Page 93 of The Hitman’s Final Job

“That’s right,” he says.

“Any relation to Clayton Briggs?” I ask.

“Clayton’s my younger brother,” he says. “But I’m told I’m the handsomest.”

I smile, and the movement feels strange after the last few intense hours.

“Sheriff Briggs, I was actually on my way to find you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m the one who shot Rowan’s shooter. I have the gun I shot him with. It’s Rowan’s gun. And I also have the shooter’s gun.”

Dale Briggs has the particular stance of a man who is rarely surprised, but the twitch in his nose tells me I’ve done just that.

“Now that’s quite something, son. Let me sit with you here, and you can tell me about it.”

I do. I tell him about seeing the suspicious man and that I saw someone move away after the shot was fired. I tell him about Rowan’s bag, and the service weapon, and the decision I made in under two seconds. I tell him about the chase through the side streets, the shots fired at me, the graze on my arm. I tell him about shooting the man in the leg, the ground fight, and the disarming.

“I tried to get him to tell me who hired him, but he wouldn’t talk.”

I don’t tell him about Zuza. I don’t tell him about the contract or the organization.

Not yet.

Dale listens to all of it without interrupting. He asks nothing while I’m talking. When I finish, he’s quiet for a moment.

“You pursued a man who had just shot an FBI agent and fired at you directly.”

“Yes.”

“You have a physical injury consistent with being shot at,” he says.

“Yes.”

“And you pursued him, engaged him, and restrained him until emergency services arrived.”

“Yes. Well, kind of. I asked someone to call emergency services. I needed to come here for Vaughn.”

“I need to take you in,” he says. “Not to hold you, but to take a formal statement. What you’ve described is self-defense and defense of others, and Colorado law is clear on both. But there’s a process, and we’re going to follow it.” His attention on me is heavy. “The FBI is going to be involved given that the victim is one of their agents. They’ll want their own statement.”

“I understand.”

“Taking an FBI agent’s service weapon without authorization is something they’ll want to discuss with you.” He holds my gaze. “I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t know exactly who you are or why you know how to do what you just did. I have some thoughts about it. But what I know is that you caught the bad guy, you kept him alive, and you’re sitting in this hospital instead of running. That tells me something.”

He shifts a bit on the chair. “You said you have both weapons.”

“In Vaughn’s car,” I say. “In the parking lot.”

He stands up. “Show me.”

We walk out of the waiting room together, down the corridor, through the hospital entrance, and outside. When we get to the car, I open the passenger door and reach into the glove compartment where I secured both weapons for the drive here.

I hold them out to Dale.

“The operative’s weapon will match the bullet they took out of Rowan,” I say. “If you search around the area the man was found, there will be three shots fired at me that hit the wall of a house and maybe a bullet that grazed my arm. Ballistics will confirm they’re from his gun. I fired three shots, and they are all in his body.”

Dale hands me a business card. “I need you to come to the station tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock. We’ll take the formal statement then.”