I must be getting grumpy in my old age, but I didn’t like this book at all.  A weird combination of a mystery who-done-it, a spy cloak and dagger story, and a psychological ‘why is this woman so screwed up’ story, it just didn’t work for me.  I think the key to any of these genres is that you have to care for the main character for them to work, and I just couldn’t stand Cassandra Bowen—a drink til you black out alcoholic, a ‘sleep with anyone without protection’ sexual athlete, a lousy friend, sister, aunt, etc.  With no redeeming characteristics, I found that I just didn’t care what happened to her as she became enmeshed in a Russian/U.S. game of spies, moles, turncoats, and violent killers.  Time to return to more serious fare!