“I had no idea smartphones were so versatile.”

“I’ll just have to download it. It’ll just take a sec.”

“Do I have that long?”

Humor sparkled in his eyes as he waited for me to find the app. I’d forgotten the name of it, so I had to go back to my phone, then back to his, then do a search, then download, then install it, all while my patient lay dying. Did no one understand that seconds counted?

“Got it!” I said at last. I pressed one phone to his chest and one to the side of his rib cage like they did in the movies, and yelled, “Clear!”

Granted, I didn’t get off him or anything as the electrical charge riddled his body, slammed his heart into action, and probably scorched his skin. Or that was my hope, anyway.

He handled it well. One corner of his mouth twitched, but that was about it. He was such a trouper.

After two more jolts of electricity—it had to be done—I leaned forward and pressed my fingertips to his throat.

“Well?” he asked after a tense moment.

I released a ragged sigh of relief, and my shoulders fell forward in exhaustion. “You’re going to be okay, Mr. Farrow.”

Without warning, my patient pulled me into his arms and rolled me over, pinning me to the bed with his considerable weight and burying his face in my hair.

It was a miracle!

“But are you?” he asked, the question part promise and part threat.

I giggled as a strong hand slid into my boxers. “No,” I said breathlessly. “Never.”

And as he slid inside me again, my body clenching around him in reflex, I believed it. I would never be all right again. And somehow I was good with that.

* * *

“You know,” he said at around three in the morning, “there is one secret we’ve never talked about.”

I tried not to get too excited, but … “Is this one of your two?”

“No,” he said, then he laughed when I pursed my mouth in disappointment.

“So there’s another one?”

“Kind of.”

“You had three?”

“It’s not really a secret. You’ve just never asked.”

Intrigued, I scooted closer. “Well, then clearly I should have.”

“You’ve never asked about the money.”

“The money. Your money?”

“No, the government’s,” he said with a chuckle.

“Are we going to talk about the national budget? Because I am so there.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth, his long lashes standing at half-mast over his dark, shimmering eyes. “You’ve never asked how much we have.”

“We?”

“We,” he said sternly.

“I’ve never asked because I’ve never needed to. I already know.”

One shapely brow inched up. “Do you?”

“Yep. Kim told me. I know exactly how much you have.”

“We.”

“Or had. That was almost a year ago, and we both know you’ve been burning through the stuff like crude oil.”

Kim was Reyes’s nonbiological sister. They grew up together, fighting side by side just to survive the horrors of the man who raised them, Earl Walker. He would do anything for her, and she for him. She proved it when she’d started burning buildings down about a year ago, all to hide evidence of what Earl did to Reyes. It was the sweetest misguided act of love I’d ever known, but she was on the verge of being a wanted woman, so Reyes set her up somewhere remote. I hadn’t seen her since.

“So, what did she tell you?”

“Fifty big ones. Which was kind of hard for me to wrap my head around. I mean, fifty million? Who the hell has fifty million dollars?”

“Kim was talking about her money. Not ours.”

“Yeah, she said that. But she doesn’t touch it. You know that, right? She only takes a little of the interest to live off of. She told me she would never touch your money.”

“I know.” The muscles in his jaw jumped as he bit down in frustration. “She can be hardheaded that way. Like someone else I know.”

“I wish I could get to know her better. I wish we could hang and share stories about you and talk behind your back like real sisters-in-law.”

“Oddly enough, I wish that, too. I hope you still can someday.”

I felt a current pass through him. A disturbance, though I couldn’t identify it.

“Is something wrong? She’s okay, right?”

He rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his forehead. “I’m not sure.”