No sooner had Jason laid down that he heard the sound of a scream  from other parts of the house. Shit. Was he hearing things? His brow creased as he reluctantly sat up. Several things passed through his mind at one time.<br/><br/>There weren't pirates down here, were there? This was the fuckin' Caribbean, Cuba and Haiti and other more impoverished countries lived right down the fuckin' street. Didn't the Mexicans believe in a Chupachabra or some stupid ghost shit like that? Pirates were a more believable option. Why they would make a sound like that was beyond him. But it wasn't like he had any cash, or carried anything val...<br/><br/>Oh shit.<br/><br/>Not his baby.<br/><br/>Jason ran out of the room. Where they after his boat? He came to a stop and notice the luggage bags in the kitchen. Perhaps it was the maid and she saw one of those big tropical spiders and screamed. He turned into the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. Two women. Standing in his kitchen.<br/><br/>"You're not my maid." Jason said lamely. He met the eyes of the Indian woman, they were wide in surprise as well. Her gaze flicked to the blonde's.<br/><br/>She straightened her posture, her chin tilting up, regaining her composure. "Timeshare? There must be some misunderstanding. I purchased this island for the summer. My contract was mutually exclusive."