The good news is that the author is a terrific writer. You want to keep reading because of the quality of the writing.
The bad news is the story has a hole in it the size of the Grand Canyon. It could be possible to read this story without paying too much attention to this ginomourous hole, but that wasn't the case for me. I kept screwing up my forehead at various plot turns, saying to myself "What?! That makes no sense!"
Kind of gets in the way of losing oneself in the plot.
So this wealthy-beyond-belief-but-otherwise-normal-guy (who has no name in the book, we never hear it nor does it come up in any dialogue or descriptions) decides after a heli-skiing accident he has himself and a diving accident a close friend has, that he now has a full blown phobia about having an accident and becoming incapacitated, unable to feed himself, clean himself, or day trade himself.
In conversations with what we imagine is going to be only a side character, Jimmy, our unnamed wealthy phobic discovers the presence of a bizarre, macabre and totally unique "insurance" company: these people, whom he calls the Death Angels (there are no business cards or websites to tell him their real name), will kill you if your life becomes unliveable. Or un-Liveable as it's often referred to, with a capital L.
So in a series of intricately thriller-ish encounters, our unnamed phobic meets with several of the confederates of this rogue killing company, all with elaborate scenes to discover if he's a secret agent of some kind, wired up with their electronic gadgetry or worse, subterfuge and complicated discussions about the philosophy of their business.
Finally he forks over the $one million deposit (there's more funds to come) and signs up. It's all been a little strange up to this point, as there's one meeting with the luscious Lizzie where she tells him the company don't actually want him as a client, but he finagles her through that tricky talk and manages to get himself "in". What a coup! But then he wants to argue the terms of their SOP, because, as he says "I like to do things my way".
Up to this point, I'm irritated but basically with it. He's mercurial, capricious, argumentative, egotistical. But I'm okay with that. I don't like the guy, but I can see how that all hangs together as a personality picture.
Then two things happen. One: a long lost son from a forgotten night of sex (it could not seriously be called passion, happening in the laundry on the washing machine and lasting seconds, as it did) in his youth turns up on his doorstep. A veritable genius at only 14, this kid steals his heart and then shoves it in the blender for maximum pain. That's all okay.
But two: he gets diagnosed with an inoperable brain aneuryism. Oh no! The terms of his agreement with the Death Angels are on the verge of being "activated" - if his health continues to deteriorate, he'll be on their active hit list, and should expect to be killed at any moment.
This is when it stops being merely irritating and becomes ludicrous. Our unnamed phobic then enters into a criss-cross-country charade, trying to outwit and outmanoeuvre the Death Angels so they won't kill him.
Huh?
He's just antied up $one million PLUS to receive this highly exclusive service that only the uber rich and mega discreet could ever afford. He's argued to be allowed "in", and won. But now he's gotten it, and it's happening, he's now running away from it. Riiiight.
Okay, so imagine this: I've invited a cleaning service over to clean my house, but now they are here - I can see the van outside -- I'm bolting the deadbolts and slamming the shutters so they can't get in. Oh yes - I ASKED them here. And I've paid them. But now they are The Enemy and should not be allowed to cross the threshold.
This massive hole in the story completely interfered with my ability to suspend belief and enjoy the rest of the story. I found our unnamed phobic insufferably stupid with this incongruency. It was just ludicrous to me that our unnamed phobic 'hero' would not only go to all this trouble to thwart the Death Angels, whom he had fought to get on the books of as a client, but set himself up as some sort of moral superior to them because he was evading them.
The author did a great job of making a thriller out of the rest of the story, as our protagonists (the luscious Lizzie comes along for the ride at this point) escape a snipers bullet in a tunnel in Colorado and avoid detection as they fly friend Jimmy's borrowed Lear aircraft into New Haven, and all the nutty escapades in between, before and after. This is how we can tell he's such a terrific writer - he turns a sows ear into a silk purse by getting us through this ludicrous lack of logic in the storyline.
It's part medical mystery, part sultry suspense, part action thriller. And a huge chunk of annoying nonsense.