He blushed and continued to gape at her.
She glanced around. “Is there something else, Officer…?”
“Anderson,” he supplied. “Ah, yeah, sorry. There’s a guy up front who asked to see whoever was in charge of the scene.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. My superior officer just told me to deliver the tapes and to escort you to the lobby of the bank.”
Olena glanced at Sophie, who shrugged her shoulders. “Beats me. Could be from the mayor’s office. This is the biggest and most prestigious bank in Nouveau Monde. I bet a lot of bigwigs bank here, and they’re all worried about their money.”
“I hope not. I hate bureaucrats. There’s nothing more boring than someone with a political agenda.”
Before following the officer out of the room, Olena bagged and tagged the security footage and placed it into her crime-scene collection suitcase.
As she walked behind Officer Anderson, he kept glancing at her over his shoulder with a goofy grin on his boyish face. Olena sighed inwardly. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-three. A lycan, she had no doubt. A vampire wouldn’t have been so eager to please her. He would’ve had enough years of experience that a mere innocent smile from an attractive woman wouldn’t have sent him into a tizzy. Where were they getting these whelps? The puppy pound?
There was a lot of commotion in the lobby as Olena and the young officer approached. The bank manager looked as if he was arguing with another officer, frantically gesticulating.
The bank patrons who had been locked in the vault were still being interviewed. But standing out from all the commotion in the middle of the lobby, looking commanding but at ease, was a tall, ruggedly gorgeous man in an expensive-looking tailored suit.
Olena wasn’t easily impressed. Having lived so long in many different countries, she’d come across her fair share of attractive men. Libertines, princes and lords, all with power, prestige and perfectly formed butts. But this man stood out from them all.
She thought it was because he didn’t appear to be posturing for anyone or anything. He just was.
She wondered who he was. A high-powered investor inquiring about his holdings at the bank, or maybe the owner of one of the safety-deposit boxes, curious as to what had been stolen.
When the officer led her right to him, her heart picked up a few beats. And butterflies took flight in her stomach when his piercing gaze met hers and studied her with a clinical eye.
She was impressed. Most men started their study of her from the toes up, stopping periodically on her long legs and ample chest. His gaze never left her face.
Officer Anderson motioned toward the gentleman, then proceeded to move in another direction, his task complete.
“Are you in charge of this crime scene?” He had a deep voice and an accent. British, she thought, maybe Welsh. And he was definitely human.
“Yes. Olena Petrovich, NMPD crime-scene division.” She offered her hand. “And you are?”
As he took her hand in a quick, firm shake, he flipped open a badge wallet. “Inspector Cale Braxton, Interpol.” He shut the leather folder and slid it into his front pants pocket.
“Interpol? That’s a first.” She smiled, but he remained stoic.
“I’ve already spoken with Superintendent Jakob Weiss, and he assured me that there wouldn’t be a problem.”
“A problem with what? You have not even told me why you’re here.”
“This robbery. I’ll be heading up the investigation.”
Olena’s stomach flipped over. It felt like the floor had just dropped out from beneath her feet. She hadn’t worked this hard for this long to have her case yanked out from under her, not by anyone—even if he was a tall, light-brown-haired, ocean-blue-eyed, sexy man with a rugged jawline and full lips that looked as soft as satin.
“Why would Interpol get involved in a simple robbery case?”
“I’m sorry, but that information is above your pay grade.” He stepped around her as if she were nothing. “Now, if you could lead me to the actual crime scene.”
Olena looked him up and down, her first impression of him slowly starting to shift. She liked confidence in a man, even sought it out, but arrogance? That was one thing she could never stomach.
And this man had it in spades.
Instead of leading him anywhere, Olena dug into her jacket pocket, pulled out her cell phone and called Gabriel. She kept Cale’s gaze as she dialed. He wasn’t going to intimidate her. No one intimidated her. She’d been part of Marie Antoinette’s court in France, for Pete’s sake. One sexy British agent wasn’t going to get under her skin.