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Cross Roads (Sisterhood Series #18)
     

Cross Roads (Sisterhood Series #18)

3.9 144
by Fern Michaels
 

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The Sisterhood Will Not Be Broken

It's been a year and a half since the women of the Sisterhood received their presidential pardons, but the freedom they craved has come at a high price. The impossibly lucrative positions handed out to them by the mysterious Global Securities company have turned out to be golden handcuffs—scattering them around the

Overview

The Sisterhood Will Not Be Broken

It's been a year and a half since the women of the Sisterhood received their presidential pardons, but the freedom they craved has come at a high price. The impossibly lucrative positions handed out to them by the mysterious Global Securities company have turned out to be golden handcuffs—scattering them around the world, cutting off communication, and leaving them in miserable isolation.

But a happy homecoming at the old Virginia farmhouse is marred by the hijacking of Nikki and Kathryn's private jet. It seems their few fellow passengers are not ordinary travelers—they're an elite group of Interpol agents who urgently need the Sisterhood's help. Now the ladies face a stark choice: resume their vigilante status for one of their most hazardous assignments yet, or try to outwit a group of powerful adversaries willing to use truly desperate measures. This time, everything is in the balance—their lives, their friendship, and the freedom they fought so hard to gain.  .  .

Praise for Fern Michaels and her Sisterhood novels.  .  .

"Revenge is a dish best served with cloth napkins and floral centerpieces.  .  .fast-paced.  .  .puts poetic justice first."—Publishers Weekly on Payback

"Delectable.  .  .deliver[s] revenge that's creatively swift and sweet, Michaels-style."—Publishers Weekly on Hokus Pokus

Editorial Reviews

bn.com
The Barnes & Noble Review
Beginning in the mid-1980s, T. Jefferson Parker has been one America's most intelligent, consistently reliable crime writers. His eight previous novels, which include the Edgar-nominated Red Light, constituted a singular achievement that is enhanced even more by the addition of Silent Joe.

Silent Joe bears a clear -- and clearly acknowledged -- resemblance to Jonathan Lethem's Motherless Brooklyn. Parker's hero, Joe Trona (a spiritual analogue of Lethem's Lionel Essrog), is horribly scarred in infancy when his drunken father pours battery acid on his face. Joe then spends five years in an orphanage before being adopted by Will and Maryann Trona. When we first encounter him, he is 24 years old and possesses an unshakable loyalty to his adoptive parents. By day, Joe works as a sheriff's deputy. By night, he serves as his father's bodyguard, accompanying Will -- an Orange County supervisor -- on his nocturnal rounds.

Early on, an enigmatic night mission goes spectacularly wrong when unidentified gunmen murder Will Trona. Wracked by guilt, Joe initiates an investigation into his father's secret life and the surprising circumstances behind his death. His investigation encompasses a fraudulent kidnapping, several related deaths, numerous acts of blackmail, and the gradual revelation of a wide-ranging conspiracy involving a powerful cabal of Orange County business and political leaders. Along the way, Joe uncovers previously hidden aspects of his father's character, fumbles his way into the first romantic relationship of his life, and discovers the truth about his own mysterious origins.

Silent Joe is a remarkable novel that features a compelling and constantly evolving protagonist. Beneath his damaged exterior and well-mannered, carefully constructed persona, Joe Trona conceals a first-rate intellect and a highly developed sensibility, qualities that become increasingly evident as events unfold. Through Joe, Parker examines complex issues of love and loyalty, faith and family, ethics and personal identity, all within the context of a gripping, suspenseful narrative. Silent Joe is contemporary crime fiction at its absolute best. I urge you to give it a try. (Bill Sheehan)

Bill Sheehan reviews horror, suspense, and science fiction for Cemetery Dance, The New York Review of Science Fiction, and other publications. His book-length critical study of the fiction of Peter Straub, At the Foot of the Story Tree, has been published by Subterranean Press (www.subterraneanpress.com).

Los Angeles Times
A pro, that's what T. Jefferson Parker is. His plots are intricate, keenly crafted, clearly mapped . . .
Wall Street Journal
T. Jefferson Parker, whose affecting Silent Joe is . . . full of quirks and great surprises.
Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Parker (Red Light) lowers the volume from his usual roar and adds a subtle backbeat to this bittersweet thriller about a man's anguished search for his father's killer. Joe Trona is a dutiful son, but horrible facial scars have made him an outcast. He lived in an orphanage until he was adopted at five by Will Trona, a powerful politician in Southern California's Orange County. As a hulking teenager and later as a young man, Joe became Will's right-hand man running errands, extracting revenge on enemies, protecting his flank all the while living a lonely life because of his disfigurement. One night, Joe drops his guard for a moment, and Will is gunned down. Despite aggressive investigations by the FBI and sheriff's department, Joe seeks his own vengeance. He starts sifting through his father's life and gradually discovers that Will brokered secret deals, blackmailed enemies, had extramarital affairs and in his final days appeared to be involved in the kidnapping of an 11-year-old girl. Joe's investigation becomes a personal voyage, casting light on the dark corners of his own past and allowing him to start overcoming the crushing indignity that his injury has forced him to endure. Capped by a violent yet poignant finale, the plot is loaded with familiar Parker themes a faithless government, the heavy hand of big business and the corruption of the wealthy. Parker's tone, however, is more pensive this time. He crafts an intricately layered story reaching beyond his usual domain into more personal territory, at times evoking the work of Ross MacDonald. Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.
Library Journal
Silent Joe is a guy's mystery. It is full of fast cars, guns, macho men, and supportive women, all beautiful, of course. Twenty-four-year-old deputy Joe Trona bears the scars, physical and emotional, of a disfiguring childhood injury. He witnesses the murder of his adoptive father, a prominent Orange County, CA, politician and is determined to find and bring to justice those responsible. Joe is an interesting and compelling hero; his personal struggles and his attempts to solve the murder keep the listener actively engaged. The complex plot has many threads, which ultimately come together in a satisfying, if not surprising, conclusion. It features the dark side of the southern California scene, with corrupt government officials and businessmen, rival Asian gangs, illegal immigrants, and even a televangelist all playing a part. James Daniels does an excellent job with the large number of characters and effectively captures the somewhat dark mood. This very entertaining production is highly recommended for all popular audio collections. Christine Valentine, Davenport Univ., Kalamazoo, MI Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.
When he was nine months old, his father poured acid on his face, scarring Joe for life. For the next four years, Joe lived in an orphanage until Will and Mary Ann Trona adopted him. Twenty years later, Joe works as a jailer for the Orange County prisons system and as a driver-bodyguard for his beloved father Will, now a county superintendent. Joe drives Will to a dark area where the latter picks up a frightened twelve-year-old girl named Savannah. However, before they leave, gang members accost them, killing Will. Joe kills two of them while Savannah flees into the night. Joe quickly learns that the deadly Cobra Kings murdered Will. Joe finds out that Savannah was a kidnapping victim, but cannot see the link to Will. Feeling guilty over his failure to protect Will and a need to rescue Savannah, Joe begins to make inquiries. His investigation takes Joe way beyond the Cobra Kings to an uglier picture of his benefactor and a return to his own childhood nightmares. Silent Joe is a fabulously complex blending of psychological suspense with a private investigative tale that works because of the main character. The suspense-loaded story line centers on the heroic, but scarred (emotionally as much as his visage) Joe, who is learning more about himself, and his adoptive father and family even while deliberately stepping deeper into danger. T. Jefferson Parker always writes a page-turner, but this is the award-winning author's best novel and hopefully Joe will return for another engagement.
Kirkus Reviews
"The Acid Baby," the media dub him when his sociopathic father douses him with battery acid, ravaging half his face. But then little Joe gets lucky. He's adopted by Will and Mary Trona, who nurture, love, and salvage him. Though the emotional and physical scars are there to stay, Joe has become a young man of promise. Predictably shy about his face, Silent Joe is a bit more understated than most, but he's smart, competent, and eager to follow in the footsteps of Will, who was a cop for 20 years before widening his horizons to become a rough-and-tumble politico in California's plush Orange County, a man with powerful friends and dangerous enemies. Though he depends on the adopted son who's become a cop himself, Will has his own penchant for playing each hand close to the vest. And one ominous night, when heavy money is disbursed to enigmatic figures and Will seems less than his confident self, Joe is filled with premonitory unrest. Events prove him right when Will stumbles into an ambush and is gunned down. Joe takes out two of the shooters but knows that the real killers are elsewhere, protected by money and influence. He knows as well-and soon everyone does-that he won't rest until he smokes them out. For all his taciturnity, Joe makes an eloquent and persuasive action hero. His story could have been pared down without harm, but, still, this is another highly professional score from a savvy veteran (Red Light).

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781420111927
Publisher:
Kensington
Publication date:
10/01/2010
Series:
Sisterhood Series , #18
Pages:
384
Sales rank:
164,991
Product dimensions:
5.40(w) x 8.20(h) x 1.00(d)

Read an Excerpt

Cross Roads


By FERN MICHAELS

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

Copyright © 2010 MRK Productions
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4201-2036-3


CHAPTER 1

Even though every light in the old farmhouse was on, it did nothing to dispel the gloom that seemed to shroud the house and its two occupants. Fragrant peach candles flickered on the dinner table, the crystal sparkled, and the delectable meal on fragile bone china sat basically untouched. Outside, a summer rain pounded on the roof and battered the ancient smoky windows.

"Myra, we need to talk," Charles said quietly.

"Hmmm, yes, I suppose we do. What would you like to talk about, Charles? It's raining outside. I always hated thunder, but I hate lightning even more. But then, you already know that, so there's no point in discussing it. Dinner is wonderful."

"How would you know? You haven't touched a thing on your plate. Close your eyes, Myra, and tell me what's on your plate."

"Roast beef," Myra snapped irritably.

"Wrong! It's pork tenderloin. You've always loved pork tenderloin."

"I used to love a lot of things, Charles. I'm sorry. We should just have had sandwiches and soup, or even just the soup."

"You wouldn't have eaten that, either," Charles snapped in return.

"What do you want me to say, Charles? I'm not trying to be difficult, it's just that ... I miss my family. You know what else, Charles? I'm sorry we got those pardons. I was happy on the mountain with the girls. I cry every time I think of them. I would give anything to have yesterday back."

"That's rather cavalier of you, Myra. The girls wanted their old lives back. They didn't want that outlaw life anymore. They wanted to get married and have families. Surely you can't fault them for that."

"Of course I don't fault them for wanting their old lives back. I was speaking for myself. It's been a year and a half, Charles! Do not, I repeat, do not tell me to get a hobby. I do not want a hobby."

"I never thought of knitting as a hobby, old girl. I'd love a hand-knitted sweater."

"Then go to town and buy one! I am too old to learn to knit, and I have arthritis in my fingers. Why are you deviling me like this? Why can't you just let me be miserable?"

"Because I love you, that's why. You're starting to act the same way you did when Barbara died, and you're scaring me. I can't go through that again, Myra, I just can't."

"Oh, Charles, no, that isn't going to happen. I'll get a handle on it, just give me some time. Just a little more time."

"Myra, a year and a half is a lot of time. We need to make some decisions here. We need to join the living, to get on with our lives. We can't keep marking time like this."

"No one needs me these days, Charles. Not even you. Somehow, you manage to keep busy helping the boys with Global Securities. There are just too many hours in the day to fill. I now know how Annie felt. There's nothing worse than not being needed.

"Those old, supposedly dear friends of mine from my other life have cut us dead. Nellie spends almost all day in therapy for her two hip replacements, and even when she's home, she's too tired to do anything but sleep. Pearl is out there somewhere doing her thing with the underground railroad. I volunteered my services, and she said that if she needed me, she'd call. Well, guess what, Charles, she hasn't called once. I don't want to be a pest where Lizzie and her new baby are concerned. She and Cosmo are so happy, they don't need me fussing around them even though they said their door is always open to us.

"I love it that Lizzie is just doing consulting work these days, and Cosmo is just on call in case some emergency crops up. They're such wonderful parents to Little Jack."

"Speaking of Little Jack, tell me again why we didn't go to Lizzie's baby shower at the White House?"

"Because it would have stirred things up, and I didn't want to ruin Lizzie's day. And it's the same reason we didn't go to Little Jack's christening. Isn't it wonderful how Lizzie and Cosmo donated all the gifts to Babies Hospital and to families who need all that baby gear? They've set up so many foundations for baby care, I can't count them anymore. I can't wait for them to come back to town. Just a few weeks, and we'll get to see Little Jack again."

"You're done with dinner, right?" Myra nodded. "Get your slicker. I have something I want you to see. If you don't come with me, I'm going to pick you up and carry you. Move it, old girl!"

Grumbling, Myra followed Charles out to the mudroom and donned her slicker and Wellingtons. She held his hand as they made their way to the barn. Inside, light blazed. The horses whickered softly at the intrusion. Somewhere deep in the barn, a dog growled. "Be quiet, don't make any fast moves or loud noises. Just stay with me.

"It's just me, Charles, Little Lady. I'm coming in. Remember what I said, Myra. Look!"

Myra looked down into a mountain of straw where a warm blanket had been spread. "I don't know what her name is or even how she got here, but here she is with her newborn pups. I found them this morning. I call her Little Lady — not that she's little, because she isn't."

"Ooooh, Charles!" Myra dropped to her knees in front of a magnificent golden retriever, who eyed her warily. She made no move to touch the mother or her pups. "Did you feed her, Charles?"

"I did, and she gobbled it all down. I'd like to bring her and the pups into the house if you don't mind. You know, just to keep an eye on her. I already called a vet, and he came out earlier this afternoon. Aside from being undernourished, Little Lady is fine. He gave me some nutrients and vitamins to give her. Like I said, it will be a lot easier to take care of them in the house."

"Of course it will, but you said we can't touch them. How will we get them into the house? Will Little Lady allow us to pick them up?"

"I don't know. I think that's up to you, Myra. She trusts me, but she doesn't know you yet. You have to make friends. Talk to her, see if she'll let you pet her. Touch is very important, so be gentle."

"It's so damp in here, Charles. That can't be good for the puppies. Find the wagon, the one we use to wheel in firewood. If you lift Lady and put her and the pups in it, we can cover them with a tarp and scoot right back to the house. We can build a fire in the living room even if it is July and make a bed for all of them. That's a good idea, isn't it, Charles?"

Charles beamed. "Splendid idea, old girl. Now why didn't I think of that?"

"Because I'm a mother, and you aren't," Myra said as she stroked the golden's head. "I don't think there's anything more beautiful in the whole world than a new baby or a new puppy or kitten. What are you waiting for, Charles, Little Lady is shivering."

Forty minutes later, the air-conditioning in the house was turned off and a fire was blazing in the humongous fireplace. Old, worn, soft blankets were spread close to the hearth but not too close, in case a spark eluded the fire screen. Mother and pups were settled within minutes. A bowl of real food was set out for Little Lady, who gobbled it down within seconds. When she was finished, she used her snout to move the bowl away from the blanket, then she offered up her paw to Myra, who dutifully shook it.

"I think you have your family, old girl," Charles said.

Myra looked up at her husband, her eyes misty with tears. "Whatever would I do without you, Charles? You always make it come out right somehow. But what happens when these little creatures don't need me?"

"An animal always needs a human, Myra. That's a given. And for your help, you get undying love and devotion. They'll never leave you until it's their time. Can you handle that?"

Something sparked in Myra's eyes. "I'm a mother, Charles, and mothers can handle anything that comes their way."

Charles turned away to hide his smile. "Well then, there you go. If you have the situation under control, I think I'll head back to the kitchen to clean up. And then I have some work I need to finish. If you need me, just give a shout."

"Before you head down to the dungeons, I could use some coffee. It's going to be a long night, and I have a lot of stories to tell Little Lady, so she'll feel she belongs. She is ours, isn't she?" Myra asked anxiously.

"Damn straight she's ours, and so are those pups," Charles said. He didn't see any need to tell Myra the vet had brought Little Lady and her pups out to the barn yesterday. He'd called ahead when Little Lady's elderly owner passed away two days ago and asked Charles to take the dog and her pups. Sensing this was the solution to Myra's problem, he'd jumped at the chance, hoping his few little white lies to Myra would never come back to haunt him. He whistled now as he started to tidy up the kitchen.

It was so nice to have a family again.


Three thousand miles away, Annie de Silva was walking around the floor of the Babylon Casino. The customers ignored her as they feverishly dropped money into the slot machines or plunked down chips at the tables. Not so the casino staff. They imperceptibly straightened their shoulders, stood a little taller, their sharp-eyed gazes wheeling around the floor like random ricochets. Everyone learned from day one that Annie de Silva was hell on wheels, that she kicked ass and took names later. They learned it because Annie de Silva herself told them so and warned each and every one of them not to bring it to a test.

From time to time she would stop at a table or slot machine and, if the customer seemed amenable, strike up a conversation. She liked to know the people who frequented Babylon and loved hearing the nice things they said about the establishment she and Fish owned. She especially loved the seniors who came on bus trips for the free luncheons and the twenty-five dollars in chips her people handed out. The business never made any money on the little groups, but the casino counted on the goodwill the program generated.

As she ambled about the floor, Annie's mind wandered. How much longer was she going to keep doing this? It was so old hat that she could do it in her sleep, and the thrill had been gone for a long time now. She felt her eyes start to burn as she thought about Myra and the girls, and wondered if they felt at loose ends the way she did.

She was sick and tired of lying to Myra and the girls about how happy she was, that she loved working in the casino and being with Fish. Well, she did sort of love being with Fish, more or less, but she was just as happy when he took off for days, sometimes weeks, at a time to work for Global Securities. Plus, she was starting to think there was something a little screwy where that organization was concerned. Well, one of these days she'd figure it out, but not right this moment. Homecomings with Fish were rather nice but a real letdown at times, too. The bloom, if there had ever been one, was definitely off the rose these days. There just wasn't one damn thing about this new life of hers that was exciting or spontaneous. Not a single damn thing.

Sad to say, owner or not, the staff here at Babylon merely tolerated her, and that was the bottom line. It was time to take a crack at sticking her nose into the Post. Maggie probably wouldn't like it, but then, Maggie was expendable, just like everyone else. Annie owned the damn paper. She'd stay just long enough to stir up some trouble, screw things up, then take off for other parts. That was her life these days.

Annie stopped now where a gaggle of seniors were arguing over the slot machines. She sat down on one of the chairs and listened to the heated exchange. Half of the group wanted to cash in the chips for money so they could put it toward something or other at the group home they lived in, and the other half wanted to play with it.

Annie looked enough like some of the members that she felt she could stick her nose into their business and offer some advice. Without stopping to think, she started to chat up one of the women with a tart tongue who wanted to cash in the chips.

"Before you make a decision," Annie said to the sharp-tongued woman, "you should all play the only slot machine on the floor that actually takes a chip." She craned her neck to see that machine, standing apart from all the others. The bells and whistles emanating from it were earsplitting. She pointed to it and watched all the little old ladies and stoop-shouldered men staring at it. One of the men, who claimed to have exceptional eyesight, bellowed that it cost ten dollars a turn. His partner with two hearing aids shouted that the jackpot was $1.8 million.

These startling declarations started a whole new round of arguing. "We have to pay tax on it if we win!"

"What would we do with all that money?"

"We could prepay our own funerals so our kids don't get stuck with the bills."

"How will we get all that money back to Culpepper, Virginia, without getting mugged?"

"Then everyone will want to be our new best friends and borrow money from us."

"Who's going to manage the money?"

Annie wanted to swat all of them. "Come along, ladies and gentlemen, you can watch me play. I'll warm up the machine for you."

"Who did you say you were again?" someone asked.

"I'm a gambling addict," Annie said cheerfully, leading the way to the machine that promised untold riches. Cell phone to her ear, Annie whispered instructions, then quickly turned off her phone. She looked upward and nodded in slow motion to the unseen eyes that saw everything that went on down below.

"Hit it!" the man with two hearing aids bellowed. Annie hit it with a chip from her pocket. Nothing happened. "Bummer," the man said.

Annie dropped another forty dollars before she turned the machine over to the members of the group home. Another hassle ensued as each of them kicked in a dollar. With two dollars to spare, it was decided that the group had to sign off on a scrap of paper that if they won, the money would be divided equally. Everyone signed their name, but it didn't solve the problem of the extra two dollars. Annie settled it by snatching the twelve dollar bills and shoving them in her pocket. She handed out two ten-dollar chips.

By this time, to Annie's dismay, a small group started to form around the famous slot machine as the seniors started to argue again about who was going to press the button that might or might not make them rich. "You all need to just shut up for one minute here!" Annie screeched to be heard over the bells and whistles. "You!" she said, pointing to a mousy little lady wearing a shawl and carrying a string bag. The lady stepped forward and flexed her fingers.

"Shouldn't we say a prayer or bless ourselves or something?" the man with two hearing aids queried.

"Absolutely!" Annie said through clenched teeth. She wished she was sitting in an office at the Post writing a grisly story about something or other, one that would win her a Pulitzer Prize.

The mousy lady dropped the chip into the slot and pressed the button.

"Well, so much for that!" someone groaned.

"You still have one more chip!" Annie shouted.

The mousy lady flexed her fingers, sucked in her breath, and pressed the red button.

Pandemonium broke loose as Annie backed off and headed away from the fast-approaching crowd descending on the famous slot machine.

Annie's private cell phone rang. She clicked it open and drawled, "Yes?"

"I heard what you just did, Countess de Silva!"

"I bet you did. What are you going to do about it, Fish? Not that I give a tinker's damn what you think."

"Nothing. I just wanted you to know I know. And to tell you I won't be home until next week."

"I'm fed up with this place. But I have to tell you, that was the best and worst ten minutes of my time since I've been here. I'm going to Washington tomorrow."

"You gonna screw up the paper now?"

"I am. I'm going to write op-ed pieces, cover the crap no one else wants, then I'll move on to exposés and win a Pulitzer, and by the time they kick me out, it will be time to come back here and start all over again. I-am-bored, Fish!"

Fish laughed. "You could start planning our wedding."

Annie started to sputter, but Fish clicked off in midsputter.


Maggie Spritzer sat behind her desk and thought about going home, but she really didn't want to do that. The house in Georgetown was empty, with only Ted's cats, Mickey and Minnie, in residence. She'd moved them into her house while Ted was away working for Global Securities. God, how she missed him.

She looked down at the ring on her left hand, then at the new acrylic nails she'd had put on once she kicked the very bad habit of chewing her nails. She hated the nails because they interfered with the keyboard when she was typing. She even had a French manicure that she had to keep up with, which also irritated her. The only alternative was to stop wearing the ring, remove the acrylic nails, and go back to the hateful habit of chewing her nails.

Maggie's door opened, and her secretary stuck her head in. "If you don't need me for anything, Maggie, I'd like to leave a little early."


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Cross Roads by FERN MICHAELS. Copyright © 2010 MRK Productions. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

FERN MICHAELS is the USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of the Sisterhood series, Mr. and Miss Anonymous, Up Close and Personal, and dozens of other novels and novellas. There are over seventy million copies of her books in print. Fern Michaels has built and funded several large day-care centers in her hometown, and is apassionate animal lover who has outfitted police dogs across the country with special bulletproof vests. She shares her home in South Carolina with her four dogs and a resident ghost named Mary Margaret.

Brief Biography

Hometown:
Summerville, South Carolina
Place of Birth:
Hastings, Pennsylvania
Education:
High School

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Cross Roads 3.9 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 144 reviews.
harstan More than 1 year ago
Eighteen months ago the members of the Sisterhood were able to celebrate the dissolution of their group when they received presidential pardons. Because of their skills honed while on the run, Global Securities hired all of them. The group has gone to different locations around the world. Coming from different parts of the world, each of the members is traveling to Virginia to attend a homecoming dinner. This being a Sisterhood gala, something must go wrong and does. Interpol operatives hijack a jet taking Nikki and Kathryn to the reunion. The agents give the Sisterhood a choice of carrying out their assignment or defeat desperate opponents who will do anything including leaving the country vulnerable. However, this being the Sisterhood, they are the queens of revenge and though apart still remain a Razor Sharp team as they will do things their way in this exciting thriller. Fans of the long running saga will enjoy this enthralling tale. Cross Roads is fast-paced and filled with action as the team reunites in their impeccable vigilante way. Harriet Kla
Linny99 More than 1 year ago
I just loved the entire series of the Sisterhood..each one made me feel like I was right there along with them on their ventures.I found I could not put this book or any of them down. Start with #1 and work your way up, they are awesome !!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Although none are as good as the first few in the series, I enjoy each episode of the Sisterhood Series. The characters are like family and I hate to have each book end.
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Enjoyed this series looking forward to the next book
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Marciline sits at her desk inside
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I love her writing, and really got hooked on the Sisterhood series....still many to read but the books an the stories are captivating...thank you ! snooks....
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