“You’re a man whore,” Nate said to Eric. The two sat in Eric’s cubicle in Major Crimes. The partition walls were shorter than they would be in a business office, letting the detectives talk to each other more easily as they worked. This was a unit that needed to be able to communicate quickly and easily at all times.

John couldn’t argue with Nate on the man whore label, though he did want to stick up for his partner. Still, it wasn’t easy since Eric openly took advantage of the badge bunnies who trolled Leo’s, the bar most of the law enforcement in Dark Falls gravitated to at one time or another.

Eric saw nothing wrong with, as he put it, taking what was thrown his way. He meant it literally. He didn’t have to do anything to impress these women. The fact he wore a badge was enough.

At least Eric wasn’t married. There were guys on the force with wives at home and a beat girlfriend—a woman they slept with in the precinct—on the side. One thing John could say about his failed marriage, he’d never once cheated on Lucia, and he was pretty sure she’d never cheated on him.

He’d let her down in more ways than he could count, hadn’t been able to give her the one thing she needed most, but he’d never cheated.

Even after his divorce, John just wasn’t that guy. He didn’t jump from one bed to another. Eric, on the other hand, absolutely was.

Eric grinned at Nate, not a repentant bone in his body at the accusation. “Damned right I am.”

So much for having to stick up for his partner, John thought. At least Eric told the women he got involved with exactly what they’d get from him: a good time, respect, friendship if they wanted it… but nothing more.

“There once was a man whore from Mumbai. He loved soft women, cold beer, and sweet pie. The women loved him, he said with a grin. There was nary a one he’d deny.” Eric finished the limerick with a laugh.

John tossed a pencil at him. “You’re not from Mumbai.”

Eric shrugged. “Details.”

Conrad Underwood poked his head in the door of the third-floor bullpen, where the detectives of Major Crimes had their cubicles. He caught John’s eye, a question on his face.

John waved an arm at him. “Come on in, Connie. We can find something for ya.”

Connie was a green cop, still only two years into his required four years on patrol. He aspired to be a detective, though, so he’d come into the Major Crimes division whenever he could to pick up assignments from the guys. Sometimes that meant staying a few hours after his shift. Other times, Captain Scanlon offered him and some of the other uniforms overtime when Major Crimes needed boots on the ground running down leads.

Rhys came in just as Connie settled into the guest chair next to John’s desk. Connie made to stand and give the seat to Rhys, but Rhys raised a hand to still him. He spoke over the cubicle wall to Eric and Nate, including all of them in the conversation.

“OPS.”

John saw Connie’s confusion and mouthed, “Official Police Shit.” It meant shut up and pay attention.

Connie nodded, and Rhys went on. “Patrol units just responded to another jewelry store robbery.”

John felt the tight sensation, like his skin didn’t fit him right, hit him almost immediately and had to fight the urge not to claw at the back of his neck. It was a feeling he got when something wasn’t right on a case, although, this time he suspected it had to do with the fact Ava owned a jewelry store and might end up in the sights of this group if they didn’t stop them.

He and Ava might not be anything more than friends at this point, but he still felt a protective rush when he thought of her being hurt.

“Where?” he asked, his voice tight.

Rhys rattled off an address that let John breathe again. Small place, not a great part of town, same as before.

“They’re escalating. Beat one of the employees. He’s on his way to the hospital, but patrol is holding the scene and has the other employee there for us.”

John and Eric stood, Connie hopping up like a jumping bean next to them.

“We’ll head to the scene,” Eric said.

Rhys nodded and gestured over his shoulder to where his partner, Mason England, stood. Mason looked a little like a tank with short-cropped dirty blond hair. He and Rhys could almost be twins, except for their eye color. Mason’s were green to Rhys’s blue.

“Mason and I are going to head over to Penny Al’s, see if he’s heard anything about how this stuff is being sold.”

Penny Al bought and sold all kinds of things. He didn’t own a storefront, but sold out of his trailer home on property twenty minutes outside of downtown. Back in the day, he was where you went to fence stolen goods, but he seemed to have gone clean. Still, he didn’t have a storefront, so he didn’t receive the notices of stolen goods the pawn shops did. It was worth talking to him.

John and Eric nodded. They all knew Penny Al still had contact with the kind of people who might be buying this stolen property. He might hear things the pawn shops didn’t.

“Connie, you’re with us,” John said as he and Eric headed toward the elevator. While they were talking to the witnesses on scene, they could send the kid to interview other store owners nearby and check for video footage in the surrounding areas that might have caught something as the suspects approached or left the scene.