LJ Maas: Rebecca’s Cove

BJ opened one eye and peered down the length of her body. She didn’t get far. About ten inches from her face, she ran into a pair of beady black eyes, midnight black nose, and a tiny pink tongue. The tongue moved in and out of the equally small mouth with the same rhythm BJ felt moving her body. She later blamed it on a residual effect from the pain medication, but she chose that moment to yell. More than just yell. BJ could hear herself scream like a girl.

“Aah!” BJ yelled again when she saw a figure run into the room. She stopped when she realized it was Hobie. “What the hell are you doing here? No, don’t answer that, just get this...thing... off of me!”

Hobie quickly scooped the dog off BJ’s chest. Now that she knew there was no real emergency, she was trying desperately not to laugh at the prone woman. “It’s just Arturo. Did he scare you?” she asked, grinning in amusement.

BJ, realizing that she’d just made a total fool of herself over a dog, tried to cover her own error in identifying the small animal. “I thought it was a rat.”

This time, Hobie did laugh; she couldn’t help it. “You get a lot of five-pound albino rats in Chicago, do you?”

BJ fixed a cold stare in Hobie’s direction. It was quickly becoming her trademark expression. “We’re lousy with ’em,” she said flatly. “Look, what in the hell are you… Whoa!”

BJ had turned to look up at the standing woman and suddenly felt the coffee table sliding away from the couch—with her injured leg still on it. She tried to pull back, but the blanket wrapped around her legs prevented proper movement. It only took five seconds for her to end up face down on the carpeted floor.

“Oh, my God!” Hobie let go of Arturo and bent down to help.

“Shit, that hurt,” BJ said. Attempting to rise, she felt the crown of her head connect sharply with the underside of the coffee table. Once more, she sank to the floor and groaned.

“Geez, you’re going to kill yourself. Let me help you.” “Don’t touch me! Please, just don’t touch me.”

BJ rolled over and lay there. She looked up at Hobie with an expression similar to amazement. “You look so normal, but you’re really the harbinger of doom. Are you an assassin? I mean, did someone put a hit out on me or something? And maybe they requested it to be a slow, torturous death?”

“I’m really so sorry.” Hobie wasn’t sure why she was apologizing, but it seemed the thing to do.

“Why are you trying to kill me?” BJ asked in a small defeated voice.

“Really, I’m doing no such thing. I can’t explain it,” Hobie said with a sympathetic smile. “At least let me help you up.”

“No! No, please don’t help me.” BJ started to get up on her own. “Frankly, I don’t think my body can take any more help from you.”

Hobie felt worse at seeing BJ struggle to a seated position on the sofa. It did indeed seem as though BJ’s physical well-being was in danger whenever Hobie came near her. She walked out of the room and returned a moment later with a steaming mug.

“Do you drink coffee?”

“Thank God!” BJ accepted it eagerly. “I’ll take that as a yes and thank you.”

BJ paused before taking a sip, the mug inches from her lips. “Aren’t you having any?” She glanced up at Hobie suspiciously.

“Oh, for crying out loud. Here.” Hobie grabbed the mug. She raised it to her mouth and took a healthy swallow. “See, no arsenic or anything.” She handed the mug back.

BJ silently stared into the black liquid.

Hobie thought the woman was actually pouting. “Now what?”

“It’s got your germs all over it now.” “Will you just let it go already?”

“Hey, I haven’t completely given up the assassin theory yet.” “Good Lord, you’re worse than my—” Hobie stopped

abruptly.

“Who? Worse than who?”

“Never mind.” Hobie left the room and returned with a fresh cup of coffee.

BJ cautiously sniffed it before taking a small sip. “Are you always this paranoid?” Hobie asked.

“You have the nerve to ask me that after what you’ve put me through in the last twenty-four hours?”

“What…I’ve…Okay, stop!” Hobie ran the fingers of both hands through her short auburn hair. She struggled to control her temper. She had always thought of herself as a quiet and reasonable woman, but BJ’s attitude seemed to awaken every quarrelsome bone in her body. “We can do this, I know we can.”

“Do what?” BJ asked in confusion.

“Be nice to each other!” Hobie nearly shouted in exasperation. “Maybe you should begin first, considering you’re the one who ran me over yesterday.”

Hobie placed one hand on her hip and held back her harsh reply. She took a deep breath, then spoke. “Okay, maybe nice is too much to hope for. How about we shoot for civil? Surely, we can manage that.”

BJ sat there with her arms folded across her chest, apparently mulling over the request, but not at all convinced of the other woman’s sincerity.

“Look—”

“I’ll try,” BJ said at last.

“Oh. All right then,” Hobie said. “See, this isn’t so bad.” BJ arched an eyebrow.

“It’s a start, anyway. Why don’t you let me look at your leg? How does it feel?”

“It hurts like hell.”

“You need to get some food into your stomach and you can take a pain pill. I picked up a few basic groceries, all poison-free.” Hobie ignored BJ’s smirk. “I didn’t get much, but if you give me a list, I can pick up anything you need.”

“No offense, but I’d rather do it myself. Oh, man, my Jag.” “Mack brought it over early this morning. It’s in the driveway.”

Hobie examined BJ’s leg as she spoke, noting that the swelling had lessened considerably. “Can I ask a question?”

“Can I stop you? Okay, okay, don’t blow a gasket,” BJ said in response to Hobie’s look of exasperation. “What?”

“How do you plan on driving that car with this thing on?” Hobie gave the plaster cast a gentle tap.

BJ stared down at her leg. “Shit.”

“I’m obligated to tell you that not only is it dangerous to try it, it’s also illegal.”

“I bet you brush after every meal, too, don’t you?” “All I’m saying is—”

“I know, I know. Damn, I have to get around. I’ll go insane stuck in this place. I have to see my grandmother, and I need clothes. Preferably ones I can cut one leg off without too much trouble. I wonder what Jules is up to. I know. I’ll call a cab.”

Hobie shook her head.

“Let me guess. There are no taxi services on the island.” “That’s right.”

“Bus, shuttle, golf cart?”

“Nope, not one. Guess I’m looking a little more indispensable than you thought, huh?” Hobie teased while wearing a mile-wide grin.

“Do not push your luck.” BJ’s acidic reply wiped the smile from Hobie’s face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to gloat.”

“Sure you did, but I guess I can’t blame you. It’s what I would have done.”

“That’s reassuring. Okay, before we get into it again...” Hobie saw BJ gearing up for another acerbic reply and headed her off. “I don’t open the office till one o’clock on Tuesdays. Why don’t I take you to town? I can show you where to shop so the locals won’t think you’re a tourist, but first stop will be Rebecca’s Cove to get you some breakfast.”

BJ didn’t answer but just stared at Hobie. Finally, she asked a question that Hobie didn’t expect. “Are you doing all this for me because you feel guilty or what?”

“Actually, I’d like to think I’m just that kind of a person, but I admit, I do feel somewhat responsible for your present condition.”

BJ didn’t know what to make of the woman. Her first reaction was one of skepticism. She had always been a consummate cynic, but she knew that no one could be as sweet and unassuming as Hobie. BJ decided Hobie was either a practiced liar or clinically insane. She wondered about being alone with her but didn’t have much choice. I have to get off this island ... soon!