New York City continued...

The next morning, Ali woke to deep muffled voices. She opened her eyes and the dim room was still too bright. A hammer beat inside her head and her mouth felt like cotton. Slowly, she sat up on the edge of the bed, and it all came back to her. She strained to hear the conversation in the living room but she couldn't make out any words. Just recognized one as Frank's and another two that seemed familiar but she couldn't put her finger on them.

It got quiet, then footsteps sounded in the hall and Frank appeared, wearing his running clothes. He entered the room and closed the door behind him.

"Oh good, you're awake."

"Who was out there?" she asked, self consciously crossing her arms across her chest.

"Becker and Solis." He sat down on the edge of the bed with a grunt and proceeded to take off his tennis shoes and socks.

She hesitated. "What did they want?"

He stilled, then glanced back over his shoulder. "They found Tyler."

A chill ran up her spine and her heart ached for Kelly. Tyler was a jerk, but Kelly loved him. If they found him, that meant she'd gotten the visit a cop's wife lives in fear of every day of her life. The one where you find out your husband is never coming home, and you have to find a way to tell your kids they're never going to see their dad again. Ali suddenly wished she could trade places with Kelly.

"Where's Jilly?" she asked.

"Maria picked her up for Sunday school over an hour ago." Standing, he peeled both his sweatshirt and t-shirt up over his head and tossed them into the laundry basket in the open closet. "I need to hit the shower." Shedding the rest of his clothes quickly, he walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open. The water turned on and then the shower.

Ali grabbed her phone from the nightstand and quickly made a call to Maria, making arrangements for Jilly to stay and play with Sam until dinner time. She didn't want her here. Not until she could try and make sense of what was happening. How she was going to do that she had no idea.

She needed aspirin but didn't want to go into the bathroom, so she jumped up off the bed to get the bottle from the kitchen. Downing the pill with some water, she noticed a container of cinnamon rolls from Cinna-Bon-Bon on the counter and she snagged one, even though her stomach turned at the sight of food. She needed to eat something. Slapping it on a plate, she grabbed a fork from the silverware drawer and walked quickly back to the bedroom.

She stopped in her tracks. Frank stood at her side of the bed, white towel wrapped neatly around his waist. When he saw her, he smiled and crossed to his dresser.

"Those were supposed to be a surprise," he said, gesturing to her plate.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She walked over to the bed and sat down again, drawing her legs up underneath her. She pulled the sheet up over her bare legs and balanced the plate on her knee, busying herself with cutting a piece off the cinnamon roll.

He yanked on a pair of boxers and jeans, leaving them unzipped, and pulled a black t-shirt out of a drawer. He walked over to his side of the bed and plopped down on it across the mattress. Grabbing the fork from her, he stabbed a big chunk off the side, popped it into his mouth and waggled his eyebrows. "That's okay, you'll just have to share with me," he announced around the mouthful of pastry, rolling over on his bare back and chewing loudly.

Something inside her broke at that moment. This was always their time. Every week after Jilly left for Sunday school. No matter what, Sunday mornings were reserved for them. Even after ten years of being together, they never got tired of it. Never got tired of each other. In every way she had imagined possible, Frank O'Neill was her partner. And she was his.

Plucking the fork from his hand, she leaned down and kissed him gently, smoothing a hand across his face, lingering. Her eyes welled up again and she squeezed them shut, breathing in the fresh scent of his soap. Slowly, she pulled away and looked at him, really looked at him, and tried with all her might to not see all the words her mind plastered on his handsome face; liar, crooked, criminal, betrayal, bastard, murderer... Lazy Sunday mornings would never be the same again. Nothing, was ever going to be the same again.

He knew what she was thinking. She knew he did. He knew her better than anyone. Then again, maybe he didn't. He reached up and placed a hand behind her neck, pulling her face gently towards his and kissing her again, this time more urgently. With one smooth movement, he reversed their positions. The normally delicious weight of him on top of her now felt like a trap and she pulled away from him. Unable to keep the tears from falling, she began to sob.

"How could you do this, Frank?" She pressed the palms of her hands over her face tightly but he pulled them away, wiping her tears.

"Shhhh," he whispered, pulling her to him and holding her as she cried. "Everything's going to be fine."

"No," she said almost angrily. "It's not! It's not fine, Frank. You killed your partner!"

He clamped a hand over her mouth and leaned over her, brow furrowed. She stilled, fear rising with the steely look that settled in his eyes. "Everything is going to be fine," he repeated calmly, removing his hand. "And do you know how I know that?"

She shook her head, too afraid to speak.

"Because half those cops in the bar last night, answer to me," he bit out. "And they all knew what was going to happen." Her eyes grew wide as he continued, breath hot on her face. "I did what I did because all those guys in there would have lost everything they had too. All their wives, all their kids; think about all those lives that would have been ruined. All because Tyler was a cocky pencil pusher who beat on his wife and didn't have the balls to do what was necessary to get the job done."

He slid a hand across her cheek and she trembled under him. "And you're going to keep your fucking mouth shut."

"Wha-- what?" she stammered, shocked to hear him talk to her like that.

"When they come to talk to you, and they will, you're going to tell them that you had too much to drink and don't really remember much from the party. Tell them a couple of names of people you talked to. But other than that, you're going to draw a blank."

"Frank," she started but he continued.

"You're going to draw a blank. And that will be what I tell them about you too. Unless you decide to tell them what really happened." He went silent, staring down at her, studying her. He could smell her fear.

"Frank," she said again, inching slowly away from him. "Are you threatening me?"

He laughed and propped himself up on an elbow. "Don't be so dramatic, Ali. Or should I say, River?"

Her breath caught in her chest and she wrenched herself out from under him, sitting up.

"Oh, come on. You didn't think that I'd check out somebody I was planning to share my life with? I'm a cop. It's my job to investigate. There was a lot at stake."

She smoothed a hand over her hair, feeling exposed. "How long have you known?"

He grinned. "Since the beginning when you gave me the student ID instead of a state issued one. Your reason for not having one sucked. After that I did some digging. Why do you think I pointed you in the right direction on how to go about getting one?"

This was not happening. Everything was so messed up. She wished she could turn the clock back to the party and stay inside the bar. If she hadn't gone outside none of this would be happening right now.

"It'd be a great story," Frank's voice snapped her out of her head. "I'd believe it if it came across my desk."

"What story?"

"The story of the wife who killed her husband's partner because she was tired of seeing her friend make excuses for the bruises on her arms. Maybe she was mentally unstable. Maybe she drank too much," he emphasized the last few words. "Everyone at the party saw you were toasted. And let's face it, you don't exactly have a good track record of being nice to people when you're toasted. Do I have to bring up the Brown's Christmas Party? Or the Italian restaurant we aren't allowed to go to anymore because you insisted on telling off that bitch of a hostess because you heard her talking shit to someone?"

She stood up and paced in front of the bed. "That was different. Those people had it coming."

"Do you really believe that Tyler didn't?"

She stopped and stared at Frank, then shook her head. "Nobody deserves what you did to him."

The doorbell rang and he got up off the bed and grabbed his t-shirt, shrugging it on. "Just remember," he said, crossing to her and taking her hand. "Everything's going to be fine." He kissed her cheek and walked out of the room.

She stood in disbelief, staring at the forgotten cinnamon roll sitting on the rumpled bed.

"Okay! OKAY! JUST CALM DOWN!" she heard Frank yell from the kitchen.

Forgetting she was half dressed, she hurried down the hall to find a flurry of cops, some uniformed, some not. Two of them had Frank bent over the kitchen island, his face pressed against the granite as they slapped handcuffs onto his wrists.

"Frank O'Neill, you're under arrest for the murder of Tyler Sinclair. You have the right to remain silent..." one of the officer's rattled off the mirandas and Frank's eyes flicked to her.

"It's okay, baby," he said, his gaze full of intent. "Everything's going to be fine."