Luke braced his elbows on the table, rubbing his jaw and looking troubled. “Caroline wrote to say that you canceled the sale of the Pelican. That you’re going overseas again.”

That was the plan, but as the scorching pain of Annabelle’s betrayal eased, the urge to run had faded. Gray was tired of life at sea. He was ready to settle down, and if it couldn’t be with Annabelle, he would find someone else.

“I’m keeping the ship,” he said. “Otis will be heading out in my place. He’s ready for a new challenge, and he gets along well with Captain Haig. I trust them both.”

“Good!” Luke said. “Caroline is worried sick about you heading out again. She’ll never admit it, but I think she’s in over her head at the White House, and it would be good if you were nearby.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just reading between the lines of her letters,” Luke said casually, but then he sobered and leaned forward, an earnest expression on his face. “Look, thanks for what you did, hauling that applesauce project across the finish line. Don’t lose momentum now. The Magruders are on the ropes and might be forced to clean up their act, but I suspect they’ll subcontract with other suppliers. Keep your eye on them.”

He rattled off half a dozen tricks the Magruders might use and techniques to sniff them out. He was cold and clinical as he outlined strategy and provided contacts to help get the upper hand.

“Do everything quietly,” Luke urged. “No matter what happens, keep your fingerprints off it. If the Delacroix name gets mixed up in this, it will look like a business rivalry, and it isn’t. This is a crusade for fair play and the health of every person in America who opens a jar of food or buys a pound of coffee.”

“I hear you.” Maybe for the first time in his life, Gray fully heard what Luke was telling him. Gray had always belittled Luke’s activities, but beneath the surface of the bon vivant, it seemed Luke operated with careful, methodical planning and cunning intelligence. How could Gray have underestimated his little brother all these years?

Luke had turned his face to the sun, a slight smile hovering on his mouth as a hint of a breeze softened the prison yard. He gazed at the wispy clouds overhead as though they were the most beautiful works of art in creation.

“How often do they let you out?” Gray asked, dreading the answer.

The way Luke gazed at the sky with that blissful expression didn’t waver. “Not much,” he answered, as though he didn’t have a care in the world.