No, I’m not. That’s the name of my new Peter Hunt novel: Moving, and it’s available through Amazon’s Kindle store:

A man wanted Peter Hunt to investigate his much younger wife, and Hunt doesn’t like domestic cases. On top of that, from the moment he came into Hunt’s office, the man rubbed Hunt the wrong way.
Hunt took the case, though. Go figure. When he and his friend and partner, Rachel Wellington-Smythe—Rick—plussed up his retainer and rate because the man also behaved badly toward Rick, the man didn’t bat an eyelash; he just signed and wrote out the check for the retainer. That raised red flags.

As part of investigating the wife, Hunt talked to her. “I’m here on behalf of your husband.”
“And what behalf would that be?”
“He thinks you’re being ‘unfaithful.’ That was the word he used.”
“‘Unfaithful.’ Unfaithful, he says?”
“From last night, I’d say he says right.”
“He doesn’t like to dance. He doesn’t like to go out. I do.”
“Let’s get to it. You like to do more than party.”
“We have an arrangement—I take care of his needs, I take care of mine.”

Only her needs turn out to be much broader than that.
So, it turned out, did the husband’s. Neither understood that about the other.
Then a local Ukrainian oligarch wannabe got involved. Two representatives came to Hunt’s office and encouraged him to walk away from his investigation. When he didn’t, the threat became explicit, and Rick’s apartment got…raided. When that didn’t persuade Hunt, the two reps called on Hunt at his home, and they attacked him, injuring his cat in the process.
Then another oligarch wannabe got involved. Then the husband came up dead. Then two more men—the wife’s bodyguards, it turned out—came up dead.
Then things started going downhill.

I hope you like it.

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