In my life I've flung perhaps a handful of books at the wall.
This is one of them; it's the worst book I've read in years - it's excruciatingly bad - and after 40 pages I'd had enough.

It's like someone intended to write a Dashiell Hammett hard-nosed quip-ass story, but then had the brain-fart that Mills & Boon was the place to go for good characterisation, wit and plot development, and daytime soaps are where realistic dialogue paraded itself in all its finest, grittiest glory. It's so utterly bad it's beyond contempt - anyone who's just migrated from Enid Blyton looking for something more grown up to read will be insulted.