“Wesley Masterson got his hands on a brick of heroin,” she murmured. “And he was a narcotics detective. I wonder if Cleveland PD realizes they have six hundred grand worth of heroin missing.”

“Or if it ever made it to the evidence locker in the first place,” Diesel added. “That’s a lot of temptation for detectives, handling all those drugs. Sometimes they take a little for themselves. Wesley Masterson took a helluva lot more than a little.”

“Maybe he’s operating under Cleveland PD’s direction,” Dani suggested. “I mean, he allowed Richard to have photographic evidence of his theft. That doesn’t sound like he’s worried about getting caught.”

“Maybe,” Diesel murmured, but he was more inclined to believe that Wesley Masterson simply didn’t think anyone would be looking at his involvement, and he wondered why. A seasoned detective would know how to cover his tracks, but Masterson hadn’t covered his very well. He was about to say as much when he realized that Dani had gone very still and was studying him with an intensity that made him more than a little nervous.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“How many photos did you see in Richard’s secret database?”

Not nearly all of them, but still too many. The photos of the human beings flashed through his mind, a torturous slide show. He lifted one shoulder. “Enough.”

“Are there more?”

He nodded stiffly. “A lot more.” He dreaded sorting through them, dreaded seeing more photos like the ones of Joshua and the teenage girl who’d been “offered” a few nights before.

“I don’t want you to look at any more. I can check them for you.”

He wanted to say that it was okay, that he would do it, but he found himself nodding his thanks. “I’m . . . not good with the photos.”

She caressed his face. “I know.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes, afraid of the pity he’d see there. “We need to get this information to Deacon and Adam. Without telling them where I got it.”

“I think they’ve figured it out by now,” Dani said dryly. “Adam said they were about to search Fischer’s house. At a minimum they might find evidence of the game. They might find Richard himself.”

He finally met her eyes and saw no pity. Just respect. And something more. He wasn’t going to jinx it by giving it a name too soon. But it loosened his chest enough that he could smile at her. “Thank you.”

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “You’re welcome. Now, we should get out of this bathroom or someone might get the wrong idea.”

“What? That we’re discussing my illegal hacking and Richard Fischer’s even more illegal black-market swap meet?”

Her lips quirked up. “I was going to say that we were having sex, but yeah, let’s go with that.”