cut down Santa Monica Boulevard to the coast. Krista looked out at the beach, where surfers were suiting up for some evening waves. For a while they didn’t talk, and Krista gazed out at the water, trying to get the gruesome photographs out of her head. “Levine seems to know what he’s doing.” She looked at R.J. “Personable, too. I bet he’s good on the stand.” “He is.” “His analysis, though—I think it makes things worse, not better.” R.J. didn’t say anything, and Krista couldn’t tell if he was disappointed. He was a difficult man to read. She looked at the ocean and tried to spot the Channel Islands, but it was hazy. She thought of her ill-fated marriage that had been even briefer than Brittany’s. Krista had been so in love—it still amazed her how quickly things had gone downhill. It was the cheating that killed it. Anything else, she would have stuck around and tried to work it out. But cheating was a deal-breaker. She still vividly remembered finding the texts on Adam’s phone.
