“You’re the whore, Rick, and you’re not even a good one. You can’t even recognize a good john. That kid is in over his head, and you’re willing to exploit his fear because it might pay off. We both know it won’t. A seventeen-year-old kid living in Marietta, Georgia, who graduated from Kennesaw Mountain High School, goes all the way to East Point, Georgia, thirty miles away, to destroy a racist monument thirty-five miles away when there’s one fifteen minutes away? You know Kennesaw Mountain also has a Confederate memorial, right? And even beyond that, that same teenager individually has more coding knowledge than the two former hackers on his trail? Are you out of your fucking mind? That’s the kind of fuckwit case that Dick Wolf wipes his ass with and then throws at the stupid intern who suggested it to him. Houndum sees a case like that, and we’re back on the Eric Sims beat.”

Rick glared at Tilly, a hot wind flicking at his loosened tie. She couldn’t tell exactly what he was thinking. She felt bad. He’d been a model partner all this time, and his sole request for something selfish had been rejected. He was probably excited earlier because he’d had plans tonight. He’d finally figured it all out, put the puzzle pieces together all on his own, not in the way that they came out the box, but at least in a way that plausibly fit together. And she’d just trounced into the room and flipped the damn table.

Tilly was glad she’d brought her shades. She needed their steely cool, their unyielding opacity. He couldn’t know she, too, was acting selfishly. She hated the idea of two black agents putting their names on a weak case.

“This is unnecessary, but okay, let’s bring in the kid’s friends, try to get them to confess, see what really happened, bring in a larger haul. But I reserve the right to change my mind, rein this all in. He lied to us, remember? Deal?” He extended his arm, his hand in a fist. Reaching out with her own fist, Tilly met it. Case closed.

“Did you guys just dap?” Theo asked as they climbed into the Navigator.

“You’ve got much bigger worries, kid. Sit back and shut the fuck up,” Rick said, brandishing his gun for emphasis.

Alarmed, Tilly looked over at Rick. His gun already holstered, he was backing the car out of the driveway. She expected a smile of self-satisfaction, maybe even a grimace of irritation, but his face was emotionless.