I hunkered down just inside the tree line, watching the windows and glass doors on the back of the house. At first, I didn’t see anything, but then a shadow moved into my line of sight, one that became clear as someone stopped in front of the doors, stepped up to the frame, and looked outside—a dwarf wearing a dark suit and clutching a cell phone.

   Ryan had speculated that the Dollmaker was exceptionally strong, and dwarves were certainly that. Could this be him? Could this actually be the killer?

   The longer I studied the dwarf, the more familiar his features seemed to me, especially his thin black mustache. I’d seen him before. I was sure of it. But where? When? I thought back, but I couldn’t put my finger on how or when our paths might have crossed. I held my position, watching the dwarf, but after several seconds, he moved away from the doors.

   But he wasn’t the only one in the house.

   Through the windows, I spotted at least two more dwarves, also dressed in dark suits, moving from one room to the next, opening cabinets, looking in drawers, even standing on chairs so that they could peer into the air vents high up on the walls. They were obviously searching for something. But what? And why would they think it was in Jade’s house?

   Eventually, the dwarves headed back toward the front of the house, disappearing from my line of sight. The second they were gone, I sprinted from the woods, all the way across the yard, and over to the back corner of Jade’s house. I pressed my body up against the brick and started counting off the seconds in my mind.

   One . . . two . . . three . . . five . . . fifteen . . .

   A minute passed, and no shouts of alarm, surprise, or warning rang out. The men hadn’t spotted me, so I slithered forward, ducking down around the windows, still keeping my body pressed up against the side of the house. Now that I was closer, I could hear faint muttering, along with several thumps, bumps, and other crashing noises, confirming my theory that the men inside Jade’s house were tearing her things apart.

   I made it to the glass patio doors that led into the kitchen. When I was here this morning, the doors had been intact, but now the glass was completely busted out of one of them. This must have been how the dwarves had stormed into the house. Ryan must have heard the noise and dialed me on his phone.

   I palmed a second knife and peered around the edge of the broken door, but no one was in the kitchen. In the front of the house, the crashes, clangs, and bangs grew louder and louder, as though the men were in a frenzy now, tearing through everything they could get their hands on, whether or not it was actually what they were searching for.

   Go right ahead, boys. Make as much noise as you want. It will drown out the soft sounds of this Spider creeping into the house.

   My knives still in my hands, I stepped through the busted door, moving slowly so as not to make my boots crunch any more than necessary on the broken glass. More noises came from the front of the house, but they dwindled and slowly faded away. I tiptoed through the kitchen, stepped into the hallway at the far end, and sidled along the wall until I could peer around the corner up ahead and out into the office beyond.

   Jade and Ryan were sitting side by side on a couch along one wall, their hands tied in front of them with thick, heavy ropes. Jade had an ugly bruise on her left cheek, as though someone had backhanded her, while Ryan had multiple cuts on his face and a nasty, ­painful-looking black eye. Blood had dripped down his face and spattered all over the front of his dark blue sweater, and his knuckles were also bloody, bruised, and swollen. He’d fought back against the intruders. Good for him, although he’d gotten a vicious beating in return.

   Battered though they were, the sight of them eased some of my own tense worry and dread. Jade and Ryan were still upright, still breathing, still alive, and I was going to make sure they stayed that way.

   I tiptoed forward a few more steps so that I could see the other people in the office. There were four of them, all dwarves, all wearing dark suits. Your standard low-level muscle. But muscle for whom?

   The men were picking through the wreckage of the office, particularly the corner where the boxes of evidence had been stacked. They’d torn the lids off each and every one of the boxes and had strewn all the documents, photos, and files across the floor, creating a thick carpet of paper. They’d also smashed several of the desks, chairs, and phones, adding more splintered debris to the mess.

   One of the dwarves stepped in front of Jade and scowled at her. “Is this it?” he growled, sweeping his hand out over the mess. “Is this everything?”

   Jade glanced at Ryan, who shook his head, telling her not to answer. The lead dwarf noticed the exchange, drew back his fist, and punched Ryan in the face, making his head snap back against the couch.

   “That’s it, Ken,” the mustached dwarf said, pumping his own fist in the air. “Hit him again!”

   “Happy to, Henry,” the other dwarf drawled.

   Ken punched Ryan in the face again, making him groan.

   Ryan blinked and blinked, trying to shake off the hard blows. After a few seconds, he raised his head and glared at Ken. “Is that all you’ve got? My grandma hits harder than that.”

   “Wise guy, huh? I’ll be happy to beat that right out of you.” Ken grinned and drew his fist back again.

   “Okay! Okay!” Jade held up her bound hands and tried to shield Ryan with them. “Stop hurting him. I told you before. All the files are here in the office.”

   Shock jolted through me. Files? The dwarves were here for the murder files? That meant they had to be involved with the Dollmaker. I studied the four men, once again wondering if one of them might actually be the killer. As dwarves, they all had the strength necessary to beat and strangle someone to death, as Ken had already demonstrated all over Ryan’s face. Still, they all looked like regular guys, all around five feet tall, with no odd or distinguishing features, except for Henry with his pitiful mustache. None of them looked like a cold-blooded killer.

   Then again, I supposed I didn’t look much like one either.

   But the vibe just felt wrong. From what little I knew of them, serial killers liked to work alone. Besides, the Dollmaker had left precious little evidence behind, and nothing in the files pointed to his true identity. If he’d thought that Jade had any real clue as to who he was, then he would have come here himself, tortured her for the information, and killed her. He might have even painted her lips the same gruesome blood-red as all his other victims, since she was blond, just like all the other women.