Private Sydney by James Patterson and Kathryn Fox
Everyone knows Patterson is a franchise farmer. I have no idea which of his books he’s actually writing these days. I suspect just the Alex Cross ones. And the others, he’s farming out like a professor signing off on grad student research or a painter who trained a whole legion of copycats. I mean, that’s his bread and butter.
But Private is even more bananafuck than that. I’ve bitched about this before. Anyway, Private Sydney is his second Private book in Australia after Private Oz/Down Under. Except with a new author. So guess guy one wasn’t selling enough. At least he didn’t do what he did with the only other Private book to get a sequel — Private Games, where he fucking murdered off the entire old Private office and completely refurbed it with a new staff. This time, same folks give or take.
Ugh. So the main mysteries, there are three. One, someone broke into Private’s offices maybe and fucked with their phones and computers maybe. Two, a couple shows up to get a background check on a surrogate, only to have the surrogate murdered and their identities prove false. Three, a wealthy CEO completely disappears — and I mean completely in that there is no record at all of him on the internet or in major files. So this is what our intrepid heroes must search out.
Just once. JUST ONCE. Could we not have the main male character fall hopelessly in love with the client? Just once. PLEASE, Jimmy P. PLEASE. I don’t know if it’s the formula that man must girl, but c’mon. The mysteries are actually relatively decent, if not just straight boilerplate. Patterson makes his burgerbooks the same way, and this one is just microwaved and flame broiled. Really, the Private series makes me wonder if it’s even worth following. It’s frustrating as fuck, with co-author swaps and no particular schedule. Next up is yet ANOTHER Private office, Private Paris. I don’t know if we’ll get any Asia offices or maybe after the Olympics some South American offices. Private Rome was rumored, but probably not. I don’t know. I’ll read them. Cause I’m a fat asshole.