Joanna looked at her assistant’s flushed, earnest face and suddenly didn’t feel quite so alone.

She wasn’t alone. She had Nessa.

Hiring Nessa as her assistant two years earlier had been one of the better decisions she’d made in her life. Her team had lined up a selection of experienced candidates for her to interview, but then Nessa had bounced into the room, fresh out of college, vibrating with energy and enthusiasm. Ignoring the disapproval of her colleagues, Joanna had given her the job and never regretted that decision. Nessa had proved herself to be discreet, reliable, and as sharp as the business end of a razor blade.

Not all my decisions are bad, Joanna thought as she locked the back door.

“I’m glad you’re here, but I don’t want you to do anything about the cameras. Leave them.”

“Nothing?” Nessa gaped at her and then looked guilty. “I’m so thoughtless. Here am I, worrying about spiders and press statements, and you’ve just lost the man you were married to for two decades. I know you were divorced, and that he wasn’t exactly...” Her voice trailed off as she studied Joanna’s face. “I mean, twenty years is a long time, even if he was a—” She swallowed and gave a helpless shrug. “Give me some clues, here. I want to say the right thing, but I don’t know what that is. How do you feel? Are you sad or mad? Do I get you tissues or a punch bag?”

Joanna’s laugh was closer to hysteria than humor. “I don’t know how I feel. I feel...strange.”

“Yeah, well, ‘strange’ about covers it. Can I grab a glass of water? Turns out covert operations in dense woodland is thirsty work. Then I’ll brush my hair, work magic with some makeup and get to work.”

“Go through to the kitchen. Help yourself. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Joanna went through the whole of the ground floor at the front of the house, making sure all the blinds were closed before returning to the kitchen. They could all stay there with their cameras, but she’d give them nothing to photograph. And if someone was brazen enough to breach her gates they wouldn’t be rewarded for it.

Nessa had settled herself at the kitchen island. She had a glass of water in one hand and her phone in the other. She was scrolling through social media. “We’re trending—no surprise there. Interesting hashtags... Lots of speculation about what they were doing when the car went off the road...” She sent Joanna a sideways glance. “Sorry. This is awkward.”

“It’s fine.”

“Some people are saying it’s a shame, because it was his recipe for lemon chicken that made them realize good food wasn’t just for restaurants.”

He created that recipe for me, Joanna thought. He was trying to teach me to cook. I ruined the chicken. He laughed. We ended up in bed.

“Others are saying he was a sleaze, and good riddance...yada yada...” Nessa continued scrolling. “They’ve managed to get a comment from two of the women he—What? No way...” She stared at the screen.