Intrigue (Elvis Presley Story)

Chapter 8

A man with curly black hair jumped in olivia's chair. Elvis stepped over the threshold. "Who are you?"

A drawer slammed shut and the man shot to his feet, sending the chair spinning back into the bookshelf, toppling over notebooks. He stopped the spinning, then straightened up. "Mirza Patel. I'm the new intern here i deliver the mail. I have permission to be here. Don't shoot." He choked out nervously.

Elvis didn't waste his time pointing out that his gun was still holstered, and moved into the center of the room. As he approached, he analysed the intruders average height, average build and - as an unusual side effect in an air-conditioned building - the beads of sweat dotting his upper lip.

"What are you doing in here?" Going through olivia's things went unspoken.

The man reached beside him.

"Keep your hands where i can see them." Or he would pull the damn gun.

Mirza came back up with both hands  high in the air. "I think i dropped my pass when I was here earlier this morning."

"Does olivia know you're here?"

"I didn't want to bother her."

Glancing at the shelves behind the  man, Elvis noted that the red roses were missing. He could tell that something about those flowers had bugged olivia from the moment he brought them in. There was something wrong here, something olivia wasn't telling him.

"Well, did you find it?" Elvis asked.

"Find what?"

"Your pass." Elvis said starting to get annoyed.

Mirza's smile vanished. "She must have put it away. I suppose I could get it when I come back tomorrow."

"Good plan."

Understanding that also meant goodbye and get out, Mirza shuffled around the desk, doubling his pace as Elvis put his hand on the butt of his gun and followed him out the door.

Once the uninvited guest cleared the hallway, Elvis  returned to olivia's office. He righted the notebooks and pushed her chair back to the desk, plucking a sheet from her cube of notepaper, he pulled out a pen and wrote her a message.

We need to talk ASAP. If I don't catch you tonight, please make time for me first thing tomorrow morning.
Elvis.

He set the note up against a paperweight. As he rounded the desk he noticed that the bottom left drawer of olivia's desk was slightly open. Like it hadn't closed completely because someone had jammed it in at an angle - as if someone had been caught going through olivia's things.

His gaze and thoughts drifted to the door. Was Mirza Patel really such a bumbling idiot? Or was that absent-minded scared act a sly cover?

Leaving nothing to speculation, Elvis unjammed the drawer and opened it. There were two boxes of case files inside, one with the cover not completely pulled back into place. The files themselves were tilted in opposite directions, as though whoever had sorted them had been interrupted part way through-or had found what he was looking for and stopped.

Had Patel been searching through these files? Had he found what he was looking for?

Elvis's gaze slid to the trash can beside her desk. Or was he looking for that? He fished out the half crumpled. Typed written. Simple message. Unsigned. Unremarkable in and out of itself, except he'd seen olivia's reaction to the flowers. They hadn't been a welcome gift.

See you soon.

A promise. Or a threat.

'What the hell is going on, olivia? What aren't you telling me?' Elvis said quietly to himself.

Elvis folded the note and tucked it inside his jacket, turned off the lights and headed for the exit.

When had the quiet secretary who'd always blended into the background become such a complex woman of mystery? And why did this growing concern for all things olivia keep nagging at him like a time bomb about to blow up in his face?

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! And thanks for reading! xoxo