by Montana Carr
Private investigator Marti Starova thought she’d seen every variation of family dysfunction Falls City had to offer—until Henrick Katsaros hired her to find his missing parents, Andreas and Isabella.
What begins as a routine missing persons case quickly spirals into something far more complex when Marti tracks the couple to a high-end sex club owned by Andreas himself. In a bizarre twist, Andreas ends up wearing Marti’s leather jacket and is subsequently murdered, stabbed through the heart. Meanwhile, Marti is arrested by Federal Agent Heather Blair on drug charges, creating a tenuous connection that will prove crucial as the investigation unfolds.
As Marti digs deeper, she discovers Andreas Katsaros was living a double life as William Preston, complete with another wife and daughter in a working-class neighborhood. The revelation of his bigamy opens up a tangled web of potential suspects, from his scorned wives and children to business associates with hidden agendas.
Adding to the complexity, crime boss Ari Stirling hires Marti to find Andreas’s killer, unaware that she’s already investigating the case from another angle. With Ari’s promise of protection regardless of what she uncovers, Marti finds herself walking a dangerous line between criminal elements and law enforcement.
Assisted by her loyal secretary Lori Harring—who harbors romantic feelings for Marti that are alternately encouraged and rebuffed—Marti follows a trail of clues through GenoHealth Solutions, Andreas’s legitimate business front that masks connections to organized crime. The company’s suspicious real estate holdings, including casinos and the sex club where Andreas died, point to money laundering operations.
As Marti and Lori get closer to the truth, they become targets themselves. A white car attempts to run them down on a sidewalk, seriously injuring Lori. This attack forces Marti to confront the possibility that someone from her past is seeking revenge, not just for the current case but for long-buried grievances.
The investigation leads Marti to question her own innocence in a case from her past—the escape of murderer Charlie Gomes and the subsequent death of a young girl named Sabrina Kogoya. For years, Marti has carried the guilt for this tragedy, drowning it in Shadow and casual sex. But as she revisits the connections, she begins to realize that perhaps she wasn’t responsible after all.
With Federal agents, crime bosses, and a determined killer all circling, Marti must navigate her addiction, her complicated feelings for both Lori and Agent Blair, and her own troubled past to uncover the truth before more lives are lost—including her own.
Buy Almost online, or at your local bookstore. This is Book 4 in the series. Check out the earlier Marti Starova Erotic Thriller books, Drowning in Broad Daylight , Shadow Work and Rain-Soaked.
- Coming January 16, 2026 to…
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Almost – Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
“Why the fuck is there shit in my office?” Marti shouted. She stood with a cigarette in one hand and a coffee in the other, staring.
“Oh sorry, that’s mine,” Lori said from the other room. The words were casual, causing Marti to blink in bewilderment.
Marti looked again at the plastic box with a log of excrement. She wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant stench that faintly tainted the otherwise familiar scent of cigarettes and drugs. Scrunching her face up in distaste, she swiveled on her heels and retraced her steps back through the door that separated the two offices. “Why the fuck did you shit in my office?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Lori said, without looking up from her computer. “It’s not mine. It’s Bertha’s.”
“Bertha crapped in my office?”
“Yes, and it took me a while to convince her. Let me tell you.”
Marti Starova looked at the clock and then back at Lori. “It’s been almost twenty-three hours since I’ve had a hit of Shadow,” she said. She’d been trying for a couple of weeks to cut back on the drug, and this was the longest sober stretch she’d had in years. She struggled to make sense of what Lori was saying.
Lori Harring was her reliable, predictable secretary. They had been through so much together recently, Marti was developing feelings for her, and vice versa. And Marti hated feelings. “Is this what conversation is like when people are sober? Because fuck that.”
“What?” Lori asked, finally looking up from her keyboard. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand? Well, I don’t fucking understand! Why is there a box of shit in my office?”
Lori laughed and got up from her desk. “I told you, Bertha. Bertha Tinkledorp. Bertha?” Lori repeated, as if saying the word again would tweak a memory. “The cat I’ve been trying to rescue.”
With deliberate nonchalance, Marti took a hard drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke into Lori’s face. Years ago, tobacco manufacturers changed the chemical formula for cigarettes. Second-hand smoke was now harmless. But a face full of smoke could still send a message. Lori huffed and waved at the air.
“Get that shit out of my office,” Marti said.
Lori headed into Marti’s office and looked out the open window. Marti followed, if only to stare at Lori’s ass. “I’m trying to get Bertha to come in, to rescue her. So I am giving her a litter box.”
“That cat hates you,” Marti said as she sat on the couch. She spilled a bit of coffee on her jeans, and then spilled more on the floor when she wiped at her jeans.
“But she likes you, and this is your office. I thought she might like to come in out of the rain,” Lori explained. She leaned further out the window hopes to spying the cat.
Marti leaned forward. Her lips parted as Lori bent further out the window. She could almost feel the supple skin of Lori’s thigh, and she licked her lips in anticipation before shaking her head to clear the vision. “Why aren’t you offering food? Wouldn’t that tempt the cat more?”
“Cat food stinks,” Lori said.
“And shit doesn’t? Lori Harring, do you have a kink I don’t know about?” Marti teased.
Lori drew her head back inside the office. “If I say yes, would you finally go out on a date with me?”
“No. Why are you asking me? Why have you started asking me out on dates?” Marti was very matter-of-fact. She refused all of Lori’s advances. Marti had already lost two secretaries to her own lust and toxic behavior. She did not want to lose this one.
“My therapist said I should–”
“Therapist?”
“Yes, therapist. She said understanding oneself, including attributes and inclinations, guides the choice of joys to pursue. Confidence in one’s competence shapes how individuals approach joys, work towards progress, and respond to challenges related to those joys,” Lori said.
“Inclinations?” Marti asked.
“Within the paradigm of humanistic psychology, which places a central emphasis on the realization of one’s inherent potential and personal development, the acknowledgment and acceptance of individual inclinations are posited as pivotal mechanisms that engender authenticity,” Lori said.
“Riiiight,” Marti replied. She had tuned out as soon as Lori started talking about paradigms and not sexual inclinations. “Get the box of crap out of my office, now.”
Lori reluctantly grabbed the litter box and moved it into her own office. “Not good enough,” Marti said. She took another drag and shook her finger. “No cat shit anywhere in Martina Starova Investigations.”
Lori cautiously carried the green plastic box of sand and feces out of the office. “Fine, but don’t blame me if the cat gets hit by a car or something,” she said over her shoulder on the way out to the garbage dumpster.
Marti turned back to her work. The paper coffee cup sat cooling on Marti’s desk, her coffee’s bitterness a counterpoint to the treacle taste of her current case. Marcel Dupont owned the esteemed “L’Étoile d’Argent” restaurant. He’d sought her help to combat a slew of malicious reviews that had marred his establishment’s reputation. The accusations ranged from dubious ingredient choices to unfounded criminal connections.
Marti’s focused gaze scoured the reviews on her screen. One authored by the anonymous “GourmetCritique55,” struck her as potentially defamatory.
“Last week, I hit up this place called L’Étoile d’Argent. Belmont Heights spent centuries building their reputation, and this place torched it in one disgusting appetizer. Seriously though, you wouldn’t even believe it–they’re whipping out bread with a green mold creeping on it. No joke, it’s a total horror show; the stuff of nightmares in broad daylight! Right after eating there, my stomach went on its own rebellion: think of a critical case of food poisoning. If dumpster fire had an address, then L’Étoile d’Argent would be ground zero–a disaster zone where good dining goes to die.”
It sounded like a damned teenager and completely unimportant. With a shrug, Marti saved the review into a folder. Boring. But it paid the bills.
The monotony of sifting through GourmetCritique55’s endless reviews about L’Étoile d’Argent gnawed at Marti’s patience. She combed through the digital maze, bored and indifferent. The allure of Shadow whispered to her, promising a temporary escape from the tedium. “I can’t do this,” she said as she got out of her chair.
“Lori, I’m heading to that restaurant. I’m going to expense it, since, you know, work,” Marti said with a laugh. “I’ll call you on my way over. You figure out what I should eat.”
On the drive over, Marti had Lori advise her what kind of food to order. “Don’t order booze. You have to drive. Plus, it’s expensive,” Lori cautioned. “You want watercress soup, a quiche, and a salad. They’ll provide bread.”
“Thanks.” Marti took a last drag off her cigarette and dropped it into a coffee cup that served as a car ashtray. Parking in the restaurant’s lot, she got out of the car.
Marti opened the trunk and rifled through a duffel bag of clothes. She found a bright purple shirt–wrinkle-free, of course–and, with a quick look around, doffed her t-shirt and put on the fresh shirt. Leaving her t-shirt and jacket in the trunk, she headed into L’Étoile d’Argent.
Marti walked up to the hostess desk and smiled. “For one,” she said.
The woman smiled back and pushed her glasses up her nose. “One. This way, please,” she said, gathering a menu and leading Marti through the tables. There were only a few empty tables. “Is this okay?” the hostess asked.
“Yes, thanks.”
“Any time,” she said as she put the menu on the table. She put her hand on Marti’s shoulder as she walked past. Marti scanned the menu as she waited for the server. He wasn’t long in coming.
“Hello, my name is Hamilton. Welcome to L’Étoile d’Argent, your afternoon star. Can I get you something to start?” Hamilton raised an inquisitive brow. A habit he picked up from years in the theater before becoming a server here.
“A coffee,” Marti answered, her eyes darting to the menu. She paused as the silence inflated between them.
Hamilton’s eyes roamed over Marti, taking in her looks, before he averted his gaze to the menu she was holding. “We have a special blend that I think you’ll love,” Hamilton suggested, his voice smooth and alluring.
Marti nodded, not even bothering to look up from the menu. As he walked away to prepare her coffee, she looked for the menu items Lori had recommended.
When Hamilton returned with her coffee, he leaned a little too close, brushing her arm. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asked, his voice low and seductive.
Marti felt a shiver of revulsion run down her spine. “What?”
Hamilton smirked, believing in his unabashed sexiness. “If you want me, just whistle,” he said before walking away, leaving Marti to contemplate the dangerous thoughts swirling in her mind. Thoughts like If I had my gun I’d probably shoot him, and I think I will whistle for that asshole.
Marti stuck her fingers in her mouth, pressed against her tongue, and let out an ear-piercing whistle.
“I’ll have the watercress soup, quiche, and French leaf salad please, Hamilton,” she said when he arrived. “And a whiskey. Please.”
With that, he was gone, leaving Marti with nothing but the echo of her orders. Her choice bewildered her; she had no idea what watercress tasted like and her experience with quiche was limited to bleary Sunday morning cooking shows. As for French leaf salad, well…
Her mind lost in thought, Marti watched as customers moved smoothly among the tables, mouthing ‘Hello’ to others and giving small waves. They navigated this world effortlessly while she felt like an alien.
Except for Henry fucking Gardner. What was that piece of shit doing here? Marti glared at him from across the restaurant, though he remained oblivious to her. Henry and…who the fuck was he with? Marti didn’t recognize any of them, other than general thug faces. Broken nose here, cauliflower ear there.
She’d been hired to find Henry after he disappeared. Daddy Kevin wasn’t happy that Henry kidnapped and assaulted Marti. He was even less happy to find out Henry was selling his drug recipes to the competition.
Gotta love family loyalty. At least Kevin hadn’t killed his son. Yet.