Unlike Cliff, she’d never sought fame or celebrity but she’d been caught in his spotlight, anyway. It was one of the reasons she’d moved to a different neighborhood after the divorce. She’d hoped to be able to slide away from the dazzling beam of attention that always landed on him. She’d chosen to live in a small, discreet community, rather than up among the flashy mansions in Bel Air where Cliff entertained lavishly on his verdant terrace with views of mountains and ocean. They’d found her, of course, because the media could find anyone, but she’d hoped that by living a quiet, low-key, non-newsworthy, Cliff-free life she’d become less interesting to them.

She’d been wrong. They continued to write about her, exposing all her secrets for the public to enjoy. They knew about her father’s death. They knew she was estranged from her stepmother, Denise. They’d tracked her down and predictably, Denise had been only too happy to voice her opinion. She’s no daughter of mine. Always was a difficult child.

Her phone rang, dragging her back from a downward spiral into the past. This time it was her assistant, Nessa.

Joanna answered it, grateful for the distraction. “Hi.”

“Can you let me in, boss? I’m outside the garden room. I used the back entrance.”

“I don’t have a back entrance.”

“I took a secret route.”

Joanna walked to the back of the house, mystified and alarmed.

She’d chosen the house because it was secure. When she’d first viewed it, instead of admiring kitchen appliances and ceiling height, she’d been checking areas of vulnerability. The dense woodland at the back had been a plus. This was an unfashionable area. There was no road, and no running trails. Her property was protected by a high wall and tall, mature trees that concealed the back of the house from view.

It had been a carefully considered purchase, but when she walked through the door she never once thought, I love this house, or even, I’m home. She didn’t think of it as home. Home was a place where you felt safe and could relax. Neither of those things could happen when you were an object of public interest.

She walked through the garden room and saw Nessa standing on her deck, glancing furtively over her shoulder. Normally impeccably groomed, she had twigs stuck in her hair and her shoes were muddied and scuffed.

Shaken by the discovery that her home wasn’t as secure as she’d thought, Joanna opened the door and Nessa virtually fell inside.