PROLOGUE

      AT FIRST, when Amy saw two policemen at the ballroom’s grand entrance, she felt no more than mild curiosity. She didn’t dream they were about to turn her life upside down.

      She was way too excited to entertain such dark thoughts. For weeks, she’d been on tenterhooks planning tonight’s high-gloss corporate launch. Its success or failure rested almost entirely on her shoulders, and she was relieved that everything was turning out well.

      ‘Love it, love it, love it!’ her ecstatic clients cheered.

      As far as they were concerned, Amy hadn’t put a foot wrong. They were thrilled with the venue she’d found on Melbourne’s Southbank. They were especially thrilled with the video walls that showed off their brilliant new range of environmentally friendly lighting systems.

      Amy was equally pleased with the way she looked tonight. She’d dieted for three weeks to squeeze into her divinely chic, but frighteningly expensive little black dress. She’d paid another outrageous sum at a trendy salon in Chapel Street to have glamorous blonde highlights added to her rather ordinary, pale brown hair.

      Now, with the addition of killer high heels and her grandmother’s diamond earrings, she’d received oodles of compliments about both the launch party and her appearance. Tonight it was clear—in Melbourne’s competitive, pressurecooker world of marketing and corporate events, Amy Ross had arrived!

      But before she could take her first celebratory sip of her champagne cocktail, she saw the deepening sombreness on the policemen’s faces.

      Why on earth were they here?

      Surely they must have come to the wrong function. At any moment they would move on.

      But no, the older of the two men approached the doorman and Amy saw the look of concern on his face. She felt a cold ripple of anxiety. Hastily, she scanned the crowded ballroom, searching the sea of guests. Could a criminal be lurking in their midst?

      Her stomach tightened as she glanced to the doorway again. The doorman was turning.

      He pointed directly at Amy.

       Oh, God.

      The glass in her hand shook, spilling wine onto her gorgeous new dress. Dismayed, she set it down. Any second now, the policemen would come marching into the very centre of this ballroom, and she had visions of the guests falling silent, eyes agog as they stepped aside to make a wide path for the blue uniformed men.

      Amy knew she mustn’t let that happen.

      Sending her clients a brave thumbs-up gesture, she started off across the vast expanse of highly polished floor, knees knocking, thoughts racing and skidding through distressing possibilities.

      Had she accidentally invited one of Melbourne’s infamous gangland criminals to this party?

      Or was this personal? Was she the policemen’s target? Had her car been towed away?

      Had something happened to her parents? Please, no!

      Her stomach gave another sickening lurch as she drew closer to the grim-faced men, but she forced a smile. ‘Good evening, gentlemen. How can I help you?’

      The older policeman nodded to her gravely. ‘Are you Miss Amy Ross?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You live at Unit 42, 67 Grange Street, Kew?’

      ‘Y-yes.’ Oh, cringe. Had she forgotten to turn off the iron? Had her flat burned down?

      ‘We’ve been informed that you organised this event and sent out the invitations. Is that correct?’

      Amy gulped. ‘That’s right.’

      ‘Could we speak with you privately, please?’

      She couldn’t hide her alarm any longer. ‘W-what’s the matter?’

      ‘We’re making enquiries, Miss Ross. We don’t want to cause any unnecessary fuss, so, if you could just come this way, please?’

      Enquiries. Surely this was a euphemism to cover all kinds of awfulness?

      Stomach churning, Amy followed the men out into the marbled splendour of the hotel’s lobby. She felt too ill to ask questions, so she stood very still while the younger policeman drew a piece of paper from his pocket.

      She recognised it as one of the invitations she’d sent out for the launch party. Was she about to be quizzed about her guest list?

      Amy’s mind whirled. Her clients had vetted her guest list and her only addition had been her best friend, Rachel. It was all above board. She’d been allocated one private guest and although her initial choice had been Dominic, her boyfriend, she’d changed her mind at the last moment and invited Rachel instead.

      Rachel had been her best friend since they were fifteen, and she really understood how BIG this night was.

      Besides, Rachel was a single mum and a writer, and since her daughter’s birth she hardly ever got out. This party was a terrific chance for her to exercise her social skills before her first book was published and she became famous.

      Amy had no doubt that her brilliant friend would become famous. Of course, she wasn’t surprised that Rachel was running late tonight—she’d probably had trouble leaving Bella with a babysitter.

      The policeman tapped the invitation with a long finger. ‘Are you the same Amy Ross who’s listed as Rachel Tyler’s next of kin?’

      A strangled cry broke from Amy. She tried not to think the worst, but she was gripped by numb terror.

      ‘I—I suppose Rachel might have named me as her n-next of kin,’ she stammered. ‘She has no family and I’m her b-best friend.’

      ‘Your name came up when we checked her driver’s licence,’ the policeman said gently. Too gently.

      Shaking, Amy wished with all her heart that she didn’t have to hear what these men had come to tell her.

      ‘We found this invitation and realised you’d be here,’ he said.

      Amy almost screamed. She wanted these men to go. Away. Right now.

      Instead they were beating around the bush, driving her insane with terror. ‘Please,’ she sobbed. ‘Just—tell me.’

      ‘There’s been an accident,’ the older man said. ‘A fatal accident. Only a block away.’