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handled it was solely up to him.
    “I did not sleep with her. I gave her a couple of drinks then took her home,” he told them. “She’s smart but I’m not certain she even believes what she thinks she saw.” He almost said he wasn’t sure she was pursuing this story because she wanted to, either, but he didn’t. His concerns for the reporter, the ones he knew he shouldn’t be having, were to be kept private, like so many other aspects of his life.
    “Besides, nobody believes reporters half the time,” Cole added, leaning forward in his chair. Cole led the Central Zone and lived in Dallas. He was an investment broker who focused on two things only—his money and his job as the FL. Female entanglements definitely took a backseat in Cole’s world and he had no problem voicing his concerns over how the other sex could interfere with a man’s life. To say he was bitter in that regard was an understatement.
    “To the contrary,” Jace, the wild card in the group of FLs added. “They believe them way too much. People are so predisposed to believe anyone with power—politicians, superstars, millionaires—are all natural-born liars and cheaters, that anything they find in print that corroborates those facts becomes the law to them.”
    Jace’s words rang true, especially since he dealt with the press more than any of the other FLs in his line of work as the brash and opinionated talent agent and owner of Maybon Artist Management in Los Angeles.
    “We have no connection to the bank robbery. That was all crazy-ass Sabar and his league of felines,” Nick stated. “I’m so glad that bastard’s dead.”
    “We’re all glad he’s out of the equation but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still rogues he had following him out there. And, we do have a connection to Athena’s.” Cole eyed X, an action that earned him a lethal glare from the former agent.
    “Caprise is keeping a low profile at Athena’s,” X reported. His mate continued to dance at the club, using that as her cover while she kept a lookout for the rogues that had occupied the place like gangsters before.
    “And I stay away from the place altogether,” X continued tightly. There was no doubt how he felt about that fact.
    “I think we may be seeing more in this than is necessary,” Bas spoke up. “I reported it to you as a problem just so we would know what we’re dealing with, but I don’t think she has any more information than what’s been floating around in the D.C. news for weeks.”
    “Maybe you’re the one not seeing enough,” Cole directed to Bas. “Did something else happen between you and this woman, because it almost seems as if you’re defending her. Are you sure the two of you didn’t have some type of personal connection?”
    At that question Bas spun around. He was in Cole’s face so fast it took a moment before Cole could stand to address him, and Nick and X could get close enough to both, one of them putting a hand on Bas’s shoulder.
    “What are you accusing me of, Linden?” Bas questioned the other FL, a low rumble building in his chest.
    “Sit down,” Rome ordered. “Both of you,” he added since no one had moved.
    Bas backed away, mentally kicking himself for losing his cool. He never did that and wasn’t about to venture into why Cole was easily able to bait him this time. He wanted to storm out of the room, to go someplace to be alone, to try and figure out why this reporter and her inquisitive eyes and alluring scent had haunted him for the first half of the night and why during the other half he’d dreamed of her in the Gungi, her dead eyes looking up to him instead of Mariah’s.
    Instead, he took a steadying breath and sat down. When he looked at Rome again it was to find the leader watching him closely.
    “You’re right,” Rome admitted. “We do already have history with Ms. Drake. But so far you’re the first one of us to have personal contact with her, so tell me how you think she should be