Rick is having one of those Mondays that make him regret his job is more administrative than hands on these days. He's been here since seven, and it feels like the paperwork is multiplying, not reducing. His detectives were busy over the weekend. Nothing that required his direct attention at the time, but successful closing of cases generates more paperwork than them staying open, it feels like.
Amanda had certainly left him twisting in the wind Saturday. Thankfully Joan is a little more naive than Beth despite her unfortunate situation, so she accepted the early call into work excuse readily. Rick fed the girl breakfast, gently inquiring into the extent of her financial difficulty.
It's such a bullshit issue. Joan's parents make just enough money to knock her out of the running for the majority of the state funding available. Until she turns 24, has a child, or marries, she's tied to their finances for federal aid. The parents are doing all they can, but her mother has cancer, and that's an expensive damn disease even with insurance.
He hadn't bothered to try to call Amanda, instead texting her that he returned his gift after breakfast. Instead of stewing about his mistakes with his prickly partner, he met with Yumiko about their ongoing plan for the main family trust when it comes entirely into his control at the end of November. The attorney isn't in the loop for the investigation, but he's pretty sure they'll have this wrapped up before more of his finances get potentially revealed under his own name.
Glancing at the time, he sighs. Eugene sent a message earlier needing an appointment to 'upgrade his computer system'. It means the computer tech has the in-depth information he's been digging for since Sunday, once Rick visited Jesus's shelter for an off the record meeting with the man's husband while helping them sort a major food pantry donation. So Rick texted Amanda a lunch invitation since it's her day off, unsure if she would even accept until she replied with a time.
She did seem a bit terse about him texting Sunday night about his volunteer shift. Ordinarily, he might have invited her, but he didn't want to be in close contact with her so soon after their disaster of a Saturday morning. He hasn't even managed to tell Shane they tumbled past the damn line, as much as he knows he needs to.
Logging off his computer, because he's about ninety percent certain Eugene really will upgrade something while he shares his information, Rick hears the lunchtime shuffle happening out in the squad room. He heads out to collect his part of the order, taking the time to shoot the breeze with Dianne about her husband and kids. It kills time until Eugene appears with Amanda at his heels. Taking the two bags, Rick follows.
Eugene settles into Rick's chair, fingers swift on the keyboard just as he expected. He'd declined being added to the lunch order, so Rick hands one bag off to Amanda. Her expression is cool and distant, so Rick doesn't take the seat next to her in front of his desk. Going around his desk, he turns the mini-fridge he finally brought to the office into a temporary stool.
"If you two get any more frigid in here, we can set up an ice rink," Eugene muses. He doesn't look at either of them, adjusting his glasses as something starts running an installation progress bar on the computer screen. "You should probably just sleep together and get it out of your system."
Rick stiffens, spork paused over the avocado and chickpea pasta salad Dianne brought. If the unhealed fracture in their partnership is obvious to Eugene, it would be like a neon sign to anyone else. Amanda is looking between him and the other man, her own cheeseburger already three bites gone. Her green eyes narrow, and he can see her temper igniting.
"Eugene, have you attended the workplace harassment seminar yet?" Rick manages to voice. Jesus Christ, it's inappropriate as hell for the intern to say, and thankfully Amanda isn't actually a department employee.
It gets him an owlish blink as Eugene considers what he said. "I did not intend to say that second part out loud."
From the man's growing flush, Rick actually believes him. "You need to take care with that kind of thing."
It gets him a jerky nod from Eugene, and Amanda relaxes, but not until after she glares at Rick. Taking a deep breath, Rick returns to his food for a moment before asking, "What did you find for us?"
Eugene takes his glasses off and sets them on the desk, focussing on his hands instead of either of them. His voice is a little monotone when he speaks. "Major Walsh got the warrants needed. I was able to pull financials on all four targeted officers. Three have a pattern of unexplained cash deposits, none large enough for the bank to show alarm. The lieutenant appears to be clean, at least as far as any financial gains."
He puts his glasses back on and reaches for a folder among a stack he brought in, passing it to Amanda after an uncertain look at Rick. "I should offer an addendum that the lieutenant may simply be smarter than the underlings and not depositing cash. The men are sloppy, although Gorman less so once he did some larger spending about six months ago."
Eugene passes a different folder to Rick. "Background checks on all four. The major suggested you look closely at Lieutenant Lerner's college degree."
Opening the folder, Rick flips past the men's information to flip through Lerner's stellar record with the Atlanta Police Department. "Jesus. Why is a woman with an MBA from Emory University working as a police department?"
"There are a lot of officers with degrees. It gets you a pay bonus." Amanda frowns, looking up from the larger folder she's perusing.
"How many of those got their graduate level degree from one of the most expensive universities in the country? Emory costs as much as MIT or Harvard."
"Maybe she has family money. Where's yours from, Grimes?"
The surname stings, but Rick feels a small surge of pleasure in his reply. "Middle Georgia State."
"Criminal justice?" she asks, arching a brow.
Rick knows that was her degree, one she worked hard for according to Daryl. All Amanda ever wanted to be was a cop. He shakes his head. "History."
Eugene sighs deeply, drawing both of their attention. "Lieutenant Lerner had a scholarship for her undergraduate degree and a fellowship for her graduate. All very easy to find with something as simple as Google. She worked for an investment company for two years and joined the department after 9/11."
"Admirable," Rick murmurs, flipping through the woman's information. "Never married, no kids, no family remaining in Georgia. She could be clean and just unwilling to balk male officers if she wants to keep climbing the ladder."
Amanda's shoulders slump, even as she closes her own folder and offers it to Rick. "Or she could be running the whole damn thing. She's smart and ambitious, and if she was a scholarship student, she would know exactly how tricky financing an education is if you're neither rich nor poor."
Trading her folders even though he hasn't finished reading his, Rick nods. If there's a cop that outranks Gorman running the escort service, it would explain just how bold he's becoming. "They're running it cleaner than you'd expect. Girls really can leave or decline work if their school schedules demand it. There's even a goddamned bonus for grades." And hadn't that been a horrifying tidbit of information to learn.
"Seriously?" Amanda sounds as incredulous as Rick would be if he hadn't heard it from Joan himself. Illegal sex work offering education bonuses sounds like some twisted movie plot.
"Joan generated enough cash last semester to take summer classes. She said her A in Premodern Japan class netted her the same fee an evening's work would."
Amanda bows her head, thinking hard over something. "It sells the illusion to clients of smart, educated coeds if they really are doing well in school, doesn't it? Men who want an escort are wanting a companion for the evening, to pretend they're better than a john soliciting a hooker on the street."
"And women." Rick's words get Amanda's attention. "Couples are extra, remember? I can imagine women willing to pay for that fantasy would appreciate being able to pretend it's different as well."
"It is also a significant recruiting tool," Eugene interjects, causing them to break their impromptu staring contest. He shrugs and taps his last folder. "Everyone knows to be afraid of sex traffickers on college campuses. There is all sorts of information provided. But this is set up like whoever did it read one of those pamphlets and deliberately avoided any warning signs."
As much as it turns his stomach, Rick has to admit he has a point. They got Joan hooked on the money and the psychology, and even after she realized the real intent was sex, not companionship, she hadn't been truly horrified until she caught Gorman's attention. "The girls do the recruiting for them. Joan even admits she brought in two other girls she knew were struggling."
"Those poor girls," Amanda mutters.
Eugene sighs, fidgeting with his folder. "It's not just girls. There's half a dozen young men involved, too, based on my email harvest. Gorman exchanges a lot of emails with someone who seems to be the boss. Whoever the boss is? Their preference is the boys, not the girls. I can't determine if the boss is male or female. They are very careful to never identify the boss even by pronouns."
He lets them settle that into their brains before continuing. "Joan has officially left their employment as of this morning. The boss ordered Gorman to strike her from any more work as of this morning."
"Is she okay?" Amanda asks in alarm, reaching for that last folder and skimming the first printed page. She looks up, staring at Rick. "She was awarded a grant covering the remainder of her tuition and expenses through graduation."
Rick keeps his expression carefully bland. "Maybe she can't be a teacher, but there's plenty of other work she can do with that history degree."
If the breakfast conversation had ended with his suggestions about using her education for museum or archival work, Amanda forfeited her right to know the personal details by leaving the way she did. Shane cautiones this case could take two or three months to completely build, and the idea of Joan continuing to work when he could fix it anonymously made Rick want to crawl right out of his skin. He can't save them all, not yet, but he can save the girl who lost her haunted look as she debated the history and architecture of the Mosque–Cathedral of Córdoba with him.
"Shane says you can return the folders to him. If anyone asks why Amanda keeps visiting, we're trying to recruit her for the opening in the school resource officer program. Sheriff thinks we need a woman involved." Whatever is running on Eugene's computer blips that it's done, and the technician removes a thumb drive from the port and stands up. "I have a class this afternoon. If you need anything, Jesus is always needing an extra set of hands on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, and he's hopeful you'll help out again, Lieutenant."
They both nod and watch Eugene leave. Rick settles in his chair, sorting through the financials in more detail. When he doesn't hear any papers rustling across from him, he looks up to see Amanda's stony expression. "What?" he asks, despite knowing what it probably is.
She sighs, a deep, chest shaking sound that makes him keep his eyes carefully on hers and away from the tempting sight the movement likely causes in her civilian clothing. "Why didn't you call me before you went to Jesus's shelter again?"
Rick leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. "Didn't think you wanted to be part of the follow-up once you weren't part of talking to Joan in the morning."
She gapes, clamping her mouth shut quickly. He can practically see her counting to ten before she speaks again. "That's petty, dammit, Rick."
He just shrugs. "So was running out of there the way you did. It was five minutes to talk to Eugene in private. No point in us both going. The rest was just sorting groceries for their week's meals. Nothing you needed to lose free time over, and I called you for the results."
Amanda doesn't care for his answer, but he's saved by Dianne knocking on the door. He motions for the sergeant to come in, and the older woman spares only a quick glance for Amanda. "Some dumbass stole the school superintendent's SUV and drove it into the duck pond at the park. They're wanting you and me both on this. Idiot VIPs."
Rick sighs, taking the folders Amanda offers him. Although Dianne's his chosen successor and likely rock solid trustworthy, he remembers the additional cover Shane added. "I'll text you later this afternoon to schedule another meeting. Think over the community resource project, okay? It could be a good fit for the right person, and the major thinks that's you."
Amanda nods, tidying away her trash and passing it to him when he gestures. "That sounds just fine." She leaves without a glance back.
Dianne does react to that. "That one's going to need surgical removal for the stick up her ass. Not sure she's a good recruit for whatever new community policing program Walsh is up to, if she can't manage a meeting with you."
"Why me?" Rick feels bad, because Amanda's issue with him is personal, but admitting that would be worse than a professional personality clash.
"Hate to break it to you, Grimes, but you're a bit of a puppy as far as male cops are concerned. If she can't handle you? I don't see her making retirement anywhere there's not a dire need for warm bodies who can pass the psych eval."
"It's probably just nerves. No one likes to consider leaving the department that got them started." Rick reaches for his jacket. "Guess we're off to intimidate whichever teenager has a beef with the superintendent this week."
Dianne shrugs. "That's the part they don't tell you about rank, isn't it, sir? Just exactly how many prima donnas you have to soothe."
Smiling weakly, he follows his sergeant out of the office, putting aside the issue with Amanda for now. He'll sort it out later, preferably before they manage to put up any more walls that end their partnership before they get the case closed.
Amanda hasn't had such a thoroughly shitty week on the job since her rookie days. After the frigidly polite meeting with Rick, she'd gotten called in to cover an evening shift for another sergeant whose wife went into labor.
The shift involved multiple officer response to a nasty domestic that ended with the woman in ICU and her husband dead by suicide. Amanda felt selfishly glad the bastard had done it himself, rather than putting any of her officers through the upheaval of having to shoot him. She consoled herself with at least the woman being free, even if she has a lot of recovery ahead.
Tuesday adds an SUV versus motorcycle accident to the list. She can't help but feel a cold shiver cross her body in that type of accident. Her brothers ride regularly, with Daryl still keeping her sleek little Ninja garaged for her for when she can join them. Even the sight of the crumpled Honda, something her brothers would never ride, still reminds her how dangerous the hobby can be.
Wednesday, she goes on site to help take witness statements after two teenagers steal a car and crash it into a cell phone store. Thankfully, no one inside got seriously hurt, but the passenger was ejected. The fifteen year old reminds her a bit of Carl… and he'll never walk again.
Thursday almost makes the exception, until Gorman invites her to join the other sergeants on their shift for basketball and burgers after shift. It's the first time she's ever been invited, and she can't decline. Even Lamson normally goes, and she sees her former partner's eyes narrow at her acceptance, studying her and Gorman both all evening. She reminds herself that none of the other sergeants pinged anything on Eugene's search and ignores Lamson's watchfulness.
Friday is just a complete shitshow, start to finish. It's Labor Day weekend, and holidays always make everyone lose their mind. It's a double shift for her, and she should be exhausted enough to sleep. Instead, as she lays in bed, her mind goes to Rick, again.
The other cop has been so coldly polite that it makes last Saturday morning seem like something she imagined. They met Wednesday after work at the vegetarian place they'd visited before, but it lacked all the warm sense of burgeoning partnership the first visit had. He went over the interrupted paperwork in detail with her, discussed the need to find the boss… and eliminate the possibility that it's Dawn Lerner.
It was a completely professional conversation, exactly what she'd asked of him. As he gathered his paperwork, Rick showed the only crack in the remote facade.
"Carl really liked going to the game with you. He wanted to know if you would take him again sometime." Rick didn't look at her as he asked, gazing out the window to the parking lot. "Braves are in town this weekend. I can get the tickets."
The question stunned her a little, but she's not avoiding personal situations with Carl, just his father. "I'm working tomorrow, and I've got a family thing Sunday."
"They're in town through Tuesday."
"Alright. If you can lay hands on tickets, I'll take him Monday."
It got her a ghost of a smile that only barely thawed the chill his blue eyes held. "I'll text you the details." He left without even a goodbye.
Every night since, she's woken from dreams of Saturday morning, but the dreams don't stop with what actually happened. Ignoring the heat they ignite in her body doesn't work, either. Her own fingers don't help either, not enough. Groaning, she falls asleep at last, both dreading and anticipating waking again.
Saturday is so mundane that she spends the day waiting on something uglier than DUIs and shoplifting, but the crazy holds off. It'll probably spill out onto evening shift, but at least she makes it out the door at three. Between the work week and her broken sleep at night, she doesn't feel like going home or the gym.
Instead, she aims for the pool, managing to swim off some of the anxiety plaguing her still. In leaving the athletic club, she spies a familiar face. The man's tall, muscular body is leaned against her car, and he grins brightly.
"I thought that was you swimming like you were heading for the Olympics. Then I spotted this old clunker and knew for sure."
"Tyreese, when did you get into town? How long are you visiting Sasha?" He's a bright spot in her otherwise weary week. They've gone out a few times, but nothing serious because Ty's football career led him to be traded before they figured out if there was a future to it.
"Guess Sasha's so busy with the new baby she forgot to tell you? I retired."
"Are you okay?" Amanda scans his athletic form, but she sees nothing out of place. She hasn't spoken to Sasha much since she had her baby in June. It's harder now to maintain the friendship with the firefighter since she's moved to a larger apartment with her husband.
"It was just time. Got a job here in town." He eases away from her car. "Are you free for dinner?"
Amanda's first instinct is to say no, but she does like Tyreese, and he's always been the sort of self-taught gentleman she likes. He couldn't be more Rick's opposite if he tried. "That sounds good."
Hours later, she finds herself laying in the same place as the night before, equally as frustrated. Tyreese hasn't changed a bit. He's still the sweet guy with clever hands, who kisses like he could make it a profession. It also killed her theory that some ticking biological clock is behind her unusually wanton reactions.
The fledgling attraction she had for Ty is well and truly gone. All she felt sitting astride his lap, with all that lovely skin beneath her hands, was that he just wasn't Rick. Thank God he understood.
The difference between last night and tonight is the bottle of vodka she unearthed from her freezer. Four shots in, and she can't decide if she's going to sleep or aim for another boring, barely there orgasm. Instead, she rolls for her cell phone and dials.
Amanda doesn't expect Rick to answer. She's seen Carl's Facebook photos, and Rick had taken Sophia, Carl, and Beth to Six Flags. He hadn't stood around like many dads, either. Some of the photos had him on the roller coasters along with the rest.
"Amanda? Everything good?" Rick asks, that soft, cultured drawl still sounding like something out of some period film and not from a county deputy. Carl doesn't speak the same way, so she wonders where it comes from.
It's the concern in his voice that almost stops what she intends to say. "You're an asshole."
Rick is quiet long enough she peers at her phone to see if he's hung up. Seeing that it's ten past midnight makes her flinch a little. When she settles the phone to her ear again, she hears him sigh. "Bad week?"
No comment about her calling him an asshole. He sounds concerned still. Imagining him stretched out in that big bed makes her body flush in a way that Tyreese did not. "Yeah."
There's a rustling and the sound of a door closing. "Talk to me, Amanda. What's wrong?"
That's what breaks her resolve to be angry with him. The long stressful week pours out, all the things she wasn't dumping on Tyreese after not seeing him for nearly a year. She's so tired and so fucking lonely that it's not even sex she wants tonight, not anymore. The nagging self doubt of whether she is actually doing any good is gaping around her like a chasm, just waiting on her to fall.
When she's done, he clears his throat softly. "You're a good cop, Amanda, or it wouldn't crawl under your skin like that. It's when you stop feeling like this after a week like that I'd be worried."
"That sounds like you've been there."
If it takes them two hours to say goodbye, Rick doesn't seem to mind. Amanda fumbles her phone onto the charging base and curls around her pillow. When she dreams of Rick again, it's not rutting and lust this time. Instead it's hearing the voice of her partner, talking softly in her ear, slowly fading all the anxiety of the week away, like magic.
A/N: Carol's baby shower didn't make this chapter. She's gonna be pregnant forever, poor woman. 👶
Brief cameo of a not-rival for Rick... Alas, no fun for Tyreese.