And then Heidi went entirely still.

Ilse forgot to breathe for a moment, staring wide-eyed at her sister’s still form. “What do you mean?” she said, desperately. “What do you mean?” she screamed. “He had an accomplice? Heidi? Heidi, wake up! What do you mean?” But her sister didn’t answer, and Ilse cursed, raising her voice and shouting even louder. “Please! Someone help! We need help!”

She heard barking from the neighbor’s house. She glimpsed orange lights suddenly flare on the porch.

“Help!” she screamed, even louder. “Call the police. Call an ambulance!”

Her sister wasn’t moving. She wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t even twitching. But Ilse held on for dear life. Still yelling at the top of her lungs. Still desperately trying to call for help.

Help was in such short supply these days.

She’d tried to help. Tried to help a woman she’d known as Samantha.

And the same woman had to tried to kill her.

Her fingers were slick. Her hands trembling from the cold and exhaustion. And yet she still held her hand against the neck of the woman who had tried to kill her. Hoping beyond hope she could save her life.

No breathing though; no movement. Any ambulance was already too far away.

Sometimes, no matter how much someone tried, they simply couldn’t help.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Ilse winced as the paramedics probed at her arm, wrapping her elbow in another layer of bandages. Soon, she felt she’d end up like some mummy with the amount of gauze they seemed intent on using.

Still, she didn’t protest, preferring to sit on the porch steps facing the street. An ambulance and six police cars lined the road. She watched as an unmarked sedan pulled up behind the ambulance. A thin man with a baseball cap and a flannel shirt exited the car, moving around the ambulance and angling toward Ilse’s driveway.

She watched as Agent Tom Sawyer approached her house, glancing toward the lake, the trees, then up at the two paramedics and their patient on the patio steps.

Sawyer moved toward Ilse just as a couple of coroner’s assistants emerged from behind the house, carrying a stretcher with a sheet over a still lump.

Ilse stared at the lump and shivered, looking away and off toward the leaves scattering the road.

Sawyer watched the coroner’s assistants pass by before joining Ilse on the steps. The paramedics made room as the FBI agent sat next to Ilse, staring out at the leaf-strewn road as well.

Ilse smelled the faint odor of alcohol as a wipe was run over her fingers for what felt like the millionth time. “I’m fine,” she muttered, gently pushing away the hands of the nearest paramedic. “Really. It’s worse than it looks.”

Her clothes were still damp, her hair plastered against the side of her face. It made it difficult to hide her maimed ear, but for the moment, she didn’t really care. She heard the sound of the coroner’s assistants trying to navigate the driveway with the body, but she refused to look over.