He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “I am.”

“Come again? I thought Fiske was your friend.”

“He was. Still is.”

What game was he playing? “Then you need to step down. You’ll be fired. Hell, you could be disbarred if they find out, not to mention the fact that it will cause a mistrial and cost the state tens of thousands.”

“You let me worry about that.”

“Parker—”

“Look, no matter what I think of you or what the rumors say about you—”

“Rumors?”

“—Lyle didn’t do it.”

“What rumors?”

“You have an uncanny ability to get the guiltiest person who walked the face of the earth off when they have everything stacked against them. Prove to me it’s not just blind luck.”

“That could be a bit difficult. Luck plays a big part in my daily life. And I don’t get guilty people off, Parker.”

He stood, too, and rounded the desk until we stood toe-to-toe.

Ballsy.

“I need this case solved,” he said.

“I’m getting that.”

“Quickly and quietly.”

“I’m not really the quiet type. But you still need to step down.”

“No,” he said, a sly grin curving his mouth. “I’m the contingency plan.”

“The what?”

“The contingency plan. You fuck this up, I’ll make sure things go our way from my end.”

Even saying something like that out loud was so damning—in the legal sense—I got light-headed. I whispered my next words, worried someone would overhear. “You’re going to throw the case?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I’m going to make sure Lyle Fiske is acquitted.”

“On purpose?”

Without responding, he waited for my reaction, his expression calculated.

“Isn’t that against your code of conduct or something?”

“Very.”

“And what makes you think I’ll go along with it?”

Again, his only response was the barest hint of a smile.

Son of a bitch. He had something on me. He was way too confident and way too smart to just drop something like that in my lap, something that could end his career and possibly send him to prison, without having some kind of insurance. A backup plan to make certain I’d play nice.

The woman stepped closer, my desk no hindrance to her whatsoever. I stepped back, and Parker thought I was shying away from him. He took another step closer. Other than his spatial boundary issues, he was daring me to threaten to go to the DA.

This required finesse. Unfortunately, I didn’t have an overabundance of the stuff, but I knew who did. I’d keep quiet for now. Let him think I’d joined the team. But I would get to the bottom of whatever he had on me. Hopefully it wasn’t actually my bottom in, say, a compromising position. It’d been ages since I’d compromised my ass.

“And what if he really is guilty?” I asked. “If I find evidence contrary to your opinion, how far are you going to take this?”

“I’m not worried in the least.”

“But what if I do. How far?”

“You won’t, so all the way.”

“What makes you so certain, so convinced, that you’re willing to risk your entire career for this guy?”

And there it was again. That niggling of guilt that I’d felt the second he walked in. I’d felt guilt from both of them. Had they conspired on something and it backfired?

Before he could answer, I held up an index finger, pulled a tissue out of the box on my desk, and coughed softly into it. Then I braced my palm on my desk. Took a sip of coffee. Coughed again. All the while, the woman’s life flashed before my eyes.

She had worked the rice paddies of Jamuna, Nepal, her entire life, surviving floods and earthquakes to gather food for her family. After Amita married a man she didn’t love, her girlfriends at the fields became her salvation. They laughed together. Raised their children together. And talked about their husbands from behind cupped hands and hushed giggles.

But her feelings for her husband grew. Sijan was mysterious to her. Rahasyamaya. With silvery eyes and a guarded smile. He was raised in a village to the west, and when he felt her distrust of him, he left to become a Sherpa guide. It was a skill his father had passed down to him. Treacherous and foolhardy, Amita thought. But it would bring in money. And she began to look forward to his return.

When he did come home, he would not tell her about his adventures, and all the girls would try to guess. It must have been glamorous, they would say, getting to know the rich Westerners, but Amita knew better. Sijan’s body was battered when he returned. The elements on the mountain were the most unforgiving kind. He’d slimmed to unhealthy proportions, and it took her a month to fatten him up again. Yet he grew stronger every year. More beautiful every time he came home.