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thought, looking out to the Atlantic, if she’d wanted him to move on, she should have left his heart intact. “The only people I care about making happy these days are our guests. In Señorita Boyd’s case, that means protecting her privacy.”
    â€œWere you worrying about her privacy when you had security checking on her last night?”
    Carlos stopped short. He should have known Jorge would hear of his orders. The hotel staff was a small community, and nothing escaped notice. “She’d been drinking. I thought it a good idea to watch out for her.”
    â€œOld habits die hard, do they?”
    Some did anyway. He thought about arguing the point, and blaming liability for his behavior, but Jorge would see right through the excuse. After all, his cousin knew all about Mirabelle. More, he’d been there the day they found her.
    â€œI didn’t want to take any chances. There were too many similarities.” More than he wanted to admit.
    Before he could say anything, the two-way radio on his cousin’s waist began to crackle. The first sentence was all Carlos needed to hear. “Housekeeping emergency, Presidential Villa.”
    Â 

CHAPTER THREE
    â€œI’ M   NORMALLY   NOT this squeamish. I mean, I live in New York City. I’ve seen things.” But this wasn’t some scrambling little roach or scurrying sewer rat.
    The maintenance man grinned. “Tarantula,” he said.
    No kidding, it was a tarantula. One the size of her fist and it was clinging to the bathroom wall next to the bathtub. Larissa shivered, thinking how she’d been sitting on the floor while it had been crawling around. For all she knew, it could have crawled right by her foot. Or her hair. Heebie-jeebies ran across her skin.
    All she wanted to do was take a nice long bath, thinking a whirlpool and a jungle view would be exactly what she needed to shake off her pity party and start fresh. Nowhere did her plans include sharing her tub with a man-eating creature.
    She looked over from her place atop the double vanity. “Can you get rid of it?”
    â€œSi.”
Taking a hand towel, the man brushed the offending creature to the floor. Larissa squeaked and tucked her legs beneath her. How was that getting rid of anything?
    Suddenly commotion sounded outside. “What happened?” Señor Chavez burst into the bathroom.
    Oh, great, he was back. Was the general manager going to witness every embarrassing moment she had this trip? This time he brought a friend along, as well. A second dark-suited man pulled up behind him.
    â€œThe radio said there was an emergency.” He looked Larissa up and down with a scrutiny that made her wish she was wearing more than the complimentary robe. She tugged at the gap, making sure the cloth covered her legs.
    â€œThere was an emergency. I had an unwelcome guest,” she replied, pointing toward the floor. The maintenance man had laid the towel on the ground, and the tarantula was crawling onto the cotton surface toward the middle. “I called to have someone get rid of him.”
    â€œI’m afraid tarantulas are an unfortunate byproduct of sleeping so close to the jungle,” the other man replied with a smile. In comparison to Señor Chavez’s scowl, it was positively blinding. “Our staff does its best to sweep them off the property, but every once in a while one makes its way into a room. I’m Jorge Chavez, the assistant manager, by the way.”
    â€œPleasure to meet you.” Larissa watched as the maintenance man scooped up the towel and spider. “What’s he going to do with him?”
    â€œPedro will release him away from the property. Don’t worry, he won’t be back.”
    â€œI’m more worried about whether he has friends.”
    â€œI doubt there are others, but we’ll sweep the villa to make sure. Of course, if you’re truly uncomfortable, I can arrange for you to