With a firm grip on Premonition’s harness, Cleo Tyler adjusted her dark glasses and grabbed the train’s metal handrail.

“Careful,” the conductor said, his strong fingers grasping her by the elbow. “There are three steps down.”

Her feet made contact with cement.

“There you go.”

Three days. It had taken three unholy days to get from Portland, Oregon, to Clear Lake, Missouri. Heat blasted her from all sides-from the murky sun above, from the cement below her feet, from the train behind.

“Station’s straight ahead.” The conductor still gripped her arm, obviously reluctant to turn her loose.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, flashing him a movie-star smile.

He released her. She heard his voice, muffled now because he turned to help the next passenger. “Watch your step. Watch your step.”

My God. It’s so hot. Was it always like this? she wondered. Couldn’t be. This had to be something abnormal.

Maybe she should have listened to Adrian. No, the reason she’d come to Missouri was because she’d decided Portland was too close to Seattle, too close to her brother. He’d rescued her from herself, probably saved her life, but that didn’t mean he owned her. He couldn’t seem to understand that she was okay now.

“Where are you going?” he’d asked when she’d called to tell him she was leaving. “Do you know anybody there?”

“No. That’s why I want to go. And it’s money. It’s a job.”

“Prostitution’s a job, but you’re not doing that.” There was a long silence. “Are you?”

She should have been mad. Instead she laughed. “Not yet.”

“Shit, Cleo.”

“I’m kidding. I’m not that desperate.”

“Cleo, look. Why don’t you come to Seattle? We’ll talk about this. Maybe I can get a loan so you can go back to school.”