The Husband Lesson

by Jeanie London

Karan.

  “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” KARAN asked.

  The sound of her voice drifted into the confines of the car. There hadn’t been a siren in a while. Marisol’s husband hadn’t made a move in a while. She wondered if the police’s plan was to let them asphyxiate from exhaust fumes by sitting in this idling car for so long.

  Silence.

  But Marisol’s husband didn’t slit her throat. She tried again.

  “You have very beautiful children.”

  That got more of a response. His breath hitched audibly, a shuddering sound, and Karan slanted her gaze toward him, a barely perceptible move. He was so close his features were distorted. She was struck again by how normal he looked. A normal, nice-looking man.

  There were tears streaming down his cheeks.

  An angry man?

  He looked only broken right now.

  How had a man with a beautiful wife and three adorable children fallen so far that he could actually think this was the way to handle his situation?

  She remembered Amy, recalled wondering why anyone would marry a man who threatened her.

  But Karan thought she understood now.

  She’d figured it out tonight in Rhonda’s office. Maybe Amy’s husband hadn’t always been threatening. Maybe Marisol’s husband wasn’t a bad person, either, but one with horrible coping skills. One who’d gotten kicked around too much in life. If he’d been abused himself, maybe he didn’t know any other way. Maybe he felt pressured. Maybe he was an addict. Maybe he’d gotten in over his head with his anger.

  She had no way of knowing, but if life kept piling on the problems and they weren’t getting resolved in a healthy way, was it really so difficult to understand how someone might wind up very far from where they’d started?

  One bad choice at a time.

  People went out of their minds every day. Suicides. Murders. Midlife crises. Affairs. Divorces. Bad choice after bad choice. Even her own mother who kept the whole world at bay, wrapped in the cocoon of alcohol and her own perspective.

  Was it so hard to believe life could eventually get bigger than a person’s ability to deal with it?

  “You really do have beautiful children,” Karan said again. “They need both their parents.”

  He shook his head. This man’s hope was gone. He was sitting inside a carjacked Jaguar with a hostage, surrounded by police.

  She thought of Wannabe Jenny. This relic from a long-ago past hadn’t been willing to cut Karan any slack for a first offense. She’d been determined to flex her muscles and exercise her power over Karan the way Karan had once done to her. But in so doing, Wannabe Jenny had sent Karan to New Hope.

  Maybe Wannabe Jenny had even been a little sincere when she’d told Karan: “I want your first offense to be your last.”

  Either way, a nightmare of a situation had turned Karan’s life around. Wannabe Jenny had sent Karan to New Hope, where she’d met Charles again, and Rhonda, and a lot of people who’d opened Karan’s eyes to so many things. And if that much change could happen for her…

  “I don’t know your circumstances or what happened between you and Marisol, but I do know it’s not too late,” she said. “Not if you’re willing to admit you need help. If you’re willing to tackle your issues and do the right thing, then your family will have something to work with, something to respect. If you can look yourself in the mirror, so will the people who love you.”

  Karan needed to believe that, too.

  CHARLES HEARD A voice say, “Positions, men. We have movement.”

  “Still got him in your site, Naparlo?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  That was all Charles needed to hear to abandon cooperation. Circling the rear of the ambulance, he emerged behind an unmarked cruiser, kept low so the hostage negotiation team wouldn’t notice him. He scanned the scene, saw Jack in the thick of things, wearing a headset. Then he saw Karan.

  He could barely make out the pale blur of her hair through the tinted window, but she was still upright, not slumped over the steering wheel, lifeless. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held, the sight impacting him on so many levels.

  “Looks like she’s coming out, Captain,” the man called Naparlo said, likely able to see inside the car through the site on the sniper rifle.

  There was a barrage of activity from the officers. Charles stood riveted as the driver’s door swung outward, and Karan emerged piece by piece, feet in strappy sandals, shapely legs bare beneath the hem of her dress. She weaved a bit, took a step to steady herself. There was blood on her neck and she looked pale, but otherwise healthy. Shaken.

  Raising her arms above her head, she faced the police in a pose of classic surrender. She held a hunting knife with a curved blade in one hand.

  “Excuse me.” Her voice was a strained whisper. “Excuse me,” she said again, louder this time. “Please, you don’t need all those guns. Raphael will come out if you agree not to shoot him. I have his weapon.”

  She held out the knife.

  “Step away from the car, ma’am,” a negotiator spoke through the bullhorn.

  “You won’t shoot him, will you?”

  Jack grabbed the bullhorn. “Karan, move away from the car.”

  “I gave my word, Jack.”

  Jack had clearly reached his limit because he was already bearing down on her when he said, “If you’ll follow a simple direction, we might not have to.”

  But Charles got to her before Jack could, had his arm around her shoulders and dragged her away. The knife clattered to the ground as she grabbed onto him to keep balanced. The police moved in to form a perimeter, directed her captor to come out with his hands up.

  By then Charles had her at the ambulance, but he cut off the paramedics as they approached, pulling her near until he could feel her full-length against him, every curve familiar.

  He wrapped his arms around her and held her.

  In that moment, as he rested his cheek on the top of her head and held her close, he knew this was right. On some level he’d known, had always known, that if he’d touched her he could never convince himself he was content without her.

  He’d known.

  “Charles.” Her voice filtered through him, the activity around them fading away. For this moment there was only the two of them. The way she fit completely with him, every curve aligned, until he was aware of only her.

  So right.

  Her slim arms slipped around his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest, her head in the crook of his neck so his every breath was tinged with her.

  No history. No complications. Just them and a simple, unavoidable truth.

  Didn’t matter whether they were married or divorced, whether he was avoiding her or she was demanding the impossible of him, their bodies knew each other.

  And for this one moment, he didn’t want to let go.

  But he couldn’t ignore how cold she felt. Lowering his face, he pressed his mouth to her neck, felt her pulse beat rapidly. Tasted her moist skin. The minute he loosened his grip, he felt her tremble.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Their moment was over.

  She lifted her gaze to his, sparkly gray eyes that had power over him that he couldn’t explain. He saw dilated pupils, and regret. He felt hesitation in her arms that didn’t seem to want to let him go.

  He steered her toward the ambulance, and she didn’t say a word. That told Charles everything he needed to know.

  “I’ve got her, gentlemen.” He flashed his hospital ID.

  “What do you need, Dr. Steinberg?” The paramedic’s name badge read Joe.

  “We’ll assess her, Joe, and bandage the lacerations on her neck.”

  “You got it.”

  “Come on, Karan, onto the gurney.”

  “I’m fine,” she said weakly.

  “Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “Indulge me.”

  She sank onto the gurney boneless, no more argument in her, and Charles helped her
swing her legs around. Joe’s partner raised the gurney while Joe set a wedge beneath her ankles to raise them then pulled a blanket over her legs.

  Charles examined her, leaving Joe to register her vitals, then he checked the lacerations beneath her jaw.

  Mere scratches. Nothing that needed more than cleansing to keep the wound site from infection. Nothing that wouldn’t heal quickly. Even the scars would eventually fade away. But the idea of that curved blade pressed against her throat, the artery pulsing below her smooth skin, had a grip on his brain.

  One stroke between life and death.

  The only thing that saved Charles was his training, the need to take familiar action, to minimize the effects of her shock, to deal with an unexpected complication.

  “Her sugar’s crashing,” Charles told Joe. “Hypoglycemic.”

  “Glucagon?” Joe asked.

  “One milligram.” To cause a rapid release of glucose stores from her liver and get her on track again.

  Charles ran his fingers along her cheek while waiting for Joe to prepare the dosage. “Come on, Karan. Stay with me.”

  “Here you go, Dr. Steinberg.”

  Joe pulled aside the blanket and brushed up her hem, revealing an expanse of smooth hip. Charles checked the syringe then swabbed the site for an intramuscular injection.

  “You’ll feel better in a minute,” he told her, gave her the injection then stroked the hair from her face and waited.

  Jack showed up, scowling when he saw her, obviously not expecting to find her stretched out on the gurney nearly unconscious. “Is she okay?”

  “Sugar bottomed out.”

  Jack’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t drag his eyes away. “She’s not hurt?”

  “Only the lacerations on her throat. Shock’s to be expected.”

  Jack nodded. Whatever their past history, he still cared. It was all over him.

  Karan had that effect on the men in her life.

  “I need a statement,” he said. “But I’ll come back when she’s feeling better. Don’t let her leave until I do.”

  “You got it. Everything working out over there?”

  “Got him in custody. I don’t like that he found this place. We’ll question him, and I’ll let you know.”

  “We’ll relocate his family. They’ll be all right.”

  Jack nodded then headed toward the officer at the barricade. “Let’s keep the media away from the triage site.”

  Karan would definitely appreciate that.

  She was rousing by the time her visitors showed up.

  Rhonda headed toward them. “Oh, please tell me she’s okay.”

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “We couldn’t get out until they got Marisol’s husband in custody. We followed safety protocol, and it worked to a T.”

  “That’s good to know. Marisol and the kids okay?”

  “Perfect. They knew there was commotion, but they didn’t have a clue what it was about. I already placed a call to Albany. I’ll address everything with her when I get inside.”

  Charles nodded, glanced at Karan. “You have visitors.”

  He helped her sit up. Her color had started to return.

  “Ever think of a career as a hostage negotiator?” Deputy Doug asked. “You talked that guy down like a pro.”

  Rhonda placed her fingers in her ears and warned Karan, “Do not listen. You’re New Hope’s promotional director.”

  Karan smiled, still visibly weak. “Rhonda, he wants his family back. He knows he needs help. Will you make sure he gets it? Good help.”

  “I’ll follow up personally.”

  Charles knew Rhonda well enough to know she’d grown fond of Karan. He had no idea how that had happened, hadn’t expected it, but there it was. Rhonda had a unique ability to cut through pretenses and see the real person within. He knew it was a skill honed by her profession, but the faith she had in people was a gift unique to her.

  He was glad she’d shared it with him. And Karan.

  The huddle of emergency vehicles began breaking up in the wake of the officers’ departure with Marisol’s husband. Jack returned to take Karan’s statement and Deputy Doug returned the house from lockdown to normal. Rhonda was gearing up to have a difficult conversation with Marisol.

  But Charles remained with Karan, listened to her recount events inside the car, convincing Jack to get Marisol’s husband help with some sort of program to help him address his problems.

  Charles was unclear about so many things in his life, but he had absolute clarity about one thing.

  He would do what he hadn’t done five years ago. He was going to stand beside Karan right now because she needed him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHARLES EASED THE JEEP TO A stop in front of the dark house. Karan had fallen asleep on the ride, wedged between the seat and the door. She looked perfectly content with a blanket covering her, her hair a pale cloud around her face in the darkness. The only reminder of today’s events was the bandage on her neck.

  Not for him, though.

  The past and present collided when he looked at her. He’d almost lost her today. It shouldn’t have felt this way. He’d given up on them long ago.

  Grabbing her purse from the floor by her feet, he whispered, “Karan, we’re here.”

  She burrowed into the seat, and he debated attempting to carry her in.

  He’d carried her over this threshold before.

  Taking advantage of the moment, he reached out to stroke the hair from her cheek, a reflexive action that came so easily.

  “Karan.”

  Her lashes fluttered. When she finally opened her eyes, she looked disoriented, surprised to see him. “We’re here.”

  We’re home.

  The words popped into his head, surreal, shades of another lifetime.

  “Okay.” She nodded, shook off sleep.

  “I’ll come around and get the door.”

  The Jeep’s headlights lit their way to the steps. The house was dark. Not even a porch light. Karan clearly hadn’t expected to be out past sunset, had no one awaiting her return.

  She dug through her purse to find keys, unlocked the door. She reached inside to flip on the foyer light, and backlit from the interior he could see her expression, recognized when it occurred to her that he needed to be dealt with. It must have been a remnant from the day’s events, but he could see the debate in her expression, vulnerability leaving her unusually transparent.

  Did she say goodbye or invite him in?

  “Mind if I come in?” He made his wishes known.

  That surprised her. He could see it all over a face that was usually so skilled at concealing her thoughts.

  Or had he not looked closely enough?

  “You don’t have to, Charles. I appreciate all you’ve done already.”

  A few things struck him about that.

  She was thinking of his feelings when he’d been so convinced she thought only of herself.

  And he didn’t want her to be alone.

  “Not a problem. I’d like to see you settled.”

  She held his gaze for a second, clearly not sure what to make of his interest. Then she motioned him in.

  Since the headlights would time out in a few minutes, he followed her inside, still carrying the blanket.

  Lightning didn’t strike.

  This was nothing more than a house, and they were only two people who’d once lived together. Nothing momentous here.

  Except inside him. It felt momentous in there.

  She set her purse and keys on a small table in the foyer, flipped another switch, throwing the living room into low light. The Tuscan villa of his memory, the endless shopping expeditions to find lighter finishes, earthy tones and terra cotta that would bring to mind sun-washed vineyards had vanished beneath a sleek contemporary look.

  Had her second husband been as accommodating? Karan knew every furniture store between Bluestone and the city.

  “It’s different,�
� he commented unnecessarily.

  “I created a new environment.”

  “For your husband?” The second one.

  She accepted the blanket from him. “No, we didn’t really spend much time here. He wasn’t comfortable.”

  Charles didn’t have to ask why. He wouldn’t have been, either. Why hadn’t she sold the place? He didn’t ask that, either, wasn’t prepared to hear the answer. Not when he’d realized how much he could still feel for Karan.

  “May I get you something, Charles?”

  The perfect hostess. She had no clue how conflicted he was right now. Once, she might have known.

  “No, thanks.” Slipping an arm around her shoulder, he steered her toward the living room.

  He told himself he wasn’t taking advantage because he wanted to touch her.

  “That’s my job. I’ll get you whatever you need. I want you settled and resting. You call it—couch or bed.”

  She let him lead, still looked undecided as she dropped the blanket onto an ottoman. “Bed, I guess. It’s been an eventful day. I should probably call it a night and cut my losses.”

  “Who’s going to stay with you?”

  That took her off guard. She tipped her face to his, and he met her gaze, sensed she was about to rebel.

  “I’m fine by myself. I’ll sleep.” A soft laugh burst from her lips. “Trust me, I’ll sleep.”

  But she wasn’t fine. She’d been abducted and held at knifepoint. She was still suffering the effects of shock, her sugar bottoming out.

  And he wasn’t fine, either. Because every time he looked at her, he wanted to touch her, to reassure himself that she was here, okay, alive.

  He shook his head, unprepared to yield. “What about your mother, or Susanna?”

  “Not a good time for my mother, and I can’t call Susanna. Rescuing me has become a full-time job for her lately, and she has an important presentation to give to her management company in the morning. She’s stressed enough without losing sleep because of me. I texted her and told her I was fine. If she thinks I lied, she’ll kill me.”

  “I’m the attending physician, so I call the shots. Produce someone to spend the night or you’ll have me sleeping on your couch. It’s not a problem. I’ve got my spare bag in the car.”