CHAPTER TEN
In Ilse's opinion, Agent Sawyer was a boundary-tester, speed-limits notwithstanding. Her hand pressed to the leather interior of the loaner, gripping the arm rest beneath the window as they wove through traffic in their tinted sedan. Sawyer maneuvered along the highway outside Eugene, Oregon, heading parallel to the Umpqua National Forest.
The contrast of Sawyer's nerve-testing driving accompanied by the placid greens of the forest preserve left Ilse with emotional whiplash. The passing trees, normally calm and serene, whirred by in a flurry of greens and browns, pattered with the deep grays of service trails.
As they moved off the highway, parallel with the forest, Ilse was reminded of Germany once again. Reminded of a small, dilapidated home against a lake beneath shadowed
