But all I had was several years’ experience breaking and entering, Traveler-style.

Well, I had that, and I had Google. So I started doing image searches for the criminals Van had listed, as well as all of their aliases, hoping someone, somewhere had posted a picture of one of them with an identifying mark Sera had missed, or in a location or clothing that fit a passage in Elle’s notebook.

And finally, somewhere around four in the morning, I found a picture on a social networking site labeled with the second known alias of the fifth man on the list—the one who’d been arrested, but never went to trial. The man in the picture was shirtless, with most of his back turned toward the camera, and on the back of his left shoulder was a small tattoo of a tarantula, crawling up his body.

My heart beat a little faster and I flipped through the notebook, passing up all the passages I’d marked, in search of one I’d had no idea was connected to Sera and her family.

I still wasn’t sure they were connected. It could be a coincidence. But one night, about three years after Noelle and I first...got together, she’d started mumbling at about 1:40 in the morning, and I’d written what I could understand.

Spider, caught in the web of lies.

Was the man with the tattoos Noelle’s spider? If so, was Noelle’s spider also Sera’s smiling man? What was the web of lies—could it be Sera’s statement to the police?

It took ten more minutes of searching that same alias to find an image showing both the tattoo and the man’s face, in profile. But that was enough. It was him. One of the police department’s suspects in Sera’s case had a tattoo of a spider, and one of Noelle’s prophesies was about a spider. If that was a coincidence, it was coincidental enough to deserve investigation.

The suspect’s legal name was Chance Alexander Curtis. He sounded more like an Ivy League undergrad than a brutal murderer. But then, that fit Sera’s description, too.

I closed Van’s laptop and stowed Noelle’s notebook in the bottom of my duffel again. Then I borrowed the cell phone Ian had left in the kitchen to send a text to Cam.

It’s Kris. I need a favor.

His reply came two minutes later, while I was shrugging into my shoulder holster, over a mostly clean T-shirt dug from my bag.

Hell no. It’s 4 am & I still owe you a rt hook.

Oh, yeah. I’d punched Cam once, years ago, when I thought he was threatening Olivia. I was wrong, and he’d never let me forget it.

Turn off the light, or I’ll wake up Liv.

With my .40 loaded and holstered, I shrugged into a light jacket, then killed the bulb in the hall closet—we still kept it on at night, so no one could sneak in—then stepped into the darkness and out into the living room of Cam and Olivia’s apartment.

The second I appeared, something clicked, and light flooded the room from a lamp in the corner. I squinted and found Cam with his fingers still on the switch. Before my eyes had even adjusted to the light, he reached to his left and flipped the switch on another lamp, this one without a shade.

Nothing happened. That lamp held an infrared bulb, to keep the room inaccessible to Travelers—like me—without keeping the house lit up all night. There was one in every room of our hideout house.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Cam crossed into the tiny galley-style kitchen.

“I know it’s late, and—”

“Actually, it’s early.” He pulled open the fridge and tossed me a soda from inside, then took one for himself.

“—and Liv’s asleep—”

“Not anymore,” Olivia said, and I turned to find her standing in the hallway in a tank top and short pj shorts.

“You better not be looking at her...anything,” Cam growled, and I couldn’t roll my eyes fast enough.

“I’m not. We were never a thing.” I turned back to her when Cam pretended he hadn’t heard me. “Liv, tell him we were never a thing.”

“We were never a thing,” she said, settling onto a stool at the kitchen peninsula, and I could tell from her mischievous grin that she wouldn’t leave it at that. “Except for that time in your basement...”

I popped the top on my soda. “That lasted, like, five minutes—we were just kids—and I never even got past her bra.”

Cam glared at me from across the counter, looking less and less like he wanted to do me a favor.

“Seriously,” I reiterated. “And it was a teen bra. She didn’t even have...”

He growled again, and Olivia looked a little miffed.

“Never mind. That’s why I’m here.”

Cam frowned. “You’re here because Liv was a flat-chested teenager?”

“I wasn’t—” Liv started, but neither of us looked at her.

“No. I’m here because I don’t want Liv. Like that.” I shook my head, struggling to straighten out my thoughts. I was sleep-deprived and too focused on what needed to be done to think through what needed to be said, to make the rest of it possible. “I don’t like her like that. I like Sera. I think I more than like her. So I need to go kill someone.”

“Have you been drinking?” Olivia pressed the power button on their coffeepot and Cam pulled a bag of grounds from the cabinet over his head.

“No. Well, yes, but I’m not drunk. In fact, I’m thinking clearer than I have in years.”

“I can tell by how you reek of whiskey and make no sense,” Cam said. “And did I mention it’s four in the morning?”