Not the best thriller I’ve read lately. Two intertwined plots, one about a con artist escaping her recent mark and the other about a son trying to avenge his father’s death. It wasn’t terrible, but it was terribly predictable. Coupled with some ridiculous technology I found this difficult to finish. The highlight of silliness was a “bomb” with no explosive materials but instead ignites a chemical reaction inside the components of a CPU. Yeah, right. Not the worst book I’ve ever read, but far from the best.
First Sentence:
Harry Finn rose as usual at six-thirty, made coffee, let the dog out into the fenced backyard for its morning constitutional, showered, shaved, woke the kids for school and oversaw that complicated operation for the next half hour as breakfasts were gulped, backpacks and shoes grabbed and arguments started and settled.
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