A couple of police were now rounding the house, small plastic evidence bags gripped in their hands, their latex gloves visible past their lowered sleeves as they scanned the glass enclosure of the patio seating. It would cost a fortune to get that shattered window replaced, she was nearly sure of it.

Ilse closed her eyes briefly, inhaling through her nose. Agent Sawyer remained sitting next to her, his hands clasped in front of his knees. He didn’t smell of cologne or aftershave, or anything really, save the faintest odor of wood shavings… or maybe sawdust.

She glanced at him, then at his flannel shirt. “You a lumberjack in your spare time?”

“Hmm?”

“You smell like wood chips.”

“Oh. No. I whittle.”

“Whittle. Of course you do.”

She nodded slowly, wincing at the motion and steadying her head. Even her wrists ached from where they’d been rubbed raw. Her fingers were also covered in bandages from where glass had gouged. The paramedics had managed to remove the shards, thankfully.

The two medics gave her another once-over, but at a look from Sawyer, they retreated back in the direction of the ambulance, watching warily from behind the parked vehicle.

Ilse found she could breathe a bit easier as they left, leaving her and Agent Sawyer sitting on the front steps, facing the road. Behind her, she could hear officers moving through the house, and others combing the back yard toward the lake.

“So,” Sawyer said, quietly. “What happened?”

“I already gave my statement to the cop. Some detective guy.”

“Lopez?”

“Yeah; I think so. He didn’t seem to like you very much. When I asked where you were, he looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.”

“You okay?”

Ilse’s fingers trembled for a moment where she rested them daintily across one of her legs. Perhaps it was the painkillers, or the pain itself, but her eyes went misty for a brief moment. She swallowed, clearing her throat, and said, “I don’t know.”

Sawyer didn’t say anything, but remained sitting next to her, watching the road.

“She was the actual killer,” Ilse said, softly. “Heidi. My client. The woman I thought we rescued. She was the one who killed them. All of them. When I brought her home… she was looking at the doors, at the locks and windows. I thought she was scared… Now, I think she was just checking the entry and exit points. She stole my pepper spray from my keychain. She wanted to kill me.”

“Why?”

Ilse paused now. Of course, she couldn’t tell him everything. She couldn’t even tell him most things. Certainly not about Heidi claiming she was Ilse’s sister, and how Ilse couldn’t even remember her. Not about the basement back in the Black Forest. Not about the repressed memories, or the two mismatched eyes.

Not about any of it.

So she sighed and simply said, “Psychotic break. From her own trauma. Really sad when you think about it.” She trailed off, shivering.

A hand descended lightly on her shoulder, and for a moment, she jolted, surprised. Sawyer didn’t lower his hand at first, but instead just looked at her, his green, stubborn gaze softening somewhat. “Sorry,” he murmured, quietly. “Sorry you went through that.”