Dirty Deeds

by Karina Halle

  “I’m so glad, Anna,” she said. I still found it jarring every time someone called me by my fake name, but at least I was good at hiding it. It hadn’t been in the same with Derek. After I’d called him that a few times last year, we decided to just tell everyone that Derek was his middle name and that he was used to that. It’s not that Derek Conway really existed out there in any form except for an ex-military solider who went off the grid.

  At least, that’s what we hoped.

  Soon, Derek and Dwayne brought up the platters of steamed fish with lemon dressing, Caribbean rice and sautéed vegetables that I picked from our garden out front. Another bottle of wine was uncorked. Local acoustic music from the bar down the street wafted up over the azaleas and palm trees, catching a ride on the sea breeze.

  This was paradise. I was home.

  Later that night, Derek and I settled into bed. Well, we didn’t so much settle as collapse, drunk and exhausted. The two of us had two much wine at dinner, which, after our guests left, led to hot monkey sex in the kitchen, on the couch, in the shower, before we finally succumbed, wet but sated, to sleep.

  It must have been the middle of the night – the moon was working its way across the sky and filtering in through the window in silver beams – when I heard the noise. Despite my aching head, I stiffened immediately, my senses flaring up. Derek was already out of bed and by the door. In the moonlight I could see the gun in his hand.

  He motioned for me to stay put, stay quiet, but I couldn’t. I never could. As he eased our bedroom door open and eyed the dark hallway, I quietly crept out of bed, holding my breath, afraid that the hardwood floors would creak.

  While he stealthily entered the hallway, I brought out my own gun from the bottom dresser drawer. I hadn’t looked at it since I put it there, the day we moved in. There hadn’t been a need.

  Now, I was afraid that our past had finally come for us. We were so careful but someone else was probably even more so. We had really started to believe that we left all of that behind, that the people who we were couldn’t touch us anymore.

  It was worth it, though. If I hadn’t touched the gun for a year, that meant it was worth it. Paradise, Derek, freedom – they were worth everything.

  I cautiously followed Derek out the door, seeing him go down the stairs at the end. We had made a plan, an escape route, if things went terribly wrong one day. I was to head to the office at the end of the hall way and go through the sliding glass doors that lead to the deck. From there I could go up toward the roof, or down toward the ground.

  But even though it was the plan, I couldn’t go. I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Derek behind. I knew he could more than take care of himself but even then, dark, horrific thoughts teased at me. I could almost hear a gunshot going off, imagining Derek gunned down, his life seeping out through his blood while I escaped to freedom. That didn’t seem fair and my life has had its own share of injustice.

  So I followed him down the teak stairs, even though he was shooting me a hard, intimidating look over his shoulder, telling me to stay put. I wasn’t listening.

  Now that we were on the main floor, the sound had stopped. Upstairs in the bedroom, it sounded like someone trying to open a door, or perhaps someone accidently banging into something. There was nothing now.

  Then the motion detector outside went on near the backdoor, which looks onto the beach. If anyone were to break in, there was no fence or real property lines in the back to deter them. Plus it was darker back there, just the garden, sand and sea, and no one to witness a thing.

  I looked at Derek, the cold light showcasing the hard, masculine planes of his face as he edged toward the back door, his hand out for the handle. I wanted to yell out for him, to tell him not to open it, to keep us locked in our ignorance, but my voice choked in my throat.

  It all happened so fast. Derek took in a deep breath and then the door flew open and he jumped out in a low crouch, gun drawn, eyes focused dead ahead.

  There was a terrible thud just out of reach, like something hit the side of the house and then a hoarse, vibrating cry that reminded me of a cornered animal, or a dying donkey.

  Derek froze, not pulling the trigger. Then his face contorted in shock before breaking into a smile. What the hell?

  “Alana,” he said, turning to look at me.

  I was already at the door and stepping out beside him.

  On the back patio there were two donkeys. One of them was looking mildly surprised at our intrusion, the other one was busy eating out of the compost bin they knocked over.

  Donkeys. Motherfucking donkeys.

  I looked at Derek with wide eyes.

  We both burst out laughing.

  Not just the giggles, but full-on gut-bursting laughs that were sure to wake the neighbors. We were keeled over, holding our stomachs, our faces growing red, tears streaming down our cheeks. I nearly fell over.

  Meanwhile, the donkeys paid us no attention and went back to eating and occasionally stomping their hooves on the deck.

  Derek came over to me, his smile as big as the moon, and pulled me into his arms.

  “Talk about paranoid,” he said, kissing the top of my head. He let out another laugh. “In all my years, I’ve never pulled a gun on a donkey before.”

  “Good thing you didn’t shoot first and ask questions later,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

  “You’re right. I guess I’m changing, aren’t I sunshine?”

  I smiled at him, my heart feeling so unbelievably full. “You are. But you haven’t lost all of you.”

  His brows furrowed. “Hopefully I’ve kept the sexy parts.”

  I pinched his side. “You did. And then some.”

  He put his arm around my shoulder and I leaned my head against his chest as we watched the donkeys for a few moments.

  “I wonder who they belong to,” I mused.

  “Probably wild,” he said. “Don’t you be getting any ideas.”

  “The only idea I’m getting is that we may need a fence. Then again, I like that they came here. Wild but not afraid.”

  “Just like you.”

  I gave him a grave look. “But I was afraid. Back there, in the house, I was afraid.”

  His lips twitched into a half-smile. “And yet you still stood by me. It’s okay to be afraid, Alana. We’ll always be afraid to some degree, I think, and that’s a good thing. You need fear to keep you sharp. You need fear to keep your wildness in check. But just a little bit. Just enough to feel alive.” He paused. “I think we’re more alive now than we’ve ever been. Just this life here, this beautiful little life with you and this island and everything, is all I want for the rest of my life.”

  Hot tears tickled at my eyes as I was lost in the sincerity of his words, the confidence in his eyes. I reached up and kissed him sweetly, wanting to remember this moment forever.

  A loud bray from one of the donkeys was the only thing to interrupt us.

  We waved them goodbye, deciding to clean up after them tomorrow, and went inside, back to bed.

  ***

  The week that followed I felt happier than ever. You would think that would correspond with feeling lighter, but for some reason I felt weighted down, bloated, irritated and heavy. It didn’t help that I had missed my period either. Finally I had to bite the bullet and face what would really be going on with me.

  So, I went to our rinky dink local drugstore and, once I was back at home, took a home-pregnancy test.

  It came out positive.

  I wasn’t really sure how I would react – waiting for that pink line was so nerve-wracking that I had no idea what my thoughts were. But the moment it was true, it was real, I felt a happiness bloom inside me like a flower I’d overlooked.

  When I told Derek, his reaction was the same – pure joy. We cried and laughed and did a funny dance around the bedroom. We let the news sink in over and over again and smiled until we were sure our faces wouldn’t crack in two.

  No more wine (e
xcept a glass on occasion), no more fish. Lots of healthy vegetables and grains. The whole island seemed to know I was knocked up and it was like I suddenly had a giant family rejoicing for me, a family that seemed hell-bent on making sure my child was raised happy as can be.

  Some days I lied on the roof deck and stared up at the sky, hand on my growing belly, and thought about the future. Now it wouldn’t just be Derek and I. We would have someone else in our family.

  Someone else to love.

  Someone else to run wild with.

  Someone else to call home.

  About the Author

  Karina Halle is a former travel writer and music journalist, and the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of The Pact, The Artists Trilogy, and other wild and romantic reads. She lives in a 1920s farmhouse on an island off the coast of British Columbia with her husband and her rescue pup, where she drinks a lot of wine, hikes a lot of trails and devours a lot of books.

  To find out more about Karina and her unmissable books, visit www.authorkarinahalle.com, find her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter @MetalBlonde.