Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Man in Black

CARTER

The suited man scowled from the other side of the glass. “I need to search your restaurant to be sure you’re the only one in there. If you refuse, I’ll know you’re lying.”

“Or I’ve just had a long day!” Carter called back. “I told you, no one’s in here!”

The man glowered. “Open this door right now, or I will open it for you.”

The suit-wearing asshole sounded serious about kicking down the door, and Carter kept himself from glancing guiltily back into his store at the last moment. The woman had to be inside the freezer by now. While it locked from the outside, she was well hidden.

He’d just have to hope the cop wouldn’t decide to search the freezer. By comparison, if he pissed this man off enough, he might call more friends over. Carter would simply have to let him look around the store and hope he fucked off after.

“Fine, sure.” Carter agreed grudgingly. “But I need to see some ID first.”

In one smooth motion, the man withdrew a plain brown wallet and flipped it to hang open. He shined his flashlight on it, revealing a sealed card with an image of the same scowling man and a shield Carter instantly recognized. FBI? The fuck?

The FBI, unlike the local PD from his home town back in Texas, could come into Pennsylvania and arrest him anytime they liked. But how could he warrant a federal response? Uncle Eli had assured him the whole mess would stay local. The FBI would never bother with a case his small, especially when the DA wasn’t even sure he’d prosecute.

The man flipped his wallet back into his suit jacket and turned his flashlight once more on Carter’s face. “Now,” he rumbled from outside. “Unlock this door.”

If Carter refused or ran now, he would only get him caught. Worse, he’d get that woman caught. He dropped the blinds, took a breath, and turned the lock.

He’d no sooner opened before the large man breezed inside like he owned the place. His sunglass-covered gaze swept across empty tables to an empty counter to the food prep room beyond before he looked to Carter again. “Show me your ID.”

If he refused, the man would grow even more suspicious. Carter had to trust his uncle’s legal advice. Uncle Eli was the best criminal defense lawyer in his town and several others.

He handed his ID over. He was surprised when the MIB didn’t even glance at it. He simply slipped into his suit pocket and walked into the store. “Do not move,” the man ordered as his sunglass-covered gaze searched for fugitives. “I will return your license soon.”

Despite his stubborn heroism and genuine desire to help the woman now hiding in his freezer, Carter obeyed. He simply wasn’t ready for his freedom to end. He just had to keep his calm until this man satisfied himself the store was empty... but what if he checked the freezer?

The man finished his visual sweep of the decidedly empty Subway and then impaled Carter with a hard gaze. “It’s just you in here?”

Carter managed an annoyed frown. “Like I said, no fugitives ran in here looking for a sandwich. I’d already closed up before you started pounding on my door.”

From the back room, something clattered and fell. “Shit!” a woman cried.

The man’s whole head swiveled unnaturally to face the prep room in the back, which was likely the only reason he didn’t catch Carter’s jaw drop. Had that woman tripped over something in her exhaustion?

Fuck. They were both absolutely going to jail tonight.

As the two of them watched, a redheaded woman who probably stood at least five-nine emerged from the back room wearing the same uniform Carter wore: light green shirt, dark green apron, and dark slacks. Her curly hair fell to her shoulders and a bit beyond, and cute bangs shaded her eyes. As she spotted them, those eyes widened as visibly as Carter’s.

“Um.” She swallowed visibly and stared. “Welcome to Subway?”

The MIB—for Carter was far past the point where he could think rationally enough to classify the man as anything but one of the legendary Men in Black—strode forward and stopped on the customer side of the counter. He glared at the timid redhead as she visibly shrank under his gaze. The way she winced at the ire of this visibly much larger man fired every last one of Carter’s protective instincts.

This was the blonde from before? This was the blonde from before, and he knew because she was wearing the same worn sneakers. Not exactly approved footwear, but the MIB might not know that.

Carter didn’t know how, and he didn’t know why, but he did know she needed him to back her latest play or this man would haul both of them in for questioning. He had to act like this was all part of the plan.

He forced a smirk he didn’t feel and sauntered over to the counter. “This officer’s looking for a murderous fugitive.” He paused. “You got any fugitives with you back there?”

As the woman’s light green eyes met his—eyes that had obviously been dark blue when she arrived—she numbly bit her lip. “I dropped the lettuce bin,” she said meekly.

“Oh.” Carter casually absorbed the fact that his new coworker was a bit clumsy and decided to roll with it. “No worries. I’ll help you clean that up after we deal with... all this.”

The MIB looked between them before swiveling to face Carter. His shoulders visibly hunched as a scowl crossed his features. “You told me you were alone in here.”

“I said we didn’t have any fugitives in here,” Carter reminded the MIB. “Or customers. Since we’re closed.” He scowled back. “Like I told you.”

“I need to check the back,” the man reminded him. “Do not stop me.”

Despite the fact that the redhead in the Subway uniform was easily more than foot taller than the exhausted blonde who’d stumbled into his shop, Carter somehow knew no one else was hiding in his freezer. She had been wearing a really thick sweater when she came in. What if she’d had... a disguise stashed in there? Some stilts? Maybe even a red wig?

If that was true, then the woman who’d run into his shop had gotten dressed in a spare uniform, grown at least a foot, and maybe... popped out some color-changing contacts while he delayed this man at the door. He really wanted to ask her how she’d managed that. After, of course, they weren’t both arrested by the Men in Black.

Carter risked a glance at the demure redhead who now wore a Subway uniform that looked even better on her than it did him. Even hidden mostly beneath the apron, her (smaller?) breasts looked great. While he knew it was borderline lecherous, her shapely figure was again the first thing he evaluated... because it had changed.

 Her once huge breasts were visibly smaller now, though they still filled out her shirt. Even in the modest shirt and slacks, her unusually tiny waist made her bust all that much more impressive. It also did great things for her hips, which weren’t nearly as wide as before but still curvy as hell.

His spontaneously appearing redheaded co-worker was exactly his type—reasonably busty, visibly athletic, and tall enough he could easily kiss her without her going up on tiptoes—but how could this be the same exhausted blonde who’d walked in his shop?

Had she had a bunch of disguises stashed inside an enormous bra?

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How? Those huge breasts pressed against his midriff had felt like real breasts, but she had been wearing an usually thick sweater capable of hiding... things. She’d also likely hidden something in... her jeans? Her ass might be smaller now, but it was still one attractive ass.

As the man loudly rummaged around in the back of the store, the woman once again met her eyes and blinked rapidly. Was she trying to spell something out with her eyes, like in Morse code? Carter had no idea how to read Morse code.

“What?” he mouthed. He had no idea what she was trying to tell him.

She tapped the nametag affixed to her apron with one short fingernail. His gaze flicked away from hers and read the tag. Allison.

Allison Meadows hadn’t worked at this particular franchise for two months, ever since she got tired of putting up with Rick’s constant sexual harassment. This Subway’s resident asshole had kept her name tag in hopes she’d return. Lucky for her. Lucky for them both.

Behind Carter, the sound of loafers on floor forced him to turn around. The scowling MIB emerged from the back and stared at Allison. “What is your name?”

She’d scarcely opened her mouth before the MIB shushed her with a loud snap of his fingers. “No, do not answer that.” The man looked to Carter instead. “What is the name of your fellow employee?”

He blinked at the man’s unexpected dickishness, but he also had no need to glance at her nametag. She’d already clued him in. Good thinking on her part.

“Her name’s Allison.” He frowned back. “And she’s a Sandwich Artist, not an employee.”

“Last name.”

“Meadows,” Carter added with annoyance. “You plan to let her speak for herself?”

“It’s fine,” the now redheaded woman said quietly. Her warm fingers settled on his forearm with soft familiarity. “He’s just doing his job, Carter.”

Her close contact and his name from her lips thrilled him in a way he hadn’t expected. Despite the fact that they’d only just met, the way she said his name sounded... fond. It had been six lonely months since he’ d heard a girl say his name like that.

The MIB reached into his pocket. Was he going for a gun? No. Worse. He pulled out Carter’s license and then looked directly at Allison.

“What is Carter’s last name?”

Shit! This man had them. While this woman had been smart enough to read his nametag, there was no way she could know his last name was...

“Reed,” the woman answered. “His full name is Carter Reed.”

Carter somehow kept his poker face. How had she known that? How did she know him?

The MIB raised Carter’s license and appeared to briefly glance at it. It was hard to tell exactly what he was looking at, given the sunglasses. After another long, tense moment, the man lowered the license and looked again at them.

“There is lettuce all over the floor back there.”

“I dropped it when I heard you come in,” Allison said quietly. “Sorry. Is that a health code violation?”

As the man reached into his suit jacket again, Carter froze. Was he going to pull out a gun this time? Instead, he offered a card that he clutched between two upraised fingers.

“My name is Agent Holloway,” the man said.

After a long moment of silent insistence, Carter took the card.

“After you two finish closing up your shop, go straight home,” Holloway said firmly. “Do not stop to pick up hitchhikers and do not speak to anyone you encounter on the street. Should you see anyone suspicious, do not call the police. Call me. Do you understand?”

“We understand, sir,” Allison offered quietly.

The man’s brow furrowed. “And you, son?”

“Right,” Carter said. “I hear you. Now seriously, can we go clean up the back?”

Holloway waggled one thick finger at them. “Straight home.”

With nothing more than that, the strangest man to enter Carter’s Subway in at least a week walked around the counter for the door. He opened it with a jangle of bells, closed it with the same, and left the Subway in utter silence. Except for a soft thump from Carter’s side.

When he glanced at the redhead again, he found her collapsed on the floor in a mess of tangled arms and legs. From what he could see, she now looked to be unconscious, though her chest rose and fell faintly beneath her apron. Had this chick literally just passed out on his floor?

Once again he considered calling 911, and once again, he immediately discarded the idea. Even if he was willing to risk his own freedom, he had no right to risk hers. Also, Agent Holloway had been a colossal dick. Doing anything to help that man felt like betrayal.

What he could do, right now, was lock the door again. And clean up the lettuce. And maybe make sure the attractive redhead passed out behind his counter was still alive. It was surprisingly important to him that she remain alive, and not just because she’d touched his arm. With this man after her, with that terror filling her eyes, she’d reminded him of Jenna.

While his other feelings for this now unconscious woman were, obviously, far different from those he felt for his little sister, his strong urge to protect Allison felt the same. He didn’t know much about first aid and didn’t think she needed CPR—she was, after all, still breathing—but he knelt and pressed two fingers to her neck as he’d seen on TV.

He found a pulse. That was what he needed to relax the tension squeezing his chest. Her own chest even rose and fell evenly, not fitfully, which made it look almost like she was in a deep sleep. So he’d just... let her rest a bit. She’d obviously had one hell of a night.

He also had ingredients to wrap and a floor full of lettuce to sweep up.

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