Trust, maybe also verify … with your husband, not the random other woman.
11th Hour by James Patterson and Maxine Paetro lands solidly at four out of five stars for me mostly because I enjoy chaos, and this book delivered it in two neatly packed storylines. But before we get to the severed heads (yes, plural), we need to talk about Lindsay.
Look, I adore Lindsay Boxer, but in this one? For crying out loud, Lindsay. Grow up.
I found myself disappointed in how quickly she jumped to conclusions about Joe. I get it. Pregnancy hormones can turn even the sanest among us into caffeinated raccoons. But taking the alleged other woman’s word as gospel? Really? Sometimes “other women” lie, exaggerate, or, you know… exist only to stir the pot. It is unbelievable to me that Lindsay didn’t think to sit down with Joe and communicate like an actual adult. I thought that was the bare-minimum requirement for marriage. Communication. And maybe not accusing your husband of cheating based on a picture of him smiling at someone.
But fine. Let’s move on to the parts that didn’t make me want to yell into a pillow.
The dual storylines worked well here. The cop-turned-vigilante I understood. Even though I could definitely empathize given the life I have with my own son, he really went around the bend. He’s basically the cautionary tale in those Facebook memes: "Crochet. Because murder is wrong."
And then… the heads. Plural. Displayed like some bizarre suburban art installation, with no bodies anywhere to be found. Holy cow. That was the hook that dragged me through the book at a sprint. Every time Lindsay walked onto that property, I swear I held my breath like I was the one about to find head number eight.
Overall, I was glued to the page, even if I occasionally wanted to put Lindsay in a time-out chair and hand her a communication workbook. This was a solid entry in the series, just not my favorite version of my favorite detective.
