A good question, to be sure. But Drake already knew the answer to that one. “As long as it takes.”

They smiled at him—Dot with indulgence, Margot with gratitude—and then turned together for the stairs. “You can have Aunt Millie’s bed tonight, Margot. Drake will have to go to Abuelo’s hotel with him. He won’t mind, will you, Drake? And Red can . . .”

Drake shook his head as the two women continued up the stairs without a backward look to make sure he’d agreed with the arrangements.

Red slapped a hand to his shoulder. “I’m off for home, then, I suppose. It was good serving with you today, Elton.”

“Agreed. I can think of no one I’d rather have beside me in this war.” Well, and Camden. But no need to bring him up just now, since he’d already left after seeing everyone had survived the night.

Red turned then to Abuelo. Shoulders straight, chin up, confidence in his eyes that certainly hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. “I look forward to getting to know you better while you’re here, sir.”

Abuelo shook his hand, not so much as a twitch in his countenance to show any unease at the thought of being away from the home that had long been his fort. “Indeed, young man. The very words I was thinking.”

With a lopsided grin, Red nodded and turned toward the door.

Drake waited for it to shut behind him before he turned to his grandfather. He wasn’t sure where Eneko had vanished to—probably to the hotel on the next street, where they’d reserved rooms. Where apparently Drake would be sleeping tonight too. But he was grateful for a few minutes of solitude with Abuelo. He owed him an explanation.

Abuelo was already turning back into the office, knowing well Drake would follow. He sat down in the pathetic little chair behind the desk and looked as proud and regal as he always did in his own.

Drake sat across from him. “I didn’t leave the navy, as I told you I did.”

“So I gathered.” Was that a twitch in his lips? The beginnings of a smile perhaps? “And frankly, I could never fathom that you would. You were never a coward, Dragón. Many things, but never that. You are an intelligence agent now?”

He couldn’t admit it to just anyone. But no one knew how to juggle trade secrets quite like Francisco Mendoza de Haro. He nodded.

“That makes infinitely more sense than any other explanation. And I am, of course, happy to continue offering my humble abode as your base of operations. On one condition.” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Tell me about this Margot De Wilde, whom you look at as though she is the only young lady in the world.”