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weapon?”
    â€œYeah,” Grant said. “He had a gun in the pocket of his jacket and he aimed it at me.”
    â€œDid you actually see the gun?” she asked. “Did he remove it from his pocket?”
    â€œNo,” Grant spat. “But I wasn’t about to risk my life for a few thousand dollars, especially when it’s not even my money.”
    Smart decision. Wannabe heroes often ended up hurt … or dead.
    â€œTell me, Grant,” the detective said. “Who doesn’t like you?”
    He issued a snide snort. “Every other man on the planet. They know they can’t compete with guys like me.”
    â€œGuys like you ,” Jackson said. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
    He gave her a patronizing look. “I mean guys with a face and body like mine.”
    Seriously? Grant Dawson really needed to be taken down a peg or two.
    Jackson closed her eyes for a moment. She was probably counting to ten herself. When she opened her eyes, she asked, “Who around the bank has a bone to pick with you? Who have you pissed off?”
    I had a feeling that list could be very long.
    â€œLast week one of the other tellers got mad when he found out I’d fooled around with his girlfriend. Like it’s my fault she wanted to trade up.” He rolled his eyes. “What a loser.”
    Less than two minutes with this guy and already I didn’t like the condescending jerk. He wasn’t Prince Charming. He was Prince Charm less . “So, in your opinion, this other teller is a ‘loser’?”
    Grant rolled his eyes and twirled a finger in the air. “Haven’t we already established that?”
    My hand played over the baton on my belt. But as tempting as it would be to smack some respect into this arrogant twerp, doing so would only land me in hot water. I only liked to be in hot water if it was bubbly and scented with lavender. Besides, Grant’s judgmental comments might be intentionally harsh. It was possible he was trying to throw us off track.
    Jackson tossed Grant a pointed look. “Just stick to the facts, son. Keep the commentary to yourself.”
    The smile he offered was as insincere as it was condescending. “Whatever you say, sarge.”
    Jackson remained calm. She had years of experience dealing with witnesses, many of whom were uncooperative and belligerent. No doubt she’d dealt with an occasional narcissist, too. “You said the other teller got upset when he found out you’d been seeing his girlfriend. How’d he find out?”
    Grant raised a nonchalant shoulder. “I might’ve let it slip. But the guy totally overreacted. He even had the nerve to throw a punch at me.”
    â€œHe hit you?” I asked.
    â€œNo. He was on the other side of the counter. I pulled back and he missed.”
    â€œHe swung across the counter?” Jackson said. “Seems like his chances of hurting you were pretty slim.”
    â€œThat’s not the point.” Condescension virtually dripped from his words, as if he were speaking to the stupidest people he’d ever met. He put his hands on the table and leaned forward. “The point is he took it to a physical level. He tried to assault me, for God’s sake! Serena’s the one he should’ve been mad at. Not me. I didn’t owe the guy anything.”
    The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Sounds like you at least owed him an apology.”
    Grant’s only reply was an eye roll.
    I kept on. “I take it this other teller wasn’t working this morning?”
    â€œHell, no!” Grant cut me a look that was equal parts incredulity and derision, as though my question was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Chris got canned.”
    â€œChris?” I put my pen to my pad. “What’s his full name?”
    â€œChristopher Vogel.”
    â€œAnd the girlfriend?” I