BN.com Gift Guide

Until Dark

( 16 )

Overview

From New York Times bestselling author Mariah Stewart comes a novel of sexy romantic suspense for fans of Nora Roberts, Catherine Coulter, and Karen Robards.

FACE TIME

A skilled compositor for the FBI, Kendra Smith has a way with witnesses, helping them to remember crucial details about their attackers they might otherwise have forgotten. She believes her work helps to provide closure for the victims and their...

See more details below
Paperback (Mass Market Paperback)
$7.99
BN.com price

Pick Up In Store

Reserve and pick up in 60 minutes at your local store

Other sellers (Paperback)
  • All (85) from $1.99   
  • New (6) from $4.41   
  • Used (79) from $1.99   
Until Dark

Available on NOOK devices and apps  
  • NOOK Devices
  • Samsung Galaxy Tab 4 NOOK 7.0
  • Samsung Galaxy Tab 4 NOOK 10.1
  • NOOK HD Tablet
  • NOOK HD+ Tablet
  • NOOK eReaders
  • NOOK Color
  • NOOK Tablet
  • Tablet/Phone
  • NOOK for Windows 8 Tablet
  • NOOK for iOS
  • NOOK for Android
  • NOOK Kids for iPad
  • PC/Mac
  • NOOK for Windows 8
  • NOOK for PC
  • NOOK for Mac
  • NOOK for Web

Want a NOOK? Explore Now

NOOK Book (eBook)
$7.99
BN.com price

Overview

From New York Times bestselling author Mariah Stewart comes a novel of sexy romantic suspense for fans of Nora Roberts, Catherine Coulter, and Karen Robards.

FACE TIME

A skilled compositor for the FBI, Kendra Smith has a way with witnesses, helping them to remember crucial details about their attackers they might otherwise have forgotten. She believes her work helps to provide closure for the victims and their families–closure that has eluded her for the eleven years since her brother was kidnapped, his body never found.

Determined to put her painful past behind her, Kendra throws herself into every case one hundred percent. Now she is called in to sketch the face of a man the press is calling the Soccer Mom Killer. It’s a difficult investigation made even harder by the presence of Special Agent Adam Stark, a man with whom she once had a brief, passionate affair. As the number of victims continues to rise, and with a killer always one step ahead, Kendra will learn a lethal lesson: You can run from the past, but you can’t hide. . . .

Read More Show Less

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“Mariah Stewart is fast becoming a brand-name author.”
Romantic Times

“A heart-pounding book that had me enthralled from the first page to the last.”
–CARLA NEGGERS
New York Times bestselling author of The Harbor
Publishers Weekly
Sketch artist Kendra Smith, the heroine of Mariah Stewart's (The President's Daughter, etc.) Until Dark, has experienced more than her share of sorrow: her father died of cancer, her brother and cousin are presumed murdered and her mother recently committed suicide. Still, she agrees to lend her skills when her ex-boyfriend, Special Agent Adam Stark, asks for her aid in searching for the Soccer Mom Killer, who targets blonde single mothers. The sexual chemistry between Adam and Kendra simmers on the back burner as they work the case, which may disappoint those looking for more sparks. But when Ian's watch shows up near one of the murder scenes and victims turn up bearing crosses and butterfly clips identical to the ones Kendra wears, tension of another sort heats up. Savvy readers may immediately suspect who the killer is, but this thriller packs a few extra punches for those who are overconfident in their powers of deduction. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Read More Show Less

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780345447401
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 12/2/2003
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 416
  • Sales rank: 595,600
  • Product dimensions: 4.16 (w) x 6.86 (h) x 1.07 (d)

Meet the Author

Mariah Stewart
Mariah Stewart is the bestselling author of eleven novels and three novellas. A RITA finalist for romantic suspense, she is the recipient of the Award of Excellence for contemporary romance, a RIO (Reviewers International) Award honoring excellence in women’s fiction, a Reviewers Choice Award from Romantic Times magazine, and a two-time recipient of the Golden Leaf Award for contemporary romance. A native of Hightstown, New Jersey, she lives in a Philadelphia suburb with her husband, two teenage daughters, and two rambunctious golden retrievers in a century-old Victorian country home where she’s neglecting her garden to work on her next book.
Read More Show Less

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

The old man took two steps back, then two more, until he was close to the middle of the one-lane dirt road. There he stood, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face, watching the painters tuck the last of their scaffolding into the rusty bed of an old pickup truck of indeterminable color. The only vehicle in a twenty-mile radius that might have been older than the painters’ was his own.

“So, what do you think?” The young woman stood on the bottom step of the front porch, the smile on her face a sure sign that she had a pretty good idea of what her elderly neighbor was thinking.

“Your grandfather be spinning in his grave, right at this very minute, that’s what I think.” He wagged a gnarled finger at her. “Old Jonathan be spinning out of control right down there where we laid him. Surely he is.”

“Now, Mr. Webb”—Kendra Smith bit back a grin and forced her most earnest expression—“what is it that you think my grandfather might object to?”

“Well, since you ask, let’s start right there with that purple door.” The cigar that Oliver Webb held jabbed at the air in the general direction of the house that was the object under discussion.

“It’s called aubergine. It means eggplant.” She came down off the step to stand next to him.

“Fancy word for purple.” He all but spit out the word. “What in the name of the Jersey Devil were you thinking? Painting the house green and the door purple!”

“I was thinking that the house has spent all of its two-hundred-plus years painted white.” She tucked an arm through his. “I was thinking it was time for a change.”

“Houses supposed to be white, maybe,” Oliver Webb said, perhaps with a little less bluster. “If in fact they need to be painted at all.”

“I like it, Mr. Webb.” Kendra tilted her head as if to study the paint job that had just about all of the 147 residents of Smith’s Forge, at the fringe of New Jersey’s Pine Barrens, lingering at the counter in MacNamara’s General Store for an extra ten or fifteen minutes just to talk about. “I like it a lot.”

“Be suiting you, then,” he grunted, and she knew he was softening, just as she’d known he would.

“Suits me just fine.” She smiled, disarming him.

“Hmmph.” Mr. Webb took a puff or two on his cigar. “Well, anyone come looking for you, you won’t be hard to find, that’s for sure.”

He knocked the ash off his cigar and climbed into the cab of his 1976 Chevy pickup. The passenger door no longer opened, and the flatbed was riddled with cancer, but it ran, and as far as seventy-eight-year-old Oliver Webb was concerned, running was all a pickup really had to do.

Still shaking his head, Webb made a U-turn and headed back toward the main road, which lay a mile or two through the pine trees. On his way, no doubt, to MacNamara’s, where he’d tell one and all that yes, indeed, Kendra Smith had painted the old Smith house two shades of green and he’d seen with his own eyes that the front door was purple and that was a fact.

Kendra shoved her hands into the pockets of her worn jeans and watched the painters clear the last of the paint cans from the foot of the drive, then waved as they crowded into their truck and drove off in a cloud of dust. She took one last leisurely stroll around the side of the house, admiring the way the darker shade of green set off the windows from the pale sage of the clapboard. The afternoon sun sent shadows across the new roof—now a sturdy gray—and played up the clean new look of the ancient siding. Pleased more than ever with her decision to have the old house painted, she went up the back steps and opened the door.

During the months since her decision to return to Smith’s Forge, to make the old house her own, she’d had the electrical wiring upgraded, the plumbing updated, and the pine floors refinished. She’d also toyed with the idea of central air-conditioning, but resisted rather than disturb the two-hundred-and-forty-year-old joists in the attic. There were some modern amenities that Smith House simply hadn’t been built to accommodate.

The brick fireplaces had all been cleaned and relined, the kitchen spruced up just a bit, and she’d even had some insulation tucked into the attic. Bringing the family furniture out of storage where the pieces had languished for years had given her particular satisfaction. Seeing the rooms as they had been when she was a child had brought her the first bit of peace since her mother’s death almost four years ago.

When Kendra’s ill-fated marriage had fallen apart over the past year, there was no question of where she’d go to lick her wounds. Once having returned to Smith’s Forge, she had no desire to leave, and so began the task of renovating the house to conform to her needs, just as her ancestors had done, each in their own time. Now that the last of the work was finished, she was ready, eager, to get back into the mainstream of life. She looked forward to once again feeling that zing when a new case caught her interest, the rush when she’d completed her task. The quiet satisfaction she got when her work helped some poor soul find closure.

She’d made a few phone calls earlier in the week, and late yesterday afternoon, her phone had rung with the request that she take on a job that was right up her alley. A packet of material would arrive within twenty-four hours, she’d been told. Could she begin work immediately?

Could she ever.

She slipped off her sandals and left them to one side of the front door, fighting back a slight twinge of conscience as she turned the lock. There wasn’t one resident of Smith’s Forge she wouldn’t trust with her life, and locking the door felt as if she was locking it against them. To Kendra, that smacked of mistrust. But years working as a sketch artist for various law enforcement agencies had given her an up close and personal view of the darkest side of human nature. Kendra had come to learn the value of taking those few basic steps to keeping all safeguarded and secure.

Step number one was keeping your home under lock and key, a sad but necessary commentary on modern times, even here, where in so many ways time had stood still. On her way out the back, she locked that door as well before slipping the key into her pocket.

The well-seasoned canoe that Kendra had dug out of the barn when she returned to Smith’s Forge lay facedown on the ground where she’d left it yesterday at just this time. She flipped it over, then pulled it forward with both hands, dragging it over forty feet of scrubby grass and pale gray sand to the bank of the stream.

Wonder what Oliver will have to say when I paint the barn to match the house, she mused as she slid the canoe into the stream, then waded after it, climbed in, and pushed off in the shallow water.

The stream, at a narrow point behind the Smith property, both widened and deepened gradually as it flowed toward the lake deep in the woods. Miles of tributaries of this river or that snaked through the Pines, sometimes merging before going their separate ways again. There were endless ways of becoming disoriented and lost in any one of them. Once Kendra had known these waterways well. Her father had been raised in this house, had explored these woods and streams in this same canoe, and had shared the beauty and the mystery of the Pine Barrens with his wife and his children. Summer vacations, spring breaks, fall weekends, winter holidays—at every opportunity, Jeff Smith had brought his family here, to the million acres that made up the Pine Barrens, the landscape that had changed so little since the first Smith had settled there.

While still a child, Kendra had been taught by her father how to find her way around the Pines. Now, as an adult, a novice once again, she had to learn her way alone. Every day she repeated the previous day’s run through the waterways, adding another mile or so to her trek, memorizing the natural landmarks. A right at the gnarled old cypress tree would bring her a mile and a half downstream from the next largest tributary of the river. Taking the left where the water forked would lead to the first of the lakes that lay beyond the marsh, one of several lakes that were born years ago when the river was dammed to create cranberry bogs. Once she had know it all as well as she knew the back of her hand. She was determined to learn it all over again, bit by bit, mile by mile.

Kendra reached her goal for the day—the point where the stream snaked past the old iron forge—and turned the canoe around to head back. It had been years since that last trip she’d made here with her father and her little brother. Ian had just turned four, and he’d amused himself by trailing his little fingers in the dark, tea-colored water as Kendra had helped paddle. Jeff Smith had been strong then, strong enough to paddle the canoe on his own, though he’d let Kendra lend a hand. Two months later, he was diagnosed with leukemia, and their whole world was turned on end. Seven years later, Ian, too, was gone, lost forever. And then her mother, Elisa . . .

Read More Show Less

First Chapter

Chapter One

The old man took two steps back, then two more, until he was close to the middle of the one-lane dirt road. There he stood, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face, watching the painters tuck the last of their scaffolding into the rusty bed of an old pickup truck of indeterminable color. The only vehicle in a twenty-mile radius that might have been older than the painters' was his own.

“So, what do you think?” The young woman stood on the bottom step of the front porch, the smile on her face a sure sign that she had a pretty good idea of what her elderly neighbor was thinking.

“Your grandfather be spinning in his grave, right at this very minute, that's what I think.” He wagged a gnarled finger at her. “Old Jonathan be spinning out of control right down there where we laid him. Surely he is.”

“Now, Mr. Webb”—Kendra Smith bit back a grin and forced her most earnest expression—“what is it that you think my grandfather might object to?”

“Well, since you ask, let's start right there with that purple door.” The cigar that Oliver Webb held jabbed at the air in the general direction of the house that was the object under discussion.

“It's called aubergine. It means eggplant.” She came down off the step to stand next to him.

“Fancy word for purple.” He all but spit out the word. “What in the name of the Jersey Devil were you thinking? Painting the house green and the door purple!”

“I was thinking that the house has spent all of its two-hundred-plus years painted white.” She tucked an armthrough his. “I was thinking it was time for a change.”

“Houses supposed to be white, maybe,” Oliver Webb said, perhaps with a little less bluster. “If in fact they need to be painted at all.”

“I like it, Mr. Webb.” Kendra tilted her head as if to study the paint job that had just about all of the 147 residents of Smith's Forge, at the fringe of New Jersey's Pine Barrens, lingering at the counter in MacNamara's General Store for an extra ten or fifteen minutes just to talk about. “I like it a lot.”

“Be suiting you, then,” he grunted, and she knew he was softening, just as she'd known he would.

“Suits me just fine.” She smiled, disarming him.

“Hmmph.” Mr. Webb took a puff or two on his cigar. “Well, anyone come looking for you, you won't be hard to find, that's for sure.”

He knocked the ash off his cigar and climbed into the cab of his 1976 Chevy pickup. The passenger door no longer opened, and the flatbed was riddled with cancer, but it ran, and as far as seventy-eight-year-old Oliver Webb was concerned, running was all a pickup really had to do.

Still shaking his head, Webb made a U-turn and headed back toward the main road, which lay a mile or two through the pine trees. On his way, no doubt, to MacNamara's, where he'd tell one and all that yes, indeed, Kendra Smith had painted the old Smith house two shades of green and he'd seen with his own eyes that the front door was purple and that was a fact.

Kendra shoved her hands into the pockets of her worn jeans and watched the painters clear the last of the paint cans from the foot of the drive, then waved as they crowded into their truck and drove off in a cloud of dust. She took one last leisurely stroll around the side of the house, admiring the way the darker shade of green set off the windows from the pale sage of the clapboard. The afternoon sun sent shadows across the new roof—now a sturdy gray—and played up the clean new look of the ancient siding. Pleased more than ever with her decision to have the old house painted, she went up the back steps and opened the door.

During the months since her decision to return to Smith's Forge, to make the old house her own, she'd had the electrical wiring upgraded, the plumbing updated, and the pine floors refinished. She'd also toyed with the idea of central air-conditioning, but resisted rather than disturb the two-hundred-and-forty-year-old joists in the attic. There were some modern amenities that Smith House simply hadn't been built to accommodate.

The brick fireplaces had all been cleaned and relined, the kitchen spruced up just a bit, and she'd even had some insulation tucked into the attic. Bringing the family furniture out of storage where the pieces had languished for years had given her particular satisfaction. Seeing the rooms as they had been when she was a child had brought her the first bit of peace since her mother's death almost four years ago.

When Kendra's ill-fated marriage had fallen apart over the past year, there was no question of where she'd go to lick her wounds. Once having returned to Smith's Forge, she had no desire to leave, and so began the task of renovating the house to conform to her needs, just as her ancestors had done, each in their own time. Now that the last of the work was finished, she was ready, eager, to get back into the mainstream of life. She looked forward to once again feeling that zing when a new case caught her interest, the rush when she'd completed her task. The quiet satisfaction she got when her work helped some poor soul find closure.

She'd made a few phone calls earlier in the week, and late yesterday afternoon, her phone had rung with the request that she take on a job that was right up her alley. A packet of material would arrive within twenty-four hours, she'd been told. Could she begin work immediately?

Could she ever.

She slipped off her sandals and left them to one side of the front door, fighting back a slight twinge of conscience as she turned the lock. There wasn't one resident of Smith's Forge she wouldn't trust with her life, and locking the door felt as if she was locking it against them. To Kendra, that smacked of mistrust. But years working as a sketch artist for various law enforcement agencies had given her an up close and personal view of the darkest side of human nature. Kendra had come to learn the value of taking those few basic steps to keeping all safeguarded and secure.

Step number one was keeping your home under lock and key, a sad but necessary commentary on modern times, even here, where in so many ways time had stood still. On her way out the back, she locked that door as well before slipping the key into her pocket.

The well-seasoned canoe that Kendra had dug out of the barn when she returned to Smith's Forge lay facedown on the ground where she'd left it yesterday at just this time. She flipped it over, then pulled it forward with both hands, dragging it over forty feet of scrubby grass and pale gray sand to the bank of the stream.

Wonder what Oliver will have to say when I paint the barn to match the house, she mused as she slid the canoe into the stream, then waded after it, climbed in, and pushed off in the shallow water.

The stream, at a narrow point behind the Smith property, both widened and deepened gradually as it flowed toward the lake deep in the woods. Miles of tributaries of this river or that snaked through the Pines, sometimes merging before going their separate ways again. There were endless ways of becoming disoriented and lost in any one of them. Once Kendra had known these waterways well. Her father had been raised in this house, had explored these woods and streams in this same canoe, and had shared the beauty and the mystery of the Pine Barrens with his wife and his children. Summer vacations, spring breaks, fall weekends, winter holidays—at every opportunity, Jeff Smith had brought his family here, to the million acres that made up the Pine Barrens, the landscape that had changed so little since the first Smith had settled there.

While still a child, Kendra had been taught by her father how to find her way around the Pines. Now, as an adult, a novice once again, she had to learn her way alone. Every day she repeated the previous day's run through the waterways, adding another mile or so to her trek, memorizing the natural landmarks. A right at the gnarled old cypress tree would bring her a mile and a half downstream from the next largest tributary of the river. Taking the left where the water forked would lead to the first of the lakes that lay beyond the marsh, one of several lakes that were born years ago when the river was dammed to create cranberry bogs. Once she had know it all as well as she knew the back of her hand. She was determined to learn it all over again, bit by bit, mile by mile.

Kendra reached her goal for the day—the point where the stream snaked past the old iron forge—and turned the canoe around to head back. It had been years since that last trip she'd made here with her father and her little brother. Ian had just turned four, and he'd amused himself by trailing his little fingers in the dark, tea-colored water as Kendra had helped paddle. Jeff Smith had been strong then, strong enough to paddle the canoe on his own, though he'd let Kendra lend a hand. Two months later, he was diagnosed with leukemia, and their whole world was turned on end. Seven years later, Ian, too, was gone, lost forever. And then her mother, Elisa . . .

Copyright© 2003 by Mariah Stewart
Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 16 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(7)

4 Star

(5)

3 Star

(3)

2 Star

(1)

1 Star

(0)

Your Rating:

Your Name: Create a Pen Name or

Barnes & Noble.com Review Rules

Our reader reviews allow you to share your comments on titles you liked, or didn't, with others. By submitting an online review, you are representing to Barnes & Noble.com that all information contained in your review is original and accurate in all respects, and that the submission of such content by you and the posting of such content by Barnes & Noble.com does not and will not violate the rights of any third party. Please follow the rules below to help ensure that your review can be posted.

Reviews by Our Customers Under the Age of 13

We highly value and respect everyone's opinion concerning the titles we offer. However, we cannot allow persons under the age of 13 to have accounts at BN.com or to post customer reviews. Please see our Terms of Use for more details.

What to exclude from your review:

Please do not write about reviews, commentary, or information posted on the product page. If you see any errors in the information on the product page, please send us an email.

Reviews should not contain any of the following:

  • - HTML tags, profanity, obscenities, vulgarities, or comments that defame anyone
  • - Time-sensitive information such as tour dates, signings, lectures, etc.
  • - Single-word reviews. Other people will read your review to discover why you liked or didn't like the title. Be descriptive.
  • - Comments focusing on the author or that may ruin the ending for others
  • - Phone numbers, addresses, URLs
  • - Pricing and availability information or alternative ordering information
  • - Advertisements or commercial solicitation

Reminder:

  • - By submitting a review, you grant to Barnes & Noble.com and its sublicensees the royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable right and license to use the review in accordance with the Barnes & Noble.com Terms of Use.
  • - Barnes & Noble.com reserves the right not to post any review -- particularly those that do not follow the terms and conditions of these Rules. Barnes & Noble.com also reserves the right to remove any review at any time without notice.
  • - See Terms of Use for other conditions and disclaimers.
Search for Products You'd Like to Recommend

Recommend other products that relate to your review. Just search for them below and share!

Create a Pen Name

Your Pen Name is your unique identity on BN.com. It will appear on the reviews you write and other website activities. Your Pen Name cannot be edited, changed or deleted once submitted.

 
Your Pen Name can be any combination of alphanumeric characters (plus - and _), and must be at least two characters long.

Continue Anonymously
Sort by: Showing all of 16 Customer Reviews
  • Posted February 15, 2014

    Liked this book a lot.  The closer you get toward the end the ha

    Liked this book a lot.  The closer you get toward the end the harder it is to put down.  

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted June 8, 2011

    Loved+it%21%21

    Mariah+Stewart+is+one+of+my+favorite+authors.++She+can+keep+guessing+right+to+the+very+end%21

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 20, 2010

    Until Dark

    Mariah Stewart is one of my favorite authors. Her stories are always fast paced with passion and mystery. Holds your interest right up to the end.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 9, 2009

    Great Book

    She is really finding her stride in this book and it was a great read.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 26, 2004

    Didn't Really Like It

    The romance was lacking .... the plot was predictable ... I figured it out very early on. It wasn't what I expected it to be.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 12, 2004

    i couldn;t put it down!!!!!!!!!!!!

    this is a great book!!!!!!!!!! it was one of those books you just can;t put down!!!!!! its been a while since i;ve read anything as good as this!!i am online looking for something else she wrote so i can purchase them

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 18, 2003

    A thrilling mystery!

    Kendra Smith was a skilled compositor for the FBI. She was well known for the way she could make witnesses recall details about their attackers. Kendra felt that she helped provide closure for the victims and their families - closure that she never received when her little brother, Ian, disappeared eleven years ago. When the FBI needed someone to sketch the face of a killer dubbed the 'Soccer Mom Killer', Kendra was called. ............. Special Agent Adam Stark had a brief, passionate affair with Kendra a few years before. Adam saw this as an opportunity to renew their relationship. This was not easy since the number of bodies kept increasing. Worse, the killer seemed to be sending Kendra a personal message. ............... **** Action and suspense combine for a thrilling ride in this novel by Mariah Stewart. It will take a very astute reader to figure out who the killer is before the main characters can. I could not stop reading! Highly recommended! ****

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 14, 2003

    Fine police procedural romance

    In remote Smith¿s Forge, New Jersey, FBI compositor Kendra Smith has her rest and relaxation interrupted. Agent Adam Stark delivers to her a package containing information on a serial killer. A strangler had just murdered his third victim, the young mother of two children in nearby Deal, Pennsylvania. Adam wants Kendra to interview witnesses to obtain a drawing of a stranger seen talking with the latest victim in town. <P>Kendra interviews the witnesses, who are not coping well with the murder of a Little League mom. Kendra understands, as her brother was the victim of such an atrocity. However, Kendra will soon find herself as the target of a deranged but clever murderer. Only her intelligence and experience and the protection of Adam, who loves Kendra, keeps her safe, but her opponent is very clever and plans to isolate her as soon as possible. <P>Fans of police procedural romances will appreciate this exciting serial killer tale that starts innocently at a little league game. The story line moves forward fast once the storm that rocks Smith¿s Forge leaves the area. Though there is an abundant of serial killer tales and the identity of the culprit is out of leftfield, readers will enjoy this solid thriller. <P>Harriet Klausner

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 3, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted June 1, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted October 7, 2012

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted November 12, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted February 7, 2012

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted July 21, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted March 4, 2013

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted February 18, 2009

    No text was provided for this review.

Sort by: Showing all of 16 Customer Reviews

If you find inappropriate content, please report it to Barnes & Noble
Why is this product inappropriate?
Comments (optional)