BLACKMAIL BABY SURPRISE

  HOLLY RAYNER

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  1. Emma

  2. Patrick

  3. Emma

  4. Patrick

  5. Emma

  6. Patrick

  7. Emma

  8. Patrick

  9. Emma

  10. Patrick

  11. Emma

  12. Patrick

  13. Emma

  14. Patrick

  15. Emma

  16. Patrick

  17. Emma

  18. Patrick

  19. Emma

  20. Patrick

  Epilogue

  Also by Holly Rayner

  Copyright 2024 by Holly Rayner

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER 1

  EMMA

  Emma took a deep, slow breath, but her hands were still shaking slightly. After almost two weeks as a night maid at Ariti Industries, the time had come to do what she was here for. Just the thought of it sent another rush of nerves through her.

  Emma pushed her cart down the hallway of offices. As she went, she glanced once more through the glass doors of each office she passed to confirm that she was alone on the floor. Since it was after two in the morning, this shouldn’t have been unusual, but during the last few weeks there had always been one or two employees pulling all-nighters and stopping her from accomplishing her task — even once she’d identified where the provenance records were kept.

  Tonight, though, she was really alone. She’d checked twice.

  Emma caught sight of herself in the reflective glass of one of the office doors and sighed. In her work as a corporate spy, she often posed in entry-level administration positions or as a temporary assistant. It wasn’t often that she posed as a maid, though it wasn’t unheard of either. Still, the unflattering blue uniform and tight bun wasn’t her favorite disguise. Plus, the employees at Ariti Industries hadn’t exactly been friendly. Aleksander Ariti, the head of the company and Emma’s main target, had practically yelled at her when the sound of her vacuum disrupted a conference call.

  Emma didn’t mind stealing secrets from him.

  She was very principled in her work despite her position as a spy. She would never take jobs that would hurt regular people. She only accepted work that targeted big, often shady organizations that could handle a few trade secrets being stolen or some malpractice being uncovered. This job fit the brief perfectly. A rival company, CPK, had hired her to document the provenance of a painting Ariti Industries had recently acquired and was now planning to sell. According to Ariti Industries, the painting was from the seventeenth century and had been owned by a string of influential figures, including, for a brief period in the 1900s, a sitting US president.

  Although the painting wasn’t particularly unique or special (Emma had looked it up and found the lighting to be underwhelming, the colors uninspiring), the painting’s storied history meant that it was already estimated at well over ten million dollars in an upcoming auction. CPK was sure that Ariti was lying about the provenance to drive up the prices and had hired Emma to prove it.

  Tonight, she was finally going to be able to. Emma parked the cleaning cart beside Aleksander’s office and used her badge to unlock the door. Just as she’d confirmed a dozen times already that night, the office was deserted. Emma wheeled the cart inside and closed the door behind her. As an extra precaution, she tugged the blinds down to cover what she was doing from any passing stragglers — even though she was sure the floor was empty.

  She crossed to the towering file cabinet in one corner. Aleksander’s office was immaculately decorated with modern glass and metal furniture, from his sweeping desk to his impersonal white walls to his view over the nighttime lights of Chicago out a large window. Only the filing cabinet stood out as a hulking piece of archaic furniture. During her second week here, Emma had spotted Aleksander looking through the cabinet and had noticed that it was filled with documents. Based on her research, she knew that Aleksander trusted almost no one. She was sure that he would have kept the provenance records in the only place he could be sure was safe — in his own office, in a locked filing cabinet. A few carefully timed visits to the office later, Emma had confirmed that most of the company’s secure files were locked in the cabinet.

  She took a bottle of window cleaner out of her pocket. In preparation for tonight, she’d emptied and washed the bottle before filling it with her lock-pick tools. She put on a pair of blue plastic cleaning gloves to conceal any fingerprints and poured the tools into her hand. Then she turned to the filing cabinet. Here we go.

  Gently, she slid the first small metal tube into the lock and swept it around in a clockwise direction until she heard that distinctive click. Then she inserted the next tube and repeated the process. A few minutes later, the lock clicked more loudly and she slid the drawer open. Inside was a series of folders. Emma flicked through and quickly determined that these were contracts, not provenance records. Her heart constricted slightly. If she were wrong about where the records were kept, it would set her back weeks. What if Aleksander had a second filing cabinet in a more secluded location?

  Emma closed the drawer and relocked it. She checked the second drawer, the third, then the fourth. They were filled with contracts and documents but nothing about provenance. Finally, her heart in her throat, she knelt on the floor and picked the lock of the final drawer. This was taking too long, but she had no other choice unless she wanted to abandon the mission and wait for another night with no employees on the floor.

  After a small eternity, the lock clicked and Emma pulled the drawer open. Immediately, she felt herself relax. These were provenance records. Jackpot.

  She flipped through them for a few minutes before coming across the record for the Lady in White, the painting in question. She lifted out the leather case and placed it on Aleksander’s desk. There, she removed the records and smoothed them onto the glass surface of the desk. It was just as CPK suspected. This painting had never belonged to a US president. In fact, the most influential owner had been the mayor of a small town in Utah — and that had been shortly after the painting was completed in 1972.

  Emma tipped the window cleaner again and a small camera fell into her hand. Carefully, being sure not to miss a single square inch of the records, she began photographing the provenance certificate. It was a little dim in the office, but the pictures were turning out clearly.

  And then it happened.

  As she was taking a picture of the last few lines of text, which confirmed that the painting had been owned by a small-time country singer before he went bankrupt a few years ago, Emma heard something in the hallway. She froze, and her heart started to pound. She had no idea who could be out there; all the offices had been empty when she’d checked. Who would come to work at almost three in the morning?

  It didn’t matter. She swept the records back into the case, her hands shaking, and knelt to put them back in the drawer. With any luck, the sound she’d heard in the hallway was a fluke — a heating unit coming on, maybe, or something falling off a desk.

  “Well, what do we have here?”

  Emma’s heart sank down all fifty-eight floors of the building and into the parking garage far below. The sound hadn’t been a coincidence.

  She spun slowly and straightened up. The incriminating records were still in her hands — and the drawer was still open.

  “Mr. Ariti,” Emma said, giving him her best airhead smile. “I’m so glad you’re here. This drawer was open and I was trying to tidy up, but I just have no idea where anything goes.” She shrugged and held out the folder.

  “Hmm. I doubt that.” Aleksander closed the door behind him and approached her to take the folder out of her hands. “See, I happen to know that drawer was locked when I left a few hours ago.”

  “Really?” Emma made her eyes wide. “It was open when I came in to clean.”

  “Have a seat.” Aleksander gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk, and Emma, her heart still pounding, sat. Aleksander sat across from her and set the folder in front of him. Slowly, he opened the front cover and scanned the contents. “The Lady in White,” he said. “Fascinating.”

  Emma stayed silent. There was no use lying anymore. Aleksander clearly knew that she’d taken the file and didn’t believe her cover story. All that was left to do was wait and see what he’d do now that he’d found her out. A new kind of nerves filled her, more dread than the nervous excitement she’d felt before breaking into the filing cabinet.

  “I know Michael Corner at CPK has been sniffing around this painting.” Aleksander closed the file. “My guess is that he sent you over here.”

  Emma stayed silent, her hands folded in her lap and her face schooled into what she hoped was a neutral expression.

  “Sure, sure.” Aleksander waved a hand lazily. “You won’t sell out your boss. I understand. But the question remains of what to do with you.”

  He looked her up and d
own, and Emma felt her stomach tying itself into knots. Corporate espionage was a crime. She could easily end up in jail.

  “Of course, I could turn you over to the authorities.” Aleksander smiled as Emma shifted in her chair. “Or, perhaps, I could give you a little… task. Given that you’ve slipped through my security and into my own office, I’m sure you could handle it.”

  Emma remained silent, though she wondered what this job could be. Any job would be better than jail. Wouldn’t it?

  “See, an… acquaintance of mine has recently acquired a new painting. Aurora. I want you to get it for me.”

  Finally, Emma spoke up. “Mr. Ariti⁠—”

  “Aleksander, please, since we’ll be business partners.”

  “Aleksander. I don’t steal. If you want inside information, secrets, or uncovering misdeeds, I’m your girl. But I’m not experienced enough to actually take anything, nor am I willing to.”

  “I understand.” Aleksander leaned forward. “But I doubt you want to end up in prison, either. And wouldn’t it be nice to expand your portfolio?”

  It would not. Emma had firm lines that she refused to cross, and stealing was one of them. Although, a tiny voice in her head countered, perhaps stealing paintings isn’t all that different from stealing secrets. Emma shook herself. That wasn’t true. This was no time to waver in what she believed in.

  Aleksander seemed to take her silence as agreement because he continued speaking. “The painting belongs to one Patrick Daniels. I’d like you to take it for me.”

  “And how should I do that?” Emma asked. “As I told you, I have no experience in art theft.”

  “Patrick keeps the painting in his personal collection. Beyond that, you’ll need to figure it out yourself.”

  The task seemed impossible, but it seemed better to agree, at least so that she could get out of this office. Later, hopefully, she could find a way to get out of this mess without taking the painting or being turned in to the police. And, if this Patrick Daniels was an acquaintance of Aleksander Ariti, he might well be just as duplicitous and rude. Perhaps stealing from him wouldn’t violate Emma’s personal code as much as she worried it would.

  “Fine.” Emma folded her arms.

  “Excellent news.” Aleksander smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s see. I’ll give you… two weeks?”

  “That isn’t long enough,” Emma told him immediately. “A job on this scale… I’d need at least a few months.”

  “I’ll give you one month. That seems more than fair, given that I’m keeping you out of prison.”

  “Fine.” Emma got to her feet, but Aleksander held up a hand.

  “Not so fast. I need to be sure that you aren’t going to back out of our little agreement, so I need your name.”

  “Emma Anders,” Emma told him. It was one of the pseudonyms she used and was the name she’d applied for the cleaning job with. If Aleksander looked her up, he’d see enough of a paper trail to make him believe, at least momentarily, that Emma Anders really existed.

  But Aleksander was already shaking his head. “I don’t believe you. You’re clearly a corporate spy and I doubt you’d give your own name.”

  “I can show you an ID.” Emma reached into her pocket and pulled out her Emma Anders driver’s license. It was a forgery, but a good one, and it should pass inspection.

  Aleksander didn’t even look at the ID. Instead, he lifted something from his desk and set it on the countertop. It was a cellphone.

  “I can call the police right now,” he suggested.

  Emma’s heart was pounding, but she stayed calm. Aleksander didn’t know her name. As long as she could get out of here without him calling the police, all would be well.

  “Since you’re not willing to give me your name,” he continued. “How about a fingerprint?” And Aleksander slid a stamp pad across the table.

  Emma hesitated for a long moment, but she didn’t see a way out. She took off one glove, then dipped a finger into the ink and pressed it to a piece of paper. At least her fingerprints weren’t in the law enforcement system — although with her fingerprint and a good look at her face, Aleksander probably knew enough to confidently report her any time. From there, it wouldn’t be hard for the police to find her.

  She was really going to have to steal this painting. Oh, no. Emma didn’t know how this all could have gone so wrong. She’d done dozens of espionage jobs before and nothing like this had ever happened.

  “It’s been a pleasure,” Aleksander said. “And I look forward to receiving that painting.” He slid the cellphone across the table. “Hold on to this. I’ll use it to contact you when I want to check up on your progress, and you can call me when you have the painting ready. My number is saved.”

  Emma wondered why this man had a burner phone with his own number saved but decided not to ask. What with his sketchy art dealings, she wouldn’t be surprised if he knew a few people in the criminal underworld whom he’d rather not communicate with officially. The thought increased her worries. There were worse things than ending up in jail.

  Emma took the phone and got to her feet. “I’ll go now.”

  “Of course. Enjoy your evening.” Aleksander gestured to the door, and Emma quickly crossed the room.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” he called after her.

  “Yes?” Emma turned back, expecting another unreasonable request in this already impossible task.

  “Take that cart with you.” Aleksander nodded to the maid’s cart in the hallway. “I’d rather not have that sitting around.”

  Emma blushed, but she made her exit and took the cart as she passed it. In the hallway, she stowed the cart in the nearest cleaner’s closet and hurried towards the elevators. The whole way down, her heart pounded. When she finally emerged into the cool night air — unusually chilly for October — she took a long, slow, deep breath.

  She had been working as a corporate spy for nearly five years now. After graduating, she’d wanted to work as an artist, but that had seemed out of reach. Instead, she’d taken a series of odd jobs while still pursuing her art, until a chance meeting at an office job gave her the first opportunity as a corporate spy. She’d thrown herself into the work, finding she was good at it and it was interesting. Emma missed her art and missed living a more above-board life, but everything had been okay.

  She’d never been caught or even suspected. Until now.

  And now everything was falling apart. Emma had been caught — by as big of a jerk as Aleksander Ariti, no less. She was being forced to do a job that she didn’t agree with and that went against her code of conduct.

  She hurried down the sidewalk towards the small apartment she’d rented for this job. For tonight, all that mattered was that she got home. She needed to be away from Aleksander and the disaster that was her most recent job. Everything else she’d work out in the morning.

  Hopefully, Patrick Daniels would be a jerk, just like Aleksander Ariti. Hopefully, he didn’t guard his artwork well. And hopefully, he was so rich that he would hardly notice a missing painting.

  Emma shook her head and picked up her pace. She already knew that this was going to be a complete disaster.

  CHAPTER 2

  PATRICK

  Patrick answered the knock on the door and felt his heart swell at the sight on the other side. Three of his company’s art consultants, the best and the brightest, stood outside. Beside them was a small painting box on a dolly.

  “You’re right on time.” Patrick stepped back and gestured for them to enter. One of the consultants paused on the threshold to smile at him.

  “What a lovely piece of art,” she said, nodding at the box. “I was admiring it when we were packing it up.”