I wanted to like this book more than I did. The premise was compelling: Jake Foster, a fertility specialist who can't get his wife pregnant accidentally stumbles upon the possible cause of a big jump in infertility cases in Boston, while his ER-doctor wife is also puzzling over a sudden influx of odd deaths. Their search pits them against a greedy rich guy who is trying to increase his fortune by dosing consumer goods with pheromones that cause people to buy his products. But here's the deal: when the story is really good, really fun, I can suspend belief and buy the idea that an 'everyman' ordinary guy can match wits (and physical ability) with a really really bad guy trying to kill him. That wasn't the case here. The book kept my attention, but I kept feeling frustrated that I was being asked to believe one ludicrous situation after another - for example, that the guys orchestrating it all would really think that they could leave a trail of bodies and nobody would connect the dots; and that hey! this guy is a fertility specialist, but fortunately he minored in electrical engineering and his dad was an engineer, so he knew exactly how to connect a video camera to the sound board being used at a shareholders' meeting, in order to show a video that would expose the bad guys -- oh! and it was a video that his wife had the presence of mind to make even while their lives were in extreme jeopardy. In addition, there were several copy-editing errors ("compound G was a odorless...") and another place that described a man hitting another one with "his open fist." Finally, in a climactic scene where the maniacal killer met his doom, a "small vinyl bag" was apparently large enough to contain a screwdriver so big that it entered the bad guy's back, went through his body and exited just below his sternum. A pretty big screwdriver, indeed in that "small vinyl bag." I'm being really picky, right? To be fair, I'll read another novel by Ben Mezrich and see if I like it better than I did this one.