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“It’s wonderful to meet you, too, Echo,” Gabriel replied. “I’m sorry for hijacking your first night out of the jungle. I’m sure sleep was higher on your list than a social dinner,” he said with a pointed glance at Anna.
Anna swirled her wine glass, the ice clinking softly. “I’m not going to apologize for wanting to see my sons and meet Echo,” she said matter-of-factly.
Echo smiled warmly at Anna. “And there’s no apology needed,” she said.
Anna beamed at her husband, her expression triumphant. “See? I was right.”
Gabriel chuckled and slipped an arm around Anna’s waist. His long-suffering response was a simple, “Yes, dear.”
Deacon and Ronan laughed, clearly accustomed to the affectionate banter between their parents. Gabriel turned his attention back to Echo. “May I get you a drink?”
Echo glanced at Deacon, who smiled reassuringly. “Anything but a purple gin drink, thank you,” she replied with a playful grin.
Gabriel’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “I’m sure there’s a story behind that.”
Echo laughed, the memory of that night surfacing. “Oh, yes, sir, there is. When I met Deacon, I was trying to order a drink. Instead, I ended up with more of a purple situation. My Thai is nonexistent, and my English isn’t much better.”
Anna chuckled sympathetically. “Oh, sweetie, me, too. Me, too! I go to all these events, and my hick accent and use of words is immediately pointed out.”
Echo’s mouth dropped open. “How rude! You don’t put up with that, do you?”
Anna smiled and shook her head. “No, I don’t, and I think I like you very much.”
Gabriel intervened, “So, no purple drinks?” He redirected the conversation, and Echo joined Anna in her laughter. “It did taste good, but not tonight.”
Gabriel smiled and nodded. “That we can do. I promise no purple situations will be found in this hotel room.”
Deacon rested an arm over Echo’s shoulders. “I seem to recall you were a Chardonnay fan?”
“That would be fabulous, thank you,” Echo said, smiling up at him.
Ronan, already heading to the kitchenette, raised a hand in acknowledgment. “I’ve got you. Deacon, the usual?”
“You bet,” Deacon replied as Ronan disappeared.
Anna linked her arm through Echo’s again and steered her back toward the plush couches. “So, tell me about the monsoon,” she said. “I understand you and the team were caught in one.”
Echo frowned, her gaze flicking between Deacon, Gabriel, and Anna. Her instincts, honed by years with the CIA, bristled. “I wasn’t aware civilians knew anything about the mission,” she said cautiously. Her internal alarm bells were ringing; something didn’t add up.
Anna chuckled, patting Echo’s arm in a reassuring gesture. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re not civilians. Gabriel ran Guardian for many years. As such, I had to have a security clearance and all the briefings that go with knowing everything about everything. You can trust us not to say a word. We still have our clearances, and Gabriel is still brought in every so often.”
Deacon frowned, his expression curious and slightly concerned. “What? Dad, I thought you were completely retired. You got pulled back in?”
Gabriel sat down across from Echo and Anna, crossing his legs with an air of casual authority. “Just a phone call now and then,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug. “I keep in contact with a couple of people who let me know what’s going on.”
Deacon chuckled, settling beside Echo on the plush sofa. The living room of the presidential suite exuded understated luxury. The subtle hum of the air conditioning and the faint scent of fresh lilies from an arrangement on the marble coffee table added to the peaceful bliss of the apartment.
“You’re nevernotgoing have your fingers in that pie, are you?” Deacon teased. Echo’s grin widened as she observed the uncanny resemblance between his father and him. It was almost eerie—the same sharp jawline, penetrating gaze, even the slight tilt of the head when amused.
“She’s my baby,” Gabriel said with a knowing smirk.
Ronan entered the room, carrying two frosted beer mugs and a glass of Chardonnay. He passed the drinks around and took a seat in a leather armchair. “What are we talking about?”
Deacon tipped his head toward their father. “Dad says he’s still in the mix at Guardian. Keeps in contact with a—” he lifted his fingers in air quotes—“a couple of people.”
Ronan rolled his eyes, his exasperation clear. “Dad, you really do need to retire.”
Anna waved him off. “Oh, hush now. Your dad can do whatever he likes. And if keeping his fingers in the pie helps him relax and enjoy retirement, then let him do it.”