One, But Many
I’ve been a member of the family for six years. I know there are several of us. The word several is a good word to use. It means to me, not just a few, but more, and does not pinpoint an exact number. Vagueness is good, in this case.
I had been married to my husband, Devin, for a few months when this all came about. We own a restaurant together. Back then I worked the morning shift six days a week. Devin covered the night shift and on Sundays he went in the final two hours for closing.
We trusted our staff, still do. We didn’t want to stretch them too thin, however, and at that time, we were just getting started, so it was imperative that we both were active in managing the restaurant.
One morning, I arrived an hour before the rest of the staff. There was some accounting I needed to do, and I wanted to make sure everything was set for our breakfast customers. The evenings were occasionally too busy for the staff to set up for the next day.
I felt safe. I was in broad daylight, after all, and it was a warm summer morning. This didn’t stop the four thugs who grabbed me and pulled me into the side alley of the restaurant. They weren’t gentle in their manhandling. I knew I was going to be sexually violated, and that they would also kill me.
I tried to scream, only to have a dirty hand clamped over my mouth. I bit it, and was slapped across the face. I struggled, but was pinned to the ground by several strong arms and legs. They undid the button and zipper of my jeans. And then I was staring at the ringleader, who flicked open a large pocketknife. The click of the knife was eerie.
Much to my surprise and theirs, a gun went off, the bullet ricocheting off a dumpster twenty feet away. They turned their attention from me to deal with this new threat. I couldn’t see anything, the men were in the way, but the voice I heard was strong, unwavering.
The man who was saving me ordered the thugs to empty their pockets and then told them to leave. They did so, leaving loose change, knives, and wallets behind. As the men ran off I finally saw my rescuer.
He was taller than me by far, thin, and drop dead gorgeous. His eyes were hazel in the morning sun. His hair, chestnut brown. For a fleeting second I wondered if he was married, he was that gorgeous. Impossible for me, of course. I’d never trade Devin.
It was just past seven in the morning, and here was a man in an Italian made suit and tie, saving my life.
I sat in shock another moment. He helped me up, asking if I was okay. I said I was. We gathered their wallets with identification in them and I let us both into the restaurant.
I introduced myself, Heather Rowland. He told me his name was Lee Stetson. As I brushed the dirt from my backside I told him he had free meals for life. He’d just saved mine, after all.
I called the police and they came to the restaurant to take my statement, and Lee’s. We handed over the wallets with the IDs in them. The police thought that was pretty smart. Next, the police interviewed both of us, taking our statements. I would have to go down to the station and identify the men later, even though the police knew who they were. That was fine with me.
The day after that experience, Lee asked me if I’d do him a favor. He told me he was only out on the town this early because he was a Federal Agent, and he’d just completed an all night surveillance mission.
I remember being slightly wowed at his agent status. He merely asked me to keep an ear out, because the restaurant’s location in D.C. drew in many foreign ambassadors. He said if I heard anything, I could call him, or he would occasionally stop in.
I agreed without a second thought. After all, we did get foreign nationals as customers, but what would I hear? It sounded like an easy request to fulfill. I didn’t know what I was in for.
Six years later, I have doubled my staff. Devin and I also have two boys, and our infant, Laura. I work four days a week, on the morning shift. Devin covers the other three nights. We have three assistant managers and business is booming.
The turns that Lee has brought to my life have been interesting. I’ve had dignitaries washing dishes as I hid them on Lee’s behalf. I’ve slipped him notes about things I heard that I thought I never would.
He eats here six or so times a year. When I have information, I slip it to him with his bill, which has always been and will be nothing. He always leaves a big tip anyway, and for that I could shoot him myself. I meant it when I promised him free meals.
It was early last year that he started bringing his partner in with him. The last time I saw him, I dropped him a note asking if he and Mrs. King were an item. The look I got from him as he read the note implied only guilt. He turned beet red and smiled a killer grin, the likes of which I’ve never seen. I had to turn around to answer a question. As always, when I turned around again, nothing remained of him, but a big tip.
Devin knows all about Lee, and doesn’t seem to mind my little bit of spying. As long as the customers come in and the children are taken care of, he doesn’t complain. Those are the easy things in life.
Right now, I wait at the counter. Lee’s due for a visit any day. I wonder what chaos he will bring with him, and then I turn to freshen up the coffee.
The End
Story Notes:
Disclaimer: The basic SaMK characters belong to StM and WB. New characters are fully my responsibility.
Warning: Violent crime toward a woman slightly inferred. Read at own risk.
Warning: Violent crime toward a woman slightly inferred. Read at own risk.