The Trap (Agent Dallas 3) by L. J. Sellers Page A

go, he pulled away.
    “Jus’ wanted to kiss you goodnight.” Luke grabbed the railing and headed back downstairs.

Chapter 8
    Saturday, Oct. 4, 7:45 a.m.
    Dallas woke, her mouth dry and sour, and her head filled with strange images from her dreams. Tequila did that to her. She threw back the quilt and stood, head pounding. Thank goodness she’d puked up that last shot. She dug aspirin out of her backpack and bolted for the bathroom in the hall. After a pee and a glass of water, she felt a little better.
    The house was quiet, but outside a rooster crowed, and in the distance she heard machinery. Maybe a tractor. Back in her room, she looked around, seeing it fully for the first time. It was larger than she’d expected and had a small alcove that held a narrow desk. The two doors made her curious, so she peeked in both: a closet and a private half bath. Nice. She hated sharing a bathroom with guys. It had nothing to do with modesty or privacy. In college, after a few shots of tequila, she’d run naked through a crowded mall on a bet. She just couldn’t stand piss on the floor.
    Had they cleared out this bedroom for her? She remembered Cree’s whispered warning on the stairs. He’d hinted that Luke had decided to recruit her after she mentioned her phony past as a burglar. That had worked well.
    Dallas reached for her cell, wanting to text Drager, then decided to wait until she had her burner phone. She pulled on yesterday’s jeans and her clean shirt and headed downstairs. No one was up yet, so she made coffee and took her cup outside. Another glorious fall day with a blue sky and clean air. The leaves on the maple trees were starting to turn orange, and the fields they’d passed the night before were fallow. Dallas walked toward the back of the property, spotting an old RV, a horse barn, and a tool shed.
    More important, she looked at the rising sun and tried to get her bearings, visualizing her location on the map. They were southwest of DC, about twenty-five miles she guessed, but with all back roads, it had been a forty-five minute drive. She didn’t think it mattered. She was part of the inner circle now, and they talked as if they expected her to move in with them. That would likely happen today, so she would know the exact coordinates soon—and so would the bureau. She wanted to walk out to the main road and look at the address on the mailbox, but she worried that someone might be watching her. Instead, she took note of the vehicles. The white van they’d picked her up in, a black beat-up midsize truck, an old silver Corolla, and an ugly bronze sedan. She memorized the plate numbers of the van and Corolla, to jot down in her notes. She would process the other license plates later.
    Back in the house, Luke was in the kitchen, pouring coffee. “You look great for someone who should be hung over.”
    Dallas chuckled. “I come from a long line of drinkers, so snapping back is in my DNA.” Truthfully, her mother looked like shit after years of drinking and meth use. Roxy seemed to be off the hard drugs now that Dallas’ father had died, but there was no reversing the damage.
    “I think you’re just naturally gorgeous.”
    “Thanks, but I’d rather not focus on it.” She held out her cup for more coffee. “I think that’s how I ended up in trouble after high school—trying to prove that I was more than just a pretty face.”
    Luke smiled. “You proved that at the fundraiser last night, and you’ll have more opportunities soon.”
    “I’m nervous about what comes next,” she said, playing her part. “I don’t want to end up in jail myself.”
    “We all know it’s a risk.” Luke set down the coffee pot. “But we plan thoroughly. Plus, we’ll set up demonstrations to happen during our next missions, so there will be distractions and we’ll be fine.”
    Criminals always thought that, but shit happened. “I’m relieved.” She shifted on her feet. “So what’s the plan for me personally?