He was really good at metaphors.

“You guys are always finding shit, just out of the blue. Anonymous tips, my ass. You are the most unethical, unprofessional PI I’ve ever met.”

“I am. I really am. I know about your file, too, since we’re on the subject of unethical practices.”

He was livid. “I’m going to nail your ass if it’s the last thing I do. You had something so, so—” His voice cracked, and I stepped back to look at him. “My wife and I have been trying for five years, and you just throw it away?”

“Parker,” I said, empathy washing over me. Still, he did call me a bitch.

“I know Detective Davidson was in on it. I know he was with you when the baby was born.”

“He was actually kind of above me.” I remembered his face as he stared down the well at me. And the worried look on it.

“Then you admit it. You admit you had a baby and, what? Accidentally killed it? Sold it? Gave it away? What?”

Was he honestly so noble that he would nail me, in the nonsexual sense, even after what I’d done for Lyle Fiske? That he would give up a friendship or the hope for a lucrative—in a prosecutorial way—relationship because he thought I’d broken the law? Was he really the kind of guy who would arrest his best friend for drug trafficking instead of trying to help him cover it up?

“You don’t know me, so let me explain,” he said. “I’m the kind of guy who would arrest my best friend for drug trafficking instead of trying to help him cover it up.”

Wow. That was spot-on. I liked him.

“If you think because we solved a case together—”

“We?”

“—that I’m going to step back from this investigation, you’re wrong. I will find out what you did with that baby if it’s the last thing I do.”

Uh-oh. Wrong thing to say. “Now you’re just pissing me off,” I said.

“Good. I hope you and your corrupt uncle—”

“Corrupt?”

“—get everything that’s coming to you.”

“Corrupt?”

“Now that I have your confession that you did have a baby and you can’t produce any birth certificate or adoption papers…” His smile defined smug.

“Is that really it?” I asked him, almost feeling sorry for him. “Is that what all this is about?”

“Not at all. I’ve been onto you for almost two years. There’s just too much—”

“Shade. Yeah, I got that.”

“So, how about it? Want to just confess all your sins here and now? I have a legal pad somewhere.”

Parker was a hard one to figure out. He was more complex than most people. I could use someone like him on our side. But even if I told him the truth, even if I gave him a show of supernatural wonder to prove it, he was the kind that wouldn’t care. But he’d been willing to break the law for his friend. He was a tough nut to crack.

“One more chance, Parker. Grant Guerin.”

“Kiss my ass.”

I slowed time and contemplated what I was about to do. Not for long, however. I’d pretty much made up my mind the minute he told me he was going to find Beep no matter what. Sealed his fate with that one.

I rose onto my toes and brushed my mouth across his for the briefest second. Then I let time bounce back as the truth poured into his mind like a bad LSD trip. Pictures and memories. Everything that had ever happened to me. Everything I knew, good and bad. Supernatural and mortal. He got it all in one, massive info dump.

He saw the stars being formed. Planets align from space. Supernovas explode. Red giants die. He saw the fall of Lucifer and the rise of Noah’s ark. He saw war and famine and peace and abundance. He saw the otherworld in all its glory. The gods and demons and everything in between. And he saw Beep. How she was born. How she was almost killed. How we had to give her up to save her life. What that did to me. And what I would do to him if he even thought about pursuing his investigation.

“Oh, my god,” he said as he fell to his knees, drool slipping from one corner of his mouth.

It was a lot to take in.

He clasped his hands and bowed before me. I’d never been worshipped before. Not since I’d become human. I did not like it.

“I would never try to find her. I’m so sorry. I’ll get rid of everything.” He started crying, sobbing into the carpet beneath him.

I bent down to him and lifted his chin. “Grant Guerin.”

He could hardly speak, he was shaking so hard. “He’s behind McCoy’s on Girard.” I turned to leave, but he stopped me. “Davidson, I—I had no idea.”