“Hey, Briscoe!” Dirk handed Mia two eight-by-ten prints. “Best I can do, Mia. I tried everything, even swallowed my pride and called my buddy Thor, master of all things pixel. Thor has access to some NSA software he has no business having, but even then, because of the limited resolution, the camera motion, and the compression, neither of us could get the two guys’ profiles any clearer, sorry.”

Mia took the photos from him, cursed under her breath. She’d hoped, prayed, but she still didn’t think she could identify these men if they were standing right in front of her, waving in her face. At least now she could see the taller man’s outstretched hand more clearly, a large hand with a smattering of dark hair, reaching toward a drink on a side table. The heavy silver link chain around his left wrist was clear enough. She looked more closely. Wait, was he reaching for one of the glasses, or was his hand right above it? She couldn’t tell, but why wouldn’t he reach for a drink that was closer? Would any glass do? No, Serena was close by. The glass had to be hers, had to be.

She saw the healed tear in his left earlobe, the notch more obvious with Dirk’s enhancements. She leaned down, gave him a big hug, kissed his cheek, knew he’d pulled out all the stops, and so she said, “You’re my hero. What you’ve done is amazing, beyond what I expected.” She lifted a foil-covered pan out of her messenger bag. “Your meatloaf, my man. Defrosted, ready to pop in your oven at 350 for thirty minutes. Mashed potatoes suggested as a pleasing accompaniment.” No need to tell him it had been in her freezer for three weeks. “Really, Dirk, thank you. You’re a genius. And thank Thor.”

He grabbed the meatloaf, breathed it in through the foil. “Smells like ambrosia, then again”—he gave her a wicked grin to break hearts, if only he knew—“I’m a god, so I deserve it.” He cocked a dark brow at her. “God or not, I’m the one who made out on this deal. And no, I’m not about to let Thor in on my payoff.” He cocked his head, studied her face a moment. “What is this all about, Mia? Why these photos? They’re old, blurry, I mean, look at the technology, maybe eight years out of date. Who are these guys and why are they so important to you?”

Mia kissed his thin cheek again, breathed in the sandalwood soap he used. “I promise to tell you when I know. Enjoy the meatloaf. Maybe add a stick or two of broccoli, adds nice color.” She would have given him another hug, but he was clutching the meatloaf to his chest like a baby.