She stared at the tall, muscled man in her kitchen and prayed she’d gotten through to him.

She hadn’t.

“While this is all interesting,” he said, “it doesn’t get me my two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. If you know where your brother is, I suggest you tell him to turn himself in. It will go better for him that way than if he’s found and arrested.”

The weight of the world seemed to press down on her shoulders. “No. You can’t. I’ll make payments. A hundred dollars a month. Two hundred. I can do that, I swear.” Maybe she could get a second job. “It’s less than four weeks until Christmas. You can’t throw Tim in jail now. He needs help. He needs to get this fixed. Sending him to prison won’t change anything. It’s not like you need the money.”

The ice returned to his cool, gray eyes. “And that makes it all right to steal?”

She winced. “Of course not. It’s just, please. I’ll work with you. This is my family you’re talking about.”

“Then mortgage your house, Ms. McCoy.”

There was a finality to his tone. A promise that he meant what he said about throwing Tim in jail.

How was she supposed to decide? The house or Tim’s freedom. The problem was she didn’t trust her brother to do any better if she mortgaged the house, but how could she let him be locked away?

“It’s impossible,” she said.

“Actually, it’s very easy.”

“For you,” she snapped. “What are you? The meanest man on the planet? Give me a second here.”

He stiffened slightly. If she hadn’t been staring at him, she wouldn’t have noticed the sudden tension in his shoulders or the narrowing of his eyes.

“What did you say?” he asked, his voice low and controlled.

“I said give me a minute. Maybe there’s another choice. A compromise. I’m good at negotiating.” What she really wanted to say was she was good at negotiating with unreasonable children, but doubted Duncan would appreciate the comparison.