Page 121 of The Hardest Hit

“I haven’t made a decision. I’m still thinking. I mean, I can’t do this forever. It’s a career with a limited life span. I’m going to need a retirement job.”

Jackson grunted. Devonte’s logic made sense; it was just inconvenient for him personally.

“Well, I would prefer you to put it off a few years, but you have to do what’s right for you,” said Jackson after a minute.

“You’re not even…” Devonte trailed off.

“What?”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

“What’s weird?”

“Me being a stockbroker?”

“Well, you’re the only one who can get the math right on your expense reports,” said Jackson. “Which probably isn’t a pre-qualifier for stockbrokering, or whatever it’s called, but it seems relevant. Plus, if Evan thinks you can do it, then I’m sure he’s right.”

“You don’t think he’d shine me up due to the Nazi thing?” asked Devonte, and Jackson snorted.

“No.”

“I wouldn’t even have met Evan if it weren’t for you.”

“Yeah?” Jackson was lost.

“Some people might be mad about that,” suggested Devonte.

Jackson still felt lost. “I don’t know. It seems fine.”

“You know,” said Devonte, “you Deverauxes are like the chillest assholes I know.”

“Aw, thanks,” said Jackson, feeling genuinely complimented.

Jackson’s earpiece chirped.

“Security is down,” said Kerschel. “Good luck.”

“Let’s do this,” said Jackson. He led the way to the back door. A few minutes with a lock-pick let them into the mudroom. They walked through the house until they met Pete and Garcia in the front hall. The light was on in the living room, but no one was there. Pete gestured them toward the stairs and they all followed the older man to the second floor. By the time they reached the well-lit bedroom Jackson had a bad feeling. The room, despite the light being on, looked empty. The bed was still made, but the dresser drawers had been pulled open, and a safe that would ordinarily be hidden behind a painting was exposed and open.

“I don’t think he’s here,” said Devonte.

“I saw lights being turned off and on,” said Garcia. “We can’t have missed him by more—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the bedroom light went off. All four of them jumped. Jackson let out an angry growl and stomped over to the light switch and flipped the light back on.

“He’s got one of those damn smart house integrations,” Jackson said, tapping the display panel by the light switch. “They’re either on a timer, or he’s doing it on his phone. Devonte, go check the bathroom. Everyone else spread out tell me what you see.”

The team scattered and Jackson went to check the safe. There was an empty gun-carrying box and suspicious powder residue. Granger had left with a gun, drugs—he leaned down to check the outlines in the dust—maybe papers of some kind.

“Shower is dry. Toothbrush is missing,” Devonte yelled from the bathroom.

“His phone is in the next room on the desk,” said Pete coming in from the hall.

“At least three pairs of shoes are missing,” said Garcia, coming out of the walk-in closet.

“He split,” said Pete.

“Maybe he turned himself in?” offered Garcia, looking like he wished he believed himself.

“Or maybe he knew what was coming down on him and he jumped bail,” said Devonte.

“He’s gone,” said Jackson.

“Yeah, but…” Jackson turned to look at Pete, waiting for thebutin the sentence to turn into something good. “His assets are frozen and he’s got no cash. I don’t think he can get that far. We can find him.”

“We’d better,” said Jackson. “He has a gun and he hates my family. I’m not going to wait around to find out what he can do. Reach out to every contact you have. I want him found.”