swollen dick. He drooled clear leak that streamed
down  the  veiny  shaft  and  over  my  busy  fingers,
making  his  cock  slick  as  glass.  Every  time  I

Derek Adams

thought  I  couldn‟t  last  another  second,  I‟d  hold
him  real  tight,  immobilizing  him  till  I  was  back
under control. The bells tolled the half-hour, then
the hour and we just kept on fucking, teetering on
the edge, neither of us ready to fall over into bliss.

When I straightened my legs, his feet didn‟t

quite touch the ground. I‟d leave him hanging on
my spike for minutes at a  time, rubbing the hard
ridge between his balls and the lips of his asshole
with my fingers barely touching the sensitive skin.
My  other  arm  remained  firmly  around  his  chest,
supporting his weight.  He had his hands planted
firmly  on  my  ass,  his  head  pressed  against  my
shoulder.

I bent my head, seeking his sensual lips again.

The  contact  intensified  the  sensations  in  my  dick
by a factor of ten. I blew my breath into his lungs,
puffing  his  chest  out  tight.  Then  I  sucked  the  air
out of him, keeping my mouth firmly over his. We
traded  breath  till  I  was  dizzy,  his  asshole  flexing
more  urgently  with  every  long,  slow  inhalation.
He  finally  crossed  the  line,  his  body  spasming
against me.

“Now!” he howled, breaking the stillness of the

night. It only took one deep thrust to put me right
there  with  him.  His  jizz  spouted  in  a  high  arc,
splashing  on  the  glossy  leaves  of  the  bushes
surrounding  us, frosting  them  with  white.  I blew
my wad deep in his ass. My body shook as the hot

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

cum  pumped  out  of  me.  After  the  last  spasm
racked  through  me,  all  the  strength  flowed  from
my  legs  and  I  slid  slowly  down  against  the  cool
marble  base  of  the  statue  that  loomed  above  us.
Pierre  nestled  back  against  me,  showing  no
inclination to break the link between us.

I was gazing dreamily at the rooftops on the

horizon  when  a  light  blinked  on  in  the  Fahd
household. I stirred and Pierre lifted his head from
my  chest  and  kissed  my  throat.  “I  think  my
waiting is over,” I murmured.

“You were waiting for someone?” There was an

undercurrent of accusation in his tone.

“Not someone,” I corrected him. “Something.

I‟m working on a case. I hate to move, but I have
work to do.” His fingers tangled in my pubes and
it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  my  concentration.
“We have time for that later,” I said ruefully as we
stood  up  and  put  our  clothes  back  on.  “Now,  I
must work.”

“You need an assistant.” It was a statement.
“You could make a telephone call for me.”
“Anything  you  wish,  Miles.  I  am  at  your

service.”  I  gave  him  a  handful  of  change  and
asked  him  to  call  the  hotel  and  alert  Rudy  and
Jackson  of  my  discovery.  He  loped  across  the
courtyard  and  I  headed  over  to  number  37.  The
light on the second floor went out suddenly and I
picked  up  the  pace.  I  sure  as  hell  didn‟t  want

Derek Adams

whoever was poking around the place to get away
from me after all this waiting.

I tried the front door. It was still locked. I

figured  that  a  person  who  wanted  to  be
inconspicuous  might  use  the  service  door  at  the
rear.  From  there  it  would  be  much  easier  to
disappear  into  the  maze  of  streets  in  the
surrounding vicinity. With that in mind, I dashed
around to the back. As I ran along the shop-lined
arcade, I hoped the intruder wasn‟t in as much of
a hurry as I was.

I rounded the corner just as a door about fifty

yards  down  the  street  opened.  A  slender  figure
crept  out  and  peered  intently  up  and  down  the
street. I ducked behind a car and crouched by the
rear  fender,  hoping  he  hadn‟t  seen  me.  I  was  in
luck.  The  man  shut  the  door  behind  him  quietly
and  stood  there  while  he  fumbled  with  a  large
ring  of  keys.  He  was  evidently  no  common
burglar, I noted, my hopes rising. He finally found
the proper keys and secured all three locks on the
heavy  door.  Then  he  picked  up  a  small  suitcase
and hurried off down the street, away from me.

I left my hiding place and followed, wishing

like hell that I had someone with me to watch the
other  end  of  the  street.  I  kicked  an  empty  bottle
and  sent  it  clattering  noisily  into  the  gutter.  The
man  in  front  of  me  looked  around,  saw  me  and
broke  into  a  run.  I  dashed  after  him,  but  was  a

The Case of the Missing Twin 3

good  thirty  yards  behind  him.  He  was  rapidly
approaching  an  alley,  which  probably  branched
off in a thousand directions.

He was within a few steps of his goal when

Pierre  emerged  from  the  shadows  a  few  steps  in
front of my man. “Pierre!” I shouted. “Stop him.”
Pierre  turned  and  tackled  the  fugitive,  bringing
him to the ground. He struggled briefly, but Pierre
pinned his arms to his sides and held him tight. I
raced  up  to  them.  “Good  work,  buddy,”  I  said,
panting triumphantly.

I looked down into the face of an angel. The

man  Pierre  had  pinned  was  young.  He  had  dark
hair  and  olive  skin  and  his  eyes  were  huge  with
fear. I had the distinct feeling that this was Fahd‟s
nephew, Ahmed.

“Please don‟t kill me,” he whispered his voice

thick  with  panic.  “Please.”  Pierre  released  the
young man and he sat up.  A tear glistened in his
eye,  then  rolled  down  his  cheek,  catching  in  the
silky  black  fuzz  on  his  upper  lip.  He  reached  up
and grasped at my shirt, his knuckles grazing the
skin on my chest. “I‟ll do whatever you want, sir. I
don‟t want to die.”

To be continued…

About the Author

Derek Adams is the award-winning author of the
novel  'Jake  Westerby:  Deep  Undercover.'  He  has
also  written  more  than  a  hundred  short  stories
which  he  insists  are  ongoing  chapters  in  his
autobiography. When not chronicling his amorous
adventures,  Adams  writes  about  gay  history  and
travel. He currently lives in Seattle.