You should never start reading in the middle of a book series. But you should also never write in multiple genres before finding your audience, and I did that too, so what the heck.
But Doc Hardesty, American living in Mexico and sort-of retired mercenary, isn’t the main focus of most of this story, at least not at first. Instead it’s about Dancy, a rich debutant visiting Mexico with her over-his-head drug dealing husband. The husband has made a deal to turn Dancy over to a Mexican drug lord, who will use her and then have her killed.
But everyone underestimates Dancy, starting with the two underling kidnappers she beats up with a tennis racket—while naked. Soon Dancy has taken over the cartel herself, leaving a trail of death and destruction behind her, while Hardesty hires on to track her down.
“For Your Damned Love” reminds me of the old James Bond style spy books: full of sex and action (in this case much of it graphic), but also lyrical descriptions of exotic settings. You get a real feel for the territory, and it’s clear Linton Robinson knows Mexico. There also philosophical discussions that slow the story down, sometimes to a crawl. But here’s the thing: All the set pieces and talks about music and communism are so entertaining, and done so well, that going through them isn’t so much of a wade as a respite from the one-woman disaster squad.
In the end Mexico becomes a character, every bit as much as Hardesty, the chaos-loving Dancy, and the doomed men who circle around her. It’s not the kind of thing that would fly in the publishing world today … and maybe that’s what’s wrong with the publishing world today.