You Don’t Know Me was the first romantic suspense novel I ever wrote. It was originally published as Tangled in the early 90s under the pseudonym Nancy Kelly. I’m delighted that it’s finally available again in this repackaged edition.
Everyone in Wagon Wheel, Oregon, knew that Thomas Daniels was a mean, violent man, twisted by liquor and hate. His stepdaughters, Dinah, Denise, and Hayley, knew it better than anyone. And then, with one desperate act, their lives changed forever.
Now, years after he disappeared, Thomas Daniels’s remains have been found and a murder investigation is underway. All three sisters–Dinah, a respected journalist, acclaimed actress Denise, and Hayley, hungry for her own chance at stardom–find their lives intersecting and unraveling again. And piece by piece, they’ll confront the truth about that deadly night–and the dark secrets that could turn one of them into a killer. . .
With its new title and new cover, You Don’t Know Me feels like a whole new book to me–one I hope you will enjoy as much as I do!
A Long Time Ago . . .
The body lay still under a cold moon. Strangely, almost comically, still. Eyes open, staring into a cold, star-studded sky. Arms flung wide. Head lolling slightly to the right, as if one ear were cocked, listening to the sporadic screech of the winter wind.
Shivering, the woman looked down upon the naked body. He’d deserved to die. She was glad he was dead. There was no remorse inside her for this monster.
Feeling something cold on her face, she was surprised to discover half-frozen tears.
An owl hooted, a lonely sound that shot an icicle of terror into her heart. Time ticked loudly inside her head.
She grabbed his legs and started to drag him across the ground. One of his arms caught on a skinny, bare branch and she jerked hard to free him. Slipping on a patch of ice, she twisted her ankle and bit back a cry of pain. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.
Perspiration broke out on her brow and ran beneath her arms as she relentlessly pulled him after her. Her breath plumed in a stream of white fog behind her. Jaw set, she dragged his body over field stubble and dirt clods frozen hard as iron, stumbling a little for he was twice her size.
There was no way to bury him. The ground was frozen and she hadn’t the strength nor the inclination to even try. But there was a storm drain at the far end of this lonely field, and she knew she could roll him down the drainage ditch and stuff his body inside. It would be simple. No one would find him until spring thaw, and maybe not even then. The chances were he’d be entombed in the storm drain forever.
Then she would leave. All of them could leave.
The torment was over.