Why did it have to come to this? Didn't he think I would find out? I'm a freakin' detective. He knew I couldn't tolerate dishonesty, not with the job I have. He was the only person I could really trust, yet he tore out my heart by being unfaithful.

Walking into the seedy downtown bar to locate a murder suspect, I saw my husband and some blonde at the bar. Luckily, my partner stayed in the car.

The vision, forever etched in my mind. They were kissing and laughing like teens. He was standing behind her at the bar, running his hands up and down her body. It disgusted me. My first reaction was to blow them both to hell; instead tears fell from my eyes. I had to get out of there.

I stopped for a second to compose myself, pretending to look at license plates. My partner didn't seem to notice.

"He's not in there, George. I didn't see his car in the lot either."

"He'll show one of these nights. It's getting late; let me to drop you off at home.

"Yeah, I'm beat. Thanks."

"No problem, Nicki. We'll try again tomorrow.."

Arriving home, lover boy's car was in the driveway. He couldn't have beaten me home. I went straight to the kitchen, finding a note telling me he had to go out of town overnight.

I was infuriated. So, I did what every other wife would do, I checked his credit card bills for the last year and bingo, saw a pattern. Every other week he's away for a few days.

The detective in me kicked in and I made a grid of his expenses, detailing cities, hotels and reasons for the trip. There were fourteen discrepancies in his schedule.

I noticed charges to Victoria's Secret and Jimmy Choo. This stuff wasn't for me! I was seething with anger. How could he do this to me?

Opening a bottle of wine, I forged on with my investigation. My husband was no longer my husband. Now a suspect, he would rue the day he scorned me.

I called the hotels on my list for information. Six hotels refused to provide any. The other night clerks remembered him and his hot wife, well.

I was betrayed, lied to, and made to be a fool. I felt like he'd stuck a knife in me.

When he returned the following night, I made sure I was working. In fact, I made sure we didn't run into each other all the next week. I was carefully planning my revenge.

I left him a note on the kitchen table reminding him I would be at the PBA convention in Atlantic City for the next three nights, purposefully writing it to say that I was looking forward to just staying in bed with him all day Sunday. I was already planning my alibi.

I traveled to the convention in Atlantic City, partying with other officers until all my friends turned in for the night. I got into my car and removed my E-Zpass from the car window. I paid cash for mt tolls to avoid a trail.

Arriving home at four in the morning, I found my husband naked in bed, drunk. I looked around and saw a pair of sheer panties next to the bed. Nope, definitely not mine. I was furious. His tramp had been in my bed.

I went to my closet, pulling out my hooded raincoat, determined not to put up with this any longer. Reaching into the back of my closet, I sought my old jewelry box containing my throwaway gun and silencer.

Attaching it, I loaded the weapon, putting the empty box back. Putting on my raincoat and drawing the hood close around my face, to avoid any blood splatter on my clothes, I put on rubber gloves to avoid any gun shot residue when I pulled the trigger.

I stood back away from the bed a good fifteen feet and shot him once in the head and once in the heart. Picking up the shell casings, I left about an ounce of cocaine I kept from a drug bust last year on the night table, so it would definitely be looked at carefully.

I poured myself a glass and unscrewed the silencer, putting it in my pocket, laying the gun and the shell casings on the table.

I sat in an eerie silence for about ten minutes, drinking my wine. I gathered the gun, casings, wine bottle and glass from the table, placing them in a garbage bag, cleaning the table with Lysol and a paper towel, erasing any trace evidence. The paper towels also went into the bag.

Changing my rubber gloves to make sure no prints were left, I took the bag, making sure to leave nothing behind that could show my presence there during that time period.

At five o'clock on a Saturday morning, I was not noticed. I got back on the Garden State Parkway, heading South back to Atlantic City. I stopped several times along the way, making sure to get off the Parkway for a few miles and disposed the items in the bag, individually.

The gun was tossed in the Bass River, the raincoat was left in a charitable clothing bin in Wildwood, the silencer tossed into the bay, and the shell casings were dropped in a supermarket trash container. The bag itself was placed in a receptacle in the Atlantic City Visitors Center, while the glass and wine bottle were tossed and shattered into a thousand pieces at an Atlantic City construction site.

Arriving back at my hotel at seven o'clock, I stripped and took a long, hot shower. I gathered all my clothes that I wore last night, left the hotel and walked to the construction site across the street.

The unattended fire burning in a fifty-five gallon drum offered me the perfect place to burn my clothes and remaining items. I stood shivering, watching all remnants of the crime disappear adding a few more pieces of wood to the fire.

Silently, I walked back to my hotel, feeling very alone.

Back in my room I waited patiently to meet my fellow officers for breakfast at nine. We were eating when my Lieutenant got a call. He glanced over at me, got up and walked away from the table.

He reappeared five minutes later. "Nicki...I have to get you home. There's been a shooting...and...well, your husband has been killed.

I started crying. Now it sunk in. That bastard was really dead. My partner tightly hugged me. "Anything you need Nicki, I'm there for you."

Between sobs, I was able to say: "Thanks, George."

The Lieutenant's phone rang again and he started yelling: "You Internal Affairs guy's suck. Her husband was just killed you idiot. What? Impossible, she was here drinking with all of us last night. Well...you should be sorry. Nikki is one of my best detectives, no way she had anything to do with this."

"Thanks for vouching for me, LT."

"No problem, kid. George is going to drive you home. Anything you need let me know."

"Thank you. You've done so much already."