Even with the blinds drawn, daylight announced its presence by illuminating their bedroom.

Snuggling closer to his wife's warm, soft, sexy body, Malan tried to ignore the droning buzzing. He turned his head, reading the red numbers glaring at him: 8:00.

"It can't be that time already," he groaned, flipping off the alarm.

"Those are my sentiments exactly," Lathal murmured. Her hands slipped over her husband's bare, broad shoulders. She pressed her moist lips against cool skin and closely shaven layer of hair on the nape of his neck. "Happy birthday, Babe."

He glanced over his shoulder. He wore a broad grin. He caressed her fingertips. "Stay in bed with me."

"I'd like to," she said, stroking his bare skin. "But I have to go to work."

"Do you have to?" He said holding her tightly against him.

"Unfortunately, yes," she said reluctantly dragging herself out of bed. "My editor might be upset if I don't show up."

Her editor expected her to cover a grand opening of the grand opening of a new arts center in Hudson neighboring Hallow Oaks. The resort town on the Colt River was a half hour drive.

The blankets slid off him as he slowly sat up. "My wife, the journalist," he quipped with a teasing lilt to his voice.

"I tried to warn you about that," she said rummaging through their closet looking for an outfit to wear to work.

"Bit late for that," he grinned sloppily, climbing into his jeans. "Still I think with your experience and talent they'd make you an editor."

They'd had this discussion before, but she wasn't sure being an editor was something she wanted.

"I don't know," she mused. "I think I'd miss covering stories."

He shot her a knowing look. "You and I both know you wouldn't get out of covering stories even if you were editor."

She held her stone washed black denim skirt and matching jacket in front of her. "I detect by the tone of your voice that you're still upset by that prison story they sent me on."

"That," he said remembering well how she had been caught inside during a prison riot 1 1/2 years ago. "The murder story and the drug bust."

Her face muscles tightened. The thin line shifted into a small frown in the left corner of her mouth. "Malan, it's my job to cover the news."

"I know," he sighed. "It just seems like every time there's a dangerous story they send the best reporter, and it just happens to the woman I love."

"I appreciate that you worry about me, Malan, but you can't always be there to protect me," she said, her strength and determination reflected in her hazel eyes. "I'm very careful. You know that."

He shook his head, "If something happened to you, Lathal, I'd never forgive myself."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," she saidm planting a warm, reassuring kiss on his lips. "We're still having dinner at Ewing Steak House to celebrate your birthday, aren't we?"

"Mmm," he murmured, drinking in her sweet, wet essence. "What time will you be home?"

She knew what was on his mind. And she wouldn't mind an intimate interlude after his rehearsals that evening. She did some quick mental calculations. "Around 3."

"Good," he said, pressing his lips on hers. "Let me fix you breakfast."

"I don't have time for breakfast," she said, locking her arms around his neck and lifting her ruby red lips to his.

"That's no excuse, Lathal Harvey," he said huskily losing himself in her luscious, intoxicating kiss.

"What happened to my name?" She teased,caressing his muscular body, feeling his arousal stirring.

He exhaled a heavy desirous breath near her ear. "You're driving me crazy, Lathal Hamel."

"That's better," she said pleased. Her body swayed sensuously, her eyes flirted with him. "I don't have time to play. I have to eat breakfast."

He gave her a playful slap on the back side. "Get to it then."

She laughed, then she headed into the bathroom, where she showered and finished getting ready. By the time she was done, he had her breakfast, oatmeal with brown sugar, ready.

He sat on the couch pouring over the script for the upcoming production at the Falls Theater he starred in. She sat beside him. She casually leaned over, catching glimpses of the comedy improvisation. He flipped her a crooked smile.

She handed him the empty bowl. "I've got to go."

He had the oddest feeling. He had feelings like this before. He had a knack for sensing things. He wondered if that's what was happening, or if he was going crazy.

"Be careful, OK?" He said, gentle concern in his voice.

She gave him her familiar "you know me" look. She grabbed her purse and spiral notebook and their 35 mm Nykon camera.

"I'll see you later," she said softly, her lips lingering on his.

He hesitated to let her go. He sensed something bad was about to happen. But was it going to happen to him or Lathal?

He'd been able to sense things in the past, but this time the ominous sensation unnerved him.

He turned his thoughts inward, trying to focus on the feelings churning inside him. His love for his wife and his desire to protect her from harm surged through him.

He didn't want anything bad happening to Lathal. He'd do everything within his power to keep that from happening.

Still he couldn't be sure if his foreboding premonition had something to do with Lathal. For all he knew it could be him. Or not even directed at them at all.

"What is it?" Lathal whispered feeling the tense knots building up across his shoulders.

"Nothing," he said quietly, unable to shake this bad feeling he had.

Her hazel eyes searched his face. Something was up; he wasn't telling her. Why?

Turmoil churned inside him. He couldn't pin point when this bad omen would occur or to whom. He just would have to trust her.

His knowing, reassuring gaze met her inquisitive eyes. He knew how careful she always was. She'd be alright.

"I love you," he murmured slowly releasing her from his embrace.