Cinders by Asha King

there before, knew the house’s interior, but he wanted to ensure she had everything she needed before he ducked out—and then closed himself in the billiard room and dialed a familiar number. When the office turned up nothing but a voicemail recording, he tried his friend’s cell phone.
    Three rings in, Mike O’Hara picked up. “Prescott.”
    Brennen hesitated. Mike worked private security now and he tended to keep it legal, but he was the only person Brennen could think of who might be able to help. “I need a favor for a friend.”
    “What kind of favor?”
    “The kind I suspect only you can deliver.”
    Mike was silent at this and Brennen paced the length of the room, rounding the pool table and pausing to stare through the window at the eastern garden.
    “What’s this favor?”
    Brennen let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding; if Mike wanted details, he would help if he could. “A friend is in a situation where her rightful inheritance is likely being kept from her. We have a very small window in which to act. She needs to get a hold of the accounting books for the business that should be hers.”
    “I assume that if it was as simple as walking into an office and accessing a file, someone already would’ve done it.”
    “She thinks they’re kept in a safe in the home.”
    “Is this for the girl you wanted to stop in and see a few weeks ago?”
    “Yes.” Whether or not that would add weight to his request, Brennen didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to lie to his friend.
    “And you say it’s a small window?” Paper flipped in the background—presumably his friend was going through his calendar.
    “Possibly already closing.”
    “I know a guy who can crack the average safe but he might not be available right away. Regardless, he can direct me. Still, we’ll need some time—can you guarantee when this house will be empty?”
    He couldn’t, but hopefully Gina could—especially if it meant catching her stepmother. “I’ll call you back in a few.”
    “I’ll start making arrangements.”
    He found her in the large kitchen, sorting through the boxes of supplies delivered earlier that morning. She popped open a bag of decorative chocolate pieces and offered him one, grinning faintly as she popped it in his mouth and her finger rested a moment on his lips.
    “For a diabetic-friendly version I’ll offer.”
    He chewed and swallowed the chocolate, which he admittedly could barely tell the difference from the regular kind, and marveled at how quick she’d been from the very beginning to accommodate dietary restrictions of some of the guests.
    “I spoke to my friend.”
    Gina paused her rummaging and glance up at him, her expression growing cautious. “And?”
    “He’s willing to help but your stepmother and sisters will need to be out of the house, at least for a few hours. Will they all possibly be working at the shop tomorrow?”
    “Not all three. Tatum and Tamara wouldn’t both be working at the same time. And given Maureen’s attitude about the bakery, it wouldn’t surprise me if she closes it tomorrow since I’ll be busy catering and blame me for ‘loss of profits’.” She drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Did they get an invite to the party?”
    Brennen wasn’t familiar with the guest lists—it was just generally understood that a large number of Midsummer’s residents would be there. “I don’t know about specifically. Did you see them with the RSVPs?” He knew Gina had been through the lists to plan the desserts and double check any notes of allergies and dietary concerns.
    “Not that I recall.”
    “I’ll get you one. If they’re at the party, even if only for a few hours, combined with the travel it should keep them out long enough for Mike to look around.” He wrapped his hands around her upper arms and pulled her close, gazing down at her. As much as he believed her, he also knew she’d been through a lot and before he committed his