Bad Attitude

  She didn't respond.

  "Answer me," he snapped.

  She rose slowly to her feet. "I understand. I also understand that time is critical and that my mandate is to use any means necessary to achieve my directive."

  The look on Joe's face chilled her. For an instant, she truly feared for her life. Joe was so easygoing and even-keeled most days that it was all too easy to forget just how dangerous the man could be.

  "Don't you ever--"

  His dire words were cut off by the speaker buzzing. He continued to glare at her as he answered it.

  "Hey, Joe, Steele just--" Before Kristen could finish her sentence, the door to Joe's office was slung open with so much force, it actually rattled on its hinges. Steele stood in the doorway with a look of hell's fury on his face. His dark brown hair was brushed back from his face, one lock of it falling into his eyes. Every muscle in his body was tense, as if he were fighting to keep from attacking them.

  Syd took a step back at the look of rage on Steele's face. He made Joe's look paltry by comparison.

  "What the hell went through your mind?" Steele asked from between clenched teeth.

  Syd swallowed, waiting for Joe to turn her in for what she'd done.

  He didn't. Instead, Joe's face went so blank that it was hard to believe three minutes ago, he'd looked much like Steele. "We needed to close the escape door for you. Sorry."

  Steele's dark brown eyes narrowed. "You're not half as sorry as you're going to be."

  Joe tensed as he faced Steele's anger without flinching. "You need to calm down."

  "Like hell." Steele took a step toward Joe, who braced himself as if getting ready to defend or attack.

  "Joe didn't do it." Syd couldn't believe her stupidity at saying that, but she wasn't a coward. She wasn't about to let Joe bear the brunt of Steele's anger when she'd been the one who caused it. "I did."

  That at least succeeded in stunning him enough that he only frowned at her. "Why?"

  "Unlike Joe, I don't trust in the nature of people to do the right thing. I needed you, so I took the steps I thought necessary to guarantee your cooperation."

  He lifted his hand as if he wanted to reach for her throat. Instead, he raked a tense hand through his dark hair. "Have you any idea how badly you have fucked up my life?"

  "No worse than you did on your own."

  The look on his face said he hated her at that moment, and in truth, she felt awful for hurting him. She reached out toward him. "Steele--"

  "Don't touch me," he snarled. He glanced at Joe, then grimaced at her. "You people don't own me. And no one pushes me around." He met her gaze with a heated intensity that should have scorched her. "If you think I'm afraid of jail, little girl, then you better think again. All you've done is piss me off."

  He turned his head toward Joe. "I'm out of this. I'm turning myself in to the first cop I see."

  The angry tic returned to Joe's jaw. "I understand. But before you do something rash, head back to Carlos's and relax for a while. I think we all need a break from each other to clear our heads."

  Steele's face said that he wanted to argue.

  "Don't," Joe said calmly. "One night, Steele. That's all I'm asking. If you still want to turn yourself in tomorrow, I have a friend on the force who can pick you up first thing. I'll personally make sure that you don't get any time added onto your sentence."

  Steele nodded. He started for the door, only to stop next to her.

  Syd trembled at the ferocity of his presence, even though she refused to show it.

  "You need to learn to be a little nicer to people, lady. The next time you take it upon yourself to screw me over, you better kill me. 'Cause if you don't, I will kill you."

  The sternness of that dark stare said it wasn't an idle threat. He meant it.

  "I don't take threats."

  "And I don't make them." His gaze hardened even more. "That's a promise between me, you, and God."

  Syd stiffened. How she wanted a snappy comeback to that. Something biting and clever. But nothing came to her mind as he walked out the door.

  It wasn't fair.

  She turned to find Joe watching her. She felt suddenly drained and tired.

  "What now? You just took all the bite out of my plan. He still has a choice."

  Joe shook his head. "Syd, I appreciate your passion for the job. But you need to find a little compassion for people."

  How she wished it were that simple. But it wasn't. "One tree isn't more important than the entire forest, Joe. You taught me that. Remember? Political pruning."

  "Yeah, but every forest is always destroyed one tree at a time. You take care of those individual trees because each one that falls brings you closer to deforestation. You only prune what's rotten. You don't cut down a good a tree for no reason."

  Syd ground her teeth. "Has anyone ever won an argument with you?"

  "Just Tee, and I was drunk and wounded at the time."

  It was about half past six before Steele returned to the apartment building. After leaving the BAD offices, he'd ventured over on foot to the pedestrian bridge that connected the downtown area to the stadium. The rebellious part of him had wanted a cop to spot him just to have the decision taken out of his hands. It would serve all of them right to lose him to their own stupidity, but then, they had sprung him once. Most likely they could spring him again.

  The more intelligent part had wanted to run as far from here as he could. But how far could he run from someone like Joe or Syd? He had no money. No car. No ID. No family.

  The only friend who might help him was eleven hours away, and that was in a car, not on foot or by bus. The law was looking for him and had his face plastered all over the news.

  Face it, bud, the odds are not with you on this one.

  Steele had no doubt that BAD could track him down faster than a herd of hounds. It was what they did for a living, and after being in the Army, Steele knew firsthand some of the more creative toys the spooks had at their disposal.

  As much as he hated it, running wasn't an option. Not to mention, he'd never been the kind of man to run from anything. He believed in taking the devil by the horns and wrestling the SOB to the ground.

  In the end, he knew he had no real choice except to see this through. So he returned to the apartment building and headed back to Carlos's crib.

  Completely pissed off by this day, he opened the door to find Carlos on the cell phone.

  As soon as he saw Steele entering the apartment, Carlos hung up. "There you are. I was beginning to think you were dumb enough to run from us."

  "I honestly thought about it. But the only way to run would be to steal from an innocent bystander. Just because I'm a convict, it doesn't mean I'm a criminal. Besides, I figured you guys would bring me back in chains."

  He snorted. "I wouldn't have, but Syd would, and she'd be kicking your ass every step of the way."

  "As long as she did it in high heels, it might be worth it."

  Carlos shook his head. "You like to live dangerously, don't you?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "Yeah, you go after her, and I suggest you invest in a steel plated jock-strap. Last guy who said something sexual to her and pissed her off is still limping around the office. So, are you ready?"

  Steele frowned. "For what?"

  "Joe told me to throw a burger at you and run you to the Ryman."

  Was that English? "What's the Ryman?"

  Carlos slipped his phone into the plastic holster on his hip. "Oh, man, what? You grow up in a hole? I'm from Bolivia, and even I know what the Ryman is. You know, Grand Ole Opry? Home of country music? Land of the Rube?"

  Steele gave him a droll stare. "Why on earth would I want go there?"

  "Because Joe said so." The answer was automatic.

  What? Were they three years old? "You do everything Joe says?"

  "Mostly. If it suits me...oh, hell, yeah. Trust me, it doesn't pay to jerk him off. The last guy who did still hasn't been found."


  Steele scoffed. "Joe doesn't scare me."

  "Then you're loco, amigo." Carlos's face was deadly sincere. "He scares the shit out of me, and I used to work for people who made Freddie Krueger look like Mr. Rogers." He indicated the door with a tilt of his head. "C'mon."

  What the hell? It wasn't like he had anything more pressing to do with his time. And he did need to eat. Since he had no money on him, getting food without Carlos was impossible unless he wanted to add petty larceny to his rap sheet.

  Carlos drove him to a restaurant across the street, and as soon as they ate, he took him over to the Ryman Auditorium on Fifth Avenue. The large red building with its white-paned Gothic windows was hard to miss. It was a splash of yesterday nestled among the much more modern buildings that surrounded it. The Ryman was without a doubt the most famed resident of Nashville.

  Steele expected Carlos to get out with him, but he didn't. Instead, Carlos handed him a ticket and pointed to a set of doors at the rear of the building. "Go on in."

  "You're not coming?"

  He shook his head. "Wasn't invited."

  Carlos left so fast, Steele barely had time to shut the car door before he roared away. Perplexed by this latest turn of events and by the bizarre day as a whole, Steele stepped up on the curb and headed toward the building.

  For all the international renown of the place, it looked like any other theater in America from the back. He entered the set of doors and saw the box-office windows on his right, with bathrooms on his left. There were a few people milling about and chatting, but nothing like he would have expected.

  It wasn't until he went farther into the building and saw the statue of Minnie Pearl seated beside Roy Acuff on a bench that the history of the place fully hit him. There was something eerie and magical about a building that was such a cultural landmark. It was here between these very walls that an entire style of music and identity had been formed.

  He glanced up at the stairs that led to the upper seats of the old revival hall. This had been a church before it became the famed home of country music, and it still bore all traces of its proud heritage.

  "Can I help you, honey?"

  He turned to see an older woman with a staff badge drawing near. "I just need to find my seat, I guess." He honestly had no idea why he was even here. This whole day had been oddly surreal.

  He handed her the ticket that Carlos had given him.

  She glanced at it and smiled. "You need to be upstairs, sugar, in the Confederate Gallery. You're in section twelve, row A, seat seven." She lowered her voice as if imparting some great secret to him. "It's a real good one. Just go right on up those stairs, and you can't miss it."

  "Thanks."

  She patted him kindly on the arm. "Anytime. My name's Carla. You need anything else, you just let me know."

  He smiled in spite of himself. One thing he'd noticed all day, the people in Nashville were nothing if not friendly. Heading left, he went up the divided stairs to the upper doors and looked for his seat. The place was only about half full. But the woman was right; he had a great view that was right above center stage.

  He took a seat and watched as several people had their pictures taken in a roped-off area of the stage, where a mic bearing the WSM logo and a guitar were staged. The whole group looked thrilled to be standing on the same stage where Elvis Presley, Hank Snow, Patsy Cline, and countless others had once performed.

  "Popcorn?"

  Steele looked up at the familiar voice and about fell off his chair at the sight of Joe. His hair was still pulled back into a ponytail, but he now wore a black cowboy hat and a tight black T-shirt that showed off every tattoo the man had on both of his arms.

  All semblance of refinement was gone. Joe might not have the shit-kicking accent, but he definitely had the bearing.

  Steele took the popcorn from Joe as he sat in the empty seat next to him. When Joe handed him a beer, he realized something. There was a tattoo on Joe's right forearm, a broken heart with the name Jane in it. Angel wings were on each side of the name, as if flying it away. But what struck him most was its style, which he'd seen countless times in the last two years. It was unmistakable.

  "You've done time too."

  Joe took a leisurely swig from his long-neck beer as he stared straight in front of him. "We all make mistakes, Steele. It's what we do afterward that defines us more than the actual incident that led to the mistake." He glanced at him. "You done any thinking today?"

  "Yeah."

  "Good. You calm yet?"

  Steele let out a tired breath. "The food helped."

  Joe snorted before he inclined his head toward a group of people on the floor seats below them. "You know what I love about this place?"

  "I hope it's not the decor."

  Without betraying any emotion, Joe took another drink of beer before he spoke. "The people. You see the grandmother down there with her son and grandson? They've probably been coming here for years together. Or maybe it's their first trip. Either way, it's three generations sitting down together, laying aside their differences for one night to be a family."

  Joe gave him a hard stare. "This is humanity, Steele. This is what we're fighting for. Family. People. Pride. It's our differences that make up our strength. BAD isn't about patriotism. It's about saving individuals. Not just those in America, but all the ones who are out there going about their lives with little to no care about politics. Men, women, and children who only want to live peacefully while others are looking for ways to use them as pawns in a deadly game they don't even want to play."

  To emphasize his words, he pointed the top of his beer to indicate an African-American couple on their right. Three seats over from them was an Asian family.

  "When I was a boy living in New York, every summer my mother would send me to North Carolina to stay with my Italian grandmother, who had come over here right after World War II. She'd gone blind from a work accident in the factory where she used to slave fourteen-hour shifts to earn pennies, but every night she'd sit and listen to the radio like she'd done as a girl. There was nothing she loved more than the Grand Ole Opry shows. To her it was wholesome--the epitome of America and why she'd come over here in the first place." Sadness showed in Joe's pale blue eyes. "All she wanted in her life was to come to the Ryman and attend the Opry in person, just once."

  "Did she?"

  He shook his head. "She died a few hours before I got to her house to surprise her with tickets for a show."

  Joe's pain reached out to him.

  "My grandmother used to have a saying. 'Joe, don't ever take your life for granted. There's a big world out there, and it's waiting for you. Don't waste your time. It's too finite, and before you know it, it's gone.' " He looked back at him. "I'm giving you a second chance, Steele. I know you're going to do the right thing with it."

  In that moment, Steele hated Joe. "What makes you so damned sure?"

  "Because you have a little sister, and she sent you a Christmas card."

  A chill went down Steele's spine. "How do you know about that?"

  Joe gave him a lopsided grin. "I'm a spook. It's what I do. And I know that you won't let Tina live under the threat of a nuclear bomb from a country she probably doesn't even know exists. Am I right?"

  Before he could answer, he heard a shocked gasp.

  "Joe?"

  Steele jerked his head up at the deep feminine voice that made every nerve in his body sit up and take notice. But that was quickly followed by a fierce wave of anger.

  "Hi, Syd," Joe drawled.

  Syd couldn't keep herself from gaping as she caught a look at the Joe she never knew. Good grief, the man even had on cowboy boots! In the office and out in the field, he always wore dress clothes. Dress clothes that had never given her a clue as to how ripped the man really was.

  She could do laundry on that stomach. And his arms...they were well-muscled and powerful. How on earth did Tee manage to share an office with this man day in and day out and not s
uccumb to uncontrollable lust?

  Joe stood up and vacated his seat, which she realized was hers. He handed her the box of popcorn in his hands. "You two need a night of relaxation. Enjoy the show. I'm sure afterward you can give Steele a ride back to Carlos's. Right?"

  "Sure."

  He looked back at Steele. "Be nice."

  The expression on Steele's face said, Not likely.

  Joe tipped his hat to her before he walked past her, into the aisle.

  Still stunned, she watched as he headed up toward the back row, where, she realized, Tee was waiting for him. Unlike her, Tee didn't seem to think there was anything odd about Joe's clothing. She merely moved her knees aside so that Joe could take his seat on the other side of her. And after he sat down, Tee took his hat off his head and placed it on her own. Joe gave her an irritated smirk before he reached for her popcorn.

  "What are you doing here? Trying to find a new way to screw up my life?"

  She looked down to where Steele was seated. He was definitely still angry at her. Not that she blamed him.

  "I don't think you need any help in that department. It seems to me you did a fine job screwing it up yourself."

  As soon as those words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.

  Sighing, she took her seat and placed the popcorn between her legs while she balanced her Coke on her knee.

  Steele started to get up to leave. Syd reached over and touched his taut arm to keep him still. He glared his hatred at her, and it made her stomach ache.

  "I really am sorry," she said, enunciating every word carefully.

  "There are some things that sorry don't fix."

  "You're right." His face registered surprise at her apology. "If it makes you feel better, Joe already crawled all over me about it."

  "It doesn't. I still have to keep looking over my shoulder for cops."

  "I know." She raked her hand through the popcorn as she considered some way to make this mission work. "I screwed up today, okay? I don't do it often, and I'm sorry that you got caught in the crossfire."

  "You practice that speech long?"

  She gave him a sheepish smile. "Does it show?"

  Still, his face was absolute stone. "Yes, and for an agent, you suck at lying."

  She stiffened at his criticism. "And you can do better?"

  "Of course I can."

  She scoffed at him. "Sure you can."

  "I can."

  But she knew better. "That's what they all think."