Archie picked up one of the soaps and unwrapped it. The soap inside was black. He’d never seen black soap before. He lifted it to his nose. It smelled faintly like whiskey. Archie rubbed it around in his hands and then lathered his chest. The suds were thick and creamy and as he moved them around his chest the rough, tender tissue of his scars tingled under his touch. He moved his fingers over each one. He knew the topography of every scar—the soft pearly ones that were long and surgical, the tough lumps where she’d driven nails into his chest, and the smaller gouges that marked where she’d just cut him for fun. The combination of the heat of the shower, the pleasant musky odor of the soap, and the pills in his system left him feeling more relaxed than he had been in months. Endorphins pulsed in his brain. He moved his hand down, tracing the length of the scar that ran from his xyphoid process to his solar plexus. The surgeons at Emanuel had given him that one when they’d opened him up to repair the hack job she’d done taking out his spleen. That scar was hard and thick, the flesh faded to a pale seashell-pink. He moved his hand lower.

“Archie,” he heard someone hiss.

Archie dropped the soap and spun around. Through the steam, Archie could make out Leo entering the room, just closing the bathroom door behind him. Archie stood there flustered for a moment, and then fumbled to turn off the faucet.

“Let it run,” Leo said, walking over. “I don’t know if they’re listening.” He came to a stop on the other side of where the shower curtain should be and then just stood there, casually, as if it were perfectly normal to be having a conversation while one person was naked and lathered with soap.

Did Leo really think that Jack Reynolds bugged his bathrooms, or did he just think someone might have their ear to the door? Archie didn’t pursue it. But he left the shower on.

“Are you okay?” Leo asked.

Archie had stepped out of the downpour coming from the hubcap spigot, but stayed in the shower. Blood-tinged water was splattered on his feet. Steam rose around him. Soapsuds slid down his chest. He waited for Leo to toss him a towel, but he didn’t. “I woke up an hour ago near your boathouse with a concussion,” Archie said. “What do you think?”

Leo was standing in front of the towel rack, blocking Archie’s access to it.