Intrigue (Elvis Presley Story)

Chapter 17

Olivia dreaded opening the mail this morning. But with Mitch Taylor standing right beside her, she felt she had the support to accomplish the task.

She finally inhaled a deep breath after the last envelope revealed nothing more disturbing than yet another report Mitch had been asked to write.

"You know, it's been something different each time-the roses, the note, the call, following me-maybe I don't have to worry about anymore bizarre messages."

Mitch took the stack of letters from her hands. "And maybe it means he's ready to step it up to something more dangerous."

"What is it with you cops and your pep talks?" She tried to raise a smile, but her facial muscles railed against the effort.

"It can be unpredictable work. But understanding what you may be up against improves your chances of survival and success."

"You're right, of course." While she appreciated Mitch's kindly yet straightforward approach to their working relationship, she missed the centering calm she felt when Elvis touched her arm or squeezed her hand or brushed her hair off her face.

They were subtle touches, yet very personal, very intimate connections that hinted at the strength and depth of the man behind the touch. She could use a little of that strength to ground the edgy, unsettled feeling plaguing her this morning.

"All the same, we'll make this part of our daily routine for now," Mitch continued. "If you receive anything like that at home, put it in a plastic bag to preserve any prints or DNA evidence, and call Elvis or bring it in to me."

"You don't think there's any chance that he'll lose interest and stop harassing me?" Elvis hadn't thought so, and she could read the agreement on Mitch's stern face even before he answered.

"It's been my experience that a stalker won't stop until you stop him."

And how was she supposed to do that? Mitch sorted through the papers one more time, handing off one memo for olivia to answer and Carried the others to his in-box. She followed him into his office, jotting down further instructions for the reminder of the day.

A few minutes later, Mitch pulled his jacket from the coat rack beside the door and shrugged it on over his shoulders. "If you leave the building for any reason-even just to go down the street for lunch-i want you to tell me, or the desk sergeant if I'm not here."

Olivia smiled. Though  he didn't offer the comfort she craved from a certain detective, her new boss was every bit the watchdog Elvis had claimed he would be. "Yes, sir."

"What did I say about the sir stuff?" Mitch offered her an indulgent smile. "Don't think you're doing me any favors by keeping quiet about this. Elvis was right to have you tell me about this. If someone in my office is being harassed, then I'm being harassed. And I don't take too kindly to that."

"Thanks, Mitch. It's nice to know I won't have to worry about that....issue...here at work."

Though still somewhat rattled by this morning's strange encounter with Tony Fierro, olivia felt a little more settled in her own skin knowing that she not only had Elvis in her corner, but now she had a precinct chief looking out for her. If Tony was up to something, as Elvis suspected-if anyone was up to something-she'd have plenty of people watching her back.

With no new messages in the mail or phone calls to haunt her, maybe she could actually get some work done.

An hour or so later, olivia was just finishing up putting together a mock presentation when Mirza came strolling through the door. She frowned at him confused as to why he was back.

"I have something for you." He explained seeing the confused look on her face. He placed a thick white envelope on her desk.

Olivia felt the dread run through her body. She tore open the envelope and nearly fainted at the first message written along the top.

MY PRETTY LADY in block letters across the top of the page was the least of her worries.

The soft laughter clogged her ears and grew to a deafening roar inside her head. There was her face-a recent photo, taken from a distance-with the limestone walls of her home in the background.

And then...Olivia clutched her hand over her mouth as her stomach twisted into a sickened knot. The rational part of her brain knew that the half-naked body wasn't hers. She knew the lilly-white arms holding that body had never held hers. She knew the cuts, the mutilation, the blood-weren't her.

But it was her face spliced into the graphic image on the page.

It was her terror welling up in her throat.

Olivia felt a hand on her shoulder and screamed. She jumped back from the unwelcomed touch, knocked her chair over, wiped out the jar of pens and pencils from the top of her desk.

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa." Mirza was pale beneath his tan. He held up his hands in surrender as he stepped back. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I did not mean to touch you."

She'd screamed. This room would be swarming with cops in two seconds  they'd see that awful picture. She grabbed it off her desk and quickly hid it in the drawer.

The desk sergeant, was suddenly at the door. Olivia waved that she was okay. "I'm sorry. I just got startled. And then I knocked stuff over. But I'm okay. False alarm."

"You're sure?" She looked as tough as any male counterpart with her uniform and six-foot stature. She didn't seem to know whether to keep her eye on olivia or Mirza. Olivia glanced over and saw that Mirza's hands were still raised in surrender. No wonder the sergeant was suspicious.

"Put your hands down." When Mirza slowly lowered his hands to his side, olivia turned back "I'm sorry, there was a crude photo, and I overreacted."

After all, a picture couldn't hurt her, could it?

"Detective Presley is out at a crime scene, but if you want I can radio  him."

And tell him what? Laughing man raised the stakes again? What could Elvis do but look at the sick photo, too? She'd save it as evidence, but she wouldn't call him away from his job just to hold her hand. Forcing herself to breath evenly again, willing her pulse to steady, "no, i dont want to bother him I'll just talk to him when he gets back. Thanks."

With a nod, she reluctantly returned to her post at her desk and olivia stooped down to pick up the mess she'd made. "I'm sorry, Mirza. You asked me a question?"

He crawled beside her to help with the cleanup. "The key around your neck. Do you wear it so you do not lose it?"

The key.

Olivia clutched it and sat back on her haunches. She mentally replayed the events at the house that morning.  It wasn't the charm Tony Fierro had been ogling, and it certainly wasn't the cleavage. "It's the key."

"Yes, the key." Mirza misinterpreted her thoughts. "I was asking about it."

Olivia pushed to her feet and reached for the telephone. Tony Fierro had served time for robbery. Did he think the key was an opportunity to steal from them? Did he think they'd hidden a strongbox at the house? That this tiny key could give him access to three women's fortunes?

Or was it possible Tony Fierro knew exactly what the key was for, and who had planted it in her home?

She apparently had a long way to go to be as smart about people as Elvis was.

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