Helpful Score: 1
This book annoyed me. Granted, there is a formula to the books in the Mira Romantic Suspense line, but this was too much, even for them.
McCall picks up characters for no reason, gets you into their head for a moment, and drops them like hot potatoes scattered from Brighton Beach to the town under White Mountain. Once they've served their purpose and move the plot along (the cop in Queens, the thieves in Italy), she never feels the need to even give them another moment. That would be fine if she hadn't brought you deeper than necessary in the first place. With others (the couple in Queens), you never quite feel like you know or care enough about them for the (supposed) emotional payoff at the end. Same goes for all of Isabella's "uncles." By the end, I still didn't know who was who.
As for the "mystery," I knew the answer to that almost immediately--she just about hit us over the head with hints to that, which she did explain at the end, but no hints as to why the precipitating event (murder/botched kidnapping) happened to begin with! We are still at a loss, and that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Back to character development for a moment. Why do Jack and Isabella fall in love? He sees a painting and she sees an unattached male with whom she didn't grow up. There has to be more, you say? So do I, but we're not privy to it. I was also offended that Jack decides to keep some very crucial information about Isabella from her forever; this just adds to my lack of respect for his lack of respect for her as an adult. Yes, it would be hard to hear, but she deserves to know the truth. Or, I should say that she would deserve to know the truth if the author had written her with any kind of self-respect. The woman NEVER stands up for herself, even when crimes are committed against her. She just moans and faints and leans on whatever male is handy. Yes, I understand she was raised by eight older and old-fashioned men, but come on, even when she says she's breaking out of her shell, it is more like knocking on the shell from the inside, and asking for Jack to break it down for her. Ugh.
McCall picks up characters for no reason, gets you into their head for a moment, and drops them like hot potatoes scattered from Brighton Beach to the town under White Mountain. Once they've served their purpose and move the plot along (the cop in Queens, the thieves in Italy), she never feels the need to even give them another moment. That would be fine if she hadn't brought you deeper than necessary in the first place. With others (the couple in Queens), you never quite feel like you know or care enough about them for the (supposed) emotional payoff at the end. Same goes for all of Isabella's "uncles." By the end, I still didn't know who was who.
As for the "mystery," I knew the answer to that almost immediately--she just about hit us over the head with hints to that, which she did explain at the end, but no hints as to why the precipitating event (murder/botched kidnapping) happened to begin with! We are still at a loss, and that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Back to character development for a moment. Why do Jack and Isabella fall in love? He sees a painting and she sees an unattached male with whom she didn't grow up. There has to be more, you say? So do I, but we're not privy to it. I was also offended that Jack decides to keep some very crucial information about Isabella from her forever; this just adds to my lack of respect for his lack of respect for her as an adult. Yes, it would be hard to hear, but she deserves to know the truth. Or, I should say that she would deserve to know the truth if the author had written her with any kind of self-respect. The woman NEVER stands up for herself, even when crimes are committed against her. She just moans and faints and leans on whatever male is handy. Yes, I understand she was raised by eight older and old-fashioned men, but come on, even when she says she's breaking out of her shell, it is more like knocking on the shell from the inside, and asking for Jack to break it down for her. Ugh.
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