Page 5 of Wake Me Up Before You Cocoa

Now that he thought about it, she had a voice that was awfully familiar. A voice Wade used to know very well—and loved deeply. But that girl was eight years ago. In Alabama. Not here in New Orleans. Even so, female voices often came across as unreliable over a phone line. He sometimes mixed up his mother and Adele.

“Hello, hello!” the woman repeated. “Are you still there? Did you hang up?Pleasedon’t hang up!”

“I’ve heard about the dastardly black market,” Wade said, unable to resist teasing her. “Where do I find it? Some easy cash sounds good right about now.”

Chapter Three

“No, no!”Marina shrieked into the phone. “Pleasedon’t sell my phone. It has my entire life on it. My business stuff, friends, family—” she broke off. “Actually, just tell me where you are, and I’ll drive there and retrieve it. Please, just don’t leave.”

“I’m in kind of a weird location right now,” the man said vaguely.

Marina’s stomach sank. What didthatmean? She would probably never see her phone again. Best to get off Jenna’s phone that she was borrowing in the hopes of finding her own, and immediately call the phone company before her cell was wiped clean and disappeared forever.

“Are you homeless?” she finally asked. “Or are YOU the black market?”

His chuckle was low and deep. Was he laughing at her now?

“That isn’t funny,” she said tartly. “It’s a serious question.”

“No, it isn’t funny,” he agreed. “But what we call the black market isn’t necessarily a person or even a single place.”

Marina widened her eyes. She’d never actually thought about it before. Then again, weren’t “black markets” seedy, illegalplaces where criminals bought and sold stolen plunder or goods and services? Yuck, that was an unpleasant thing to think about.

“Do you remember where you lost it?” the man asked. “I’m just curious. To make sure I have the right person. I wouldn’t want it to go to a ‘black market’ person instead of the rightful owner.”

“Ha-ha,” Marina retorted. “That’s not funny.” She had to admit that this stranger didn’t sound particularly weird, or like a serial killer.

But one never knew for sure about these things. Even serial killers were loved by their mothers.

“Um, I’m really not sure where I lost it. I didn’t realize I had until I had to make some business calls. I dumped out my handbag and searched my shop, and nothing. So, I borrowed my friend’s phone to call my number. You know how you call your own phone number and let it ring so you can find it hiding in your house in plain sight when you forgot where you put it?”

“I can’t recall that I have,” he said slowly.

“I guess you’re perfect then,” Marina said flippantly. “Now, please tell me where I can meet you.”

“Does the cemetery ring a bell?”

Marina held out Jenna’s phone to stare at it. What a bizarre question. “Are you drunk? Why would I leave my phone at a cemetery?” A second later, she groaned, slapping a hand against her forehead. Yes, the cemetery!

Her phone must have dropped out of her purse when she was visiting Granny! Or more likely, it probably slipped from her back pocket. She had a bad habit of sticking it there instead of keeping it in her purse or on the shop counter.

“I can assure you, ma’am, I am perfectly stone cold sober.”

“Don’t call me ma’am. I’m not your mother.”

He chuckled. “As you wish.”

Marina froze. As if she’d turned into an ice cube. Or maybe a pillar of salt. Someone else used to say that to her. Someone long, long ago. Someone she had spent a good deal of time trying to forget.

Nope, this guy’s voice just had the same deep timbre as that man—or it was his teasing way of speaking. It wasn’tthehimfrom the past.Last she heardthat guywas some snobby billionaire livin’ high on the hog in New York City. Of course, that was at least seven or eight years ago.

He was probably married with six kids by now.

Well, maybe. Nope. If he was a billionaire, he had most likely become a selfish dude who went through women as fast as his daily showers.

The guy spoke again, interrupting Marina’s random thoughts. “You keep mentioning a shop, so why don’t you give me the address of where you work, and I can bring your phone to you. It’ll be a public place. No threat.”

“Um, but then you’d know where I work . . .”

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