You know that feeling when you pick up a book expecting a standard, polite romance and instead you get a poisoned frying pan to the head? That’s basically the experience of reading Agnes and the Hitman. It’s messy. It’s loud. It’s filled with enough pasta to feed a small army and enough dead bodies to keep a forensic team busy for a month.
Back in 2007, Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer did something that shouldn’t have worked. They mashed together two genres that usually stay in their own lanes: the cozy, domestic romantic comedy and the gritty, high-stakes military thriller. Usually, when authors collaborate, you can see the "seams" where one person stopped writing and the other started. But with this book, the seams are part of the charm. It’s a chaotic, beautiful car wreck of a novel that somehow manages to be one of the most comforting things I’ve ever read.
Honestly, I think about this book every time I’m stressed. There’s something deeply cathartic about a woman who is just done with everyone's nonsense.
The Chaos of Agnes Crandall
Agnes Crandall is a food writer. She’s also a woman whose life is currently a dumpster fire. Her house is being foreclosed on, her ex-husband is a nightmare, and she’s trying to organize a wedding for a friend’s daughter in the middle of a literal hurricane of bad luck.
And then there’s the hitman.
Shane is everything you’d expect from a Bob Mayer character. He’s professional, he’s lethal, and he has zero patience for civilian drama. He’s sent to protect Agnes because, as it turns out, her house contains something very valuable that some very dangerous people want. The dynamic between them isn't your typical "damsel in distress" situation. Agnes is more likely to hit an assassin with a heavy skillet than wait for Shane to save her.
That’s the brilliance of Agnes and the Hitman. It subverts the trope of the protector. Shane is constantly baffled by Agnes. He’s used to clear-cut missions with tactical objectives. He is not used to a woman who insists on finishing a sauce while a sniper is aiming at the kitchen window.
The pacing is breathless. One minute you’re reading about the nuances of a perfect vinaigrette, and the next, there’s a shootout in the driveway. Crusie’s influence brings the wit and the emotional depth, while Mayer handles the tactical movements and the body count. It shouldn’t fit. It should feel disjointed. Instead, it feels like a real, frantic week in the life of someone who is way over their head.
Why the Humor Actually Lands
A lot of books try to be "wacky." Usually, that just means the characters act like idiots for no reason. In this book, the humor comes from the sheer absurdity of the situation being treated with total gravity.
Take the frying pan.
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Agnes uses a cast-iron skillet as a weapon. It’s not a "cute" gimmick. She’s genuinely terrified and angry, and it’s the closest thing she has to a club. When she uses it, the consequences are real. There’s a scene early on where she defends herself, and the aftermath isn't played for laughs in a "tee-hee" kind of way; it’s played as a "holy crap, did she just do that?" moment.
The dialogue is sharp. It’s fast. It’s the kind of banter that reminds you of 1940s screwball comedies, but with more profanity and Glock 17s.
- "I'm a hitman, Agnes."
- "Well, I'm a food writer, Shane. We all have our crosses to bear."
That kind of dry, cynical back-and-forth is the backbone of the relationship. They don't fall in love because of a "magic spark." They fall in love because they’re the only two people in the house who aren't completely incompetent.
The Weirdly Specific World-Building of the Lowcountry
The setting is South Carolina, and the authors lean hard into the atmosphere. You can almost feel the humidity and smell the marshes. It’s not the postcard version of the South; it’s the version where everything is slightly damp, the bugs are the size of birds, and everyone has a family secret that involves someone’s third cousin and a missing trunk of money.
The supporting cast is massive. Usually, I hate this. I get confused about who is who. But here, every eccentric relative and bumbling criminal feels distinct. You have the "Carpenter Mafia," a group of local guys who are supposedly there to fix the house but mostly just hang around and eat. You have the wedding party from hell. You have the various hitmen and goons who keep showing up only to realize they’ve walked into a madhouse.
It’s a "closed room" mystery in some ways, even though the room is a large, decaying estate. The isolation of the setting adds to the tension. Once the bridge goes out and the storm hits, they’re stuck. It's Agnes, Shane, a nervous dog, and a dozen people who might be trying to kill them.
The Realistic Side of the Romance
People often dismiss romantic thrillers as fluff. But Jennifer Crusie has always been a master of writing women who have actual lives and actual problems. Agnes isn't twenty-two. She isn't a blank slate for the reader to project onto. She has a history, she has insecurities about her weight and her career, and she has a very low tolerance for being lied to.
Shane is also refreshing. He isn't a "secretly soft" guy who just needs a hug. He’s a professional killer who happens to have a code of ethics. He respects Agnes because she’s good at what she does. He doesn’t try to change her or tell her to stay in the kitchen (well, he tries, but he gives up quickly).
Their chemistry is built on competence. There is nothing sexier in this book than two people who are both experts in their respective fields—even if those fields are "sautéing onions" and "tactical extraction"—working together to solve a problem.
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What Most People Miss About the Plot
If you look at the reviews for Agnes and the Hitman, you’ll see people complaining that the plot is too convoluted. And yeah, it’s a lot. There’s a missing treasure, a long-standing family feud, a corrupt land deal, and a wedding to plan.
But that’s the point.
Life doesn't stop because you're in a thriller. If a hitman showed up at your house today, you’d still have to worry about your bills or your annoying neighbors or the fact that you have a deadline at work. The book captures that specific brand of "everything happening at once" anxiety. It’s not a streamlined narrative because life isn't streamlined.
The "MacGuffin"—the thing everyone is looking for—is almost secondary to the way the characters react to the search. It’s a character study masquerading as a heist novel.
Dealing With the "Darker" Elements
Despite the humor, this isn't a "cozy mystery." People die. The violence is often sudden and jarring. This tonal shift is what usually trips people up. You’ll be laughing at a joke about a pink bridesmaid dress, and then someone gets shot.
This contrast is deliberate. It keeps the stakes high. If the villains were just cartoon characters, Shane wouldn't be necessary. The fact that the threat is real makes Agnes’s bravery actually mean something. She’s not "sassy" for the sake of it; she’s fighting for her life and her sanity.
How to Get the Most Out of Reading It
If you’re going to dive into this book for the first time, or if you’re planning a re-read, here is how you should approach it:
First, don't try to track every single character's motivation right away. Just let the chaos wash over you for the first fifty pages. Once the "sides" are established, it becomes much easier to follow.
Second, pay attention to the food. Crusie is a known foodie, and the descriptions of what Agnes is cooking are literal torture if you’re reading on an empty stomach. The food isn't just window dressing; it’s Agnes’s way of exerting control over an uncontrollable world. It’s her weapon, her shield, and her love language.
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Finally, look for the subtle ways Crusie and Mayer poke fun at their own genres. There are moments that parody the typical "macho" military book and moments that poke fun at "women's fiction" tropes. It’s a very meta experience if you’re a frequent reader of either author.
Practical Takeaways for Your Bookshelf
If you’ve finished Agnes and the Hitman and you’re looking for that same "high-octane snark" energy, you aren't going to find many perfect matches. This was a lightning-in-a-bottle collaboration. However, you can branch out into the authors' solo works to see which flavor you liked more.
If you loved the wit and the female lead's internal monologue, go for Jennifer Crusie’s Bet Me. It doesn't have the hitmen, but it has the same sharp dialogue and focus on food.
If you loved the tactical details and the sense of impending doom, Bob Mayer’s Area 51 series or his military thrillers under the name Robert Doherty will give you that fix, though they lack the romantic comedy elements.
For a similar "genre-mash" feel, you might also look into Janet Evanovich’s early Stephanie Plum novels, though they lean much more into the slapstick side and have significantly lower stakes than Agnes's situation.
Next Steps for the Interested Reader
To truly appreciate the craft behind this book, track down a copy of the Crusie/Mayer collaboration blogs or interviews from the mid-2000s. They used to talk extensively about their "Tag-Team" writing process—where they would literally mail chapters back and forth, often trying to "trap" the other author in a difficult plot point just for fun. Understanding that the authors were essentially playing a game of narrative chicken adds a whole new layer of enjoyment to the reading experience.
Check your local used bookstore or digital platforms for the 2007 St. Martin’s Press edition. While there have been reprints, the original cover art perfectly captures the "domesticity meets danger" vibe that the story excels at. Once you've read it, pay attention to how many modern "romantasy" or "romantic suspense" novels owe a debt to the structural risks this book took nearly twenty years ago.