“No such thing as too much Kendrick. And yes, we are fucked, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The guy was kind of right. We won’t be able to solve this case, but we can build a case.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”

“Exactly. If there isn’t a trail to follow, you build a trail.”

“You sound like you’re giving a Ted Talk.”

“Not all of them are bad.”

Rick continued, but Tilly stopped listening, focusing on the road ahead. Somehow, she was supposed to solve a cybercrime without the help of the government agency affected and without access to the digital scene of the crime. Maybe the higher-ups really were trying to shut down the Atlanta office.

Suddenly exhausted, she realized she needed a shutdown herself. Or a restart. They never worked one case at a time. There had to be something with some loose ends.

“Hey,” she said softly, “where are we at on that Sims case?”

“Still waiting on him to do something stupid. Shouldn’t take too long, considering his MO, but we’re tied up until he moves.”

“Damn. How about the aquarium case? Haven’t heard about that in a while.”

“We closed it in June.”

“Councilman Lanza? That goes to trial soon.”

“Was supposed to start later this month, but the prosecutor offered a plea deal. She bought a cruise ticket for September. She’d have had to push it back if she’d presented all the evidence we gave her.”

“Shit.”

Tilly had missed the slight turn to continue onto Lee, back toward I-20 and rush hour. It could easily be corrected, but she hated U-turns. Defiantly, she remained on Whitehall, a slight sense of subversion rising in her as the car ducked under I-20.

“I don’t feel like working this case right now,” she confessed after a few minutes of silence. “Take me somewhere I haven’t been before.”

“You sure?”

Tilly knew he was warning her, but she’d do anything not to end up back at home, telling herself she was relaxing just because she was listening to Drake and reviewing case files in her pajamas.

“Yeah.”

“Bet!” he exclaimed. “Left on Forsyth,” he said seconds later. As soon as they’d turned, he pointed to a lot on the left.

Tilly pulled in, parking in the back next to a lemon-yellow Suburban with shimmering black trim. The other cars in the lot were just as customized, a Candyland for a Toretto or an O’Conner.

“Leave your phone,” Rick told her before they stepped out the car.

“Leave your gun,” she replied back, disarming herself.