Here’s me, bleary-eyed. The red-headed hellion was here until midnight looking for help with her math homework. She’ll be back for more help today. Guess who won’t be writing much?
My friend, Vivi Anna, has a new book and you should check it out! Hey, it’s 5:53 AM in the morning (the dogs got me up so they could go bark at the geese). No one’s meant to be eloquent at this time of the morning. It’s a good thing Vivi is.
Olena Petrovich had seen more than enough death and destruction in her three hundred years. Now the vampiress fought as a CSI agent. But nothing about this crime scene seemed right—including the arrogant outsider from Interpol who challenged her authority. Sexy and cocky, the human was downright irresistible…even to a vampiress who should know better.
Though Cale Braxton was out of his league facing the vampires, lycans and witches of Nouveau Monde, he matched Olena in the one way that mattered—passion. Olena had sworn she’d never love—and lose—again, especially a human with his own demons. She and Cale lived in two different worlds, but after only one kiss, Olena wondered how she could ever spend eternity without him….
Olena Petrovich had had close to three hundred years to perfect sin to an art form. In the past, she’d used her vampiric charms to get whatever she wanted in life—money, sex, power. It helped, she supposed, that she was curvy and possessed a mouth some men had said was made for sin. But it had always proven to be too easy.
She didn’t want easy any longer. She liked working for the things she received. Like this case.
This was Olena’s first time as lead investigator and she was excited about it. She didn’t want to make one mistake. It wasn’t often that Inspector Gabriel Bellmonte let go of the reins. But he had for her. Or it could’ve been because she had begged him for the past three months.
The crime scene at the National Bank of Nouveau Monde wasn’t typical for a bank robbery. Usually the robbers took the money, but instead these guys—four armed, masked men—had herded everyone in the bank into the vault, then blasted apart the safety-deposit boxes.
Olena and her team wouldn’t be able to get a clear view of the situation until they’d pieced together all the boxes that had been destroyed. And by the looks of the mess, that was going to take considerable time.
The odor of smoke still hung oppressively in the air as Olena eyed the wall of boxes, taking in the destruction. Charred residue marred an array of the shiny metal squares in a circular pattern. The explosion had caused a lot of damage.
“I wonder what they were looking for.” She glanced over her shoulder at her investigative partner, Sophie St. Clair, who was busy taking pictures of the metal and plastic shrapnel scattered all over the black-and-white-tiled floor.
“I guess someone must’ve lost his key.” After snapping her last photo, Sophie stood beside Olena and surveyed the destroyed wall. “Kellen called. He said he’d be on scene in about fifteen minutes,” Sophie informed her.
Olena nodded. “Good. He can figure out this blast pattern on the remaining safety-deposit boxes.”
Kellen, a recent addition to their crime-scene team, was a damn good ballistics expert. He had come from America to France for treatment for a rare blood disease and had ended up completely cured, with a new job on the team and an engagement to Sophie.
Fate had a grand sense of humor.
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