Peeling his hands away from his eyes, Shaw asked, “What’s on the recording?”

Matty gave a slow shake of his head.

“Did you kill him?”

“He’s really dead? I heard North say that, but I didn’t—” Tension eased in Matty’s slender frame, and he hugged himself. “I didn’t really think it was true. I hoped it was, Jesus, but I didn’t really think.”

“Did you kill him?”

“What? No. You said that other person, Regina, you said—”

“Where were you last night?”

“With you.”

“All last night. Before that.”

After a moment, Matty said, “I was here. I called you from here, didn’t I?”

Shaw nodded.

“Then I went home. Then those guys tried to break in, and—”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why were guys following you? Why were people breaking into your apartment? Or was that all bullshit too?”

“Mark has videos on everybody. Fucking everybody. Do you understand that? Everybody wants that stuff. They want to destroy the stuff about themselves, and they want to keep the rest. So people are looking for me. They think I took it from Mark. I didn’t. If I had that stuff, I wouldn’t have hired you. I wouldn’t be hiding. I wouldn’t be running.”

“And the apartment, the website, the—the whole thing—”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I lied to you, Shaw.” Tears sprang to Matty’s eyes again, and this time, he didn’t wipe them away. “You’re the only person who’s ever been good to me, and I lied to you. I hurt you. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to fall—” He stopped. He bit his lips. Tears glowed in rivers down his cheeks, and he shook his head once, trying to smile. “I hope you find somebody who deserves you.”

Matty stepped around Shaw.

Shaw caught his arm.

“I’ll pay you, Shaw. I’m not running out on the bill. It might take me a while, but I’ll pay whatever I owe. If Mark’s really dead, nobody else is going to come after me. I’ll find a job. I’ll work. And I’ll pay you.”

Shaw ran his tongue between his teeth. Hurt and confusion were pulling out of him like the tide, and in their place came a hot, baking anger. Anger at North. Anger at himself for wasting so many years. Anger, too, at Matty. His hand tightened.

“You’re hurting me,” Matty said, but his voice was even. He had the watchful eyes of a boy who’d been hurt by plenty of men. He knew when to take it. He knew when to break and run.

“I told you to stay.”

“I’m not—”

Shaw shoved him onto the couch again, and then he moved to stand in front of Matty, pinning him in place. He grabbed a handful of the unruly blond hair, forced Matty’s head back, stared into amethyst eyes. Shaw could hear his own breathing, rough and eager in the stillness.

Matty blinked. He ran his hand across Shaw’s bulge. Shaw grunted, fighting to keep from thrusting into the touch.