Chapter One
“Was anything stolen, sir?”
Elroy Greer barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes upon hearing the stupid question. Pointing at the gaping hole in the dash and dangling wires, he grumbled, “Do you mean other than the radio?”
The officer in blue lifted the hand holding his pen and made a placating gesture. “I didn’t want to presume.”
Feeling somewhat mollified, Elroy nodded. “Well, the radio was stolen as well as the change in my cup holder.” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “It was maybe six bucks.”
Sweeping his gaze over the interior of his Jeep Grand Cherokee, Elroy grimaced. His briefcase had been opened, and the contents were strewn over the back seat. Good thing he hadn’t had any confidential files in it.
I’ll remember never to leave my briefcase in my vehicle again.
Of course, how could Elroy have guessed that someone would break into his vehicle while he was eating lunch with Camilla? His best friend stood nearby, her arms crossed over her ample breasts. Her blonde brows were furrowed, and she nibbled her bottom lip.
Elroy had known Camilla Hudson since he was seven. They hadn’t really become friends until they were twelve, though. He’d stopped a bully from pulling her hair on the playground, and they’d been inseparable ever since.
He hadn’t even needed to tell her he was gay. Somehow, she’d just known. One day when they were both sixteen, she’d shocked the shit out of him by asking which boy he planned to ask to the prom.
His parents, however, when Elroy had come out in college, they had disowned him. His younger brother and sister had done the same. Only his grandmother had stood at his side until she’s passed away three years before.
When her will had been read, revealing everything had been put into a trust to be given to Elroy upon his thirtieth birthday, they’d tried to contest it. They were still trying, even after all this time. While Elroy didn’t really need the money, he looked forward to turning thirty in four years only because it would mean an end to the court battles.
“Anything else, sir?” the cop pressed.
Rubbing his hands over his shortly cropped black hair, Elroy returned his attention to his Cherokee. “Uh, I had a CD case in here,” he told the policeman. “I don’t see it.”
Elroy wasn’t certain why a thief would take old CDs—maybe to pawn? Did pawn shops take CDs anymore? He’d switched to using playlists on his phone several years before.
Something else snagged Elroy’s attention—or rather, the lack of something else. “Wait.” He leaned into the vehicle and swished his hand through the center console. “Ah, fuck,” he grumbled. Straightening, Elroy shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “A three-eighty Bodyguard handgun. It was in the center console. I have a concealed carry permit.”
“Can I see it, please, Mister Greer?”
Nodding, Elroy pulled out his phone. He opened an app and pulled up the document. Then he handed his phone to the cop.
The officer stared at the screen for a moment, then returned it to Elroy. “Was the gun registered in your name?”
Elroy nodded. “Yes, it was.”
“Thank you, sir.” The cop jotted a few words on his paperwork. “I’ll get that reported as swiftly as possible. I’m sure your insurance will need a copy of my report, so if that’s everything, I’ll get started on it.” The officer held out a card, and Elroy took it, seeing his name and number on it.
Insurance. Right. Another nightmare.
Nodding once more, Elroy returned his phone and the card to his jacket pocket. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry this happened, and I’ll keep you updated if we get any luck on the prints.”
After thanking the officer one more time, Elroy sighed and turned his attention back to his vehicle. At least it was Saturday, and he hadn’t had to call in to work. He was already on his boss’s shit list for something that wasn’t his fault.
Fellow paralegal, Lane Peradu, had lied to Richmond Dessau and claimed Elroy had been the one doing the research on the Marcello case. In actuality, that had been one of Lane’s cases, and no matter what the man said, he had not transferred it to Elroy. Lane had screwed up and missed information about their client’s bank transactions. When the defendant—who was representing the husband in a messy divorce proceeding—had pointed out how the wife—who Richmond had been representing—had been slowly transferring funds from their joint account to a personal account for the last year, essentially stealing from her husband,