What a migraine. This Abegail Haas person could have saved some energy--both hers and her readers--by not writing this full-length novel brimming with cardboard-cutout characters, plot twists as old as dinosaurs, and ultimately, a concept as overused as a hooker. I would have given this remission if this was a short story. Well, a better-written one, that is. I stopped at sixty-three percent and skipped to the last two chapters. I just couldn't care who killed the whore.