Chapter 33

Pari had left a note on the garage door, and Shaw peeled it off and read it as he stepped inside. Do I have two bosses again, the note began, like the Viet Cong answering to their Chinese and Russian overlords? Or am I still dealing with the Sino-Soviet split?

Shaw wasn’t sure how historically accurate the note was—he had the idea that Pari might need some more time studying—but the concern buried under the words made him smile.

When Shaw reached his bedroom, he found Matty in bed, knees pulled to his chest as he read the surviving copy of Faust. Matty dropped the book and scrambled out of bed. Then he froze.

“Oh my God. Are you ok? Is everything ok?”

Before Shaw could answer, Matty had slammed into him, dragging him into an embrace that was tight with need and worry. And for some reason, Shaw just wanted to push Matty off him, just wanted five minutes alone—even though being alone, really alone, was what had bothered him so much about watching North drive off in the Beamer. Shaw was just tired, he told himself. He’d just had a long day.

That was how Matty’s version of twenty questions began: he wanted to know everything. Where did Shaw go? Why hadn’t he told Matty he was leaving? Was he ok? What happened? Was he ok? Really, Regina—that was the one Shaw had mentioned before, right? What happened? Was he ok? Oh, his arm, how bad was his arm hurt. Was he ok? What about the blackmail? Was it really Regina? What happened? Was Shaw ok, was he really ok? What about the blackmail? Did Shaw find anything? Was he ok?

That question, was he ok, burrowed under Shaw’s skin until finally he got up, shaking Matty’s hand off his elbow, and said he needed a shower. Matty just smiled up at him from under that unruly wave of blond hair, drew his lip between his teeth, and asked if Shaw wanted someone to scrub his back.

Shaw felt like he had to laugh. Shaw felt like he had to bend and kiss Matty’s cheek as he declined. For the first time, he noticed a brittleness to the amethyst quality of Matty’s eyes, and he wondered why he had ever thought the color was that remarkable. Blue was blue, wasn’t it?

When he got under the spray, Shaw’s head was throbbing, and he scrubbed his scalp, let the hot water pound down on his back and shoulders. A thought broke loose from deep in his brain, bubbled up toward the surface, and suddenly Shaw found himself wondering how long he had to date Matty, how many days, before he could initiate a break-up. This was all new territory. North would probably know the right protocol, although it would kill Shaw to give North the satisfaction. And then Shaw realized what he was thinking and popped that thought-bubble as fast as he could. He was just tired. He’d just had a long day.