Burn Notice Fanfic

So, here's the deal: I live in Miami alone after my money grubbing boyfriend leaving me, and I have a job as a waitress at a diner near my place. I work the breakfast shift, seven to noon, five days a week. About one week after my boyfriend, Jeff, left these couple of guys in a black Mercedes started following me around. They sit outside the diner, my apartment, and every other place I go,

Anyway, one morning, this old lady comes into the diner-alone-and orders some scrambled eggs and a black coffee. She's wearing some gold hoop earrings and about three rings on her fingers, which match her blue button down shirt. Every time I come to the table, she starts to talk to me about her life, her house, her son. She asks me, "What's the matter hon? You look tired in more ways than one."

I rubbed my eyes and said, "It's just…" Let me get one thing straight, I never ever tell my customers about my personal life. Ever. This was a one time deal. There was just something about this woman. "My boyfriend left and now –" I pointed to the guys in the Mercedes. "Those two guys have been following me for about, three days now." I pushed some of my wavy brown hair behind one ear and waited for this woman to respond.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "You should call my son Michael." She told me, writing something on the napkin from her table. "He could help with that sort of thing." She handed me the napkin and I took it glad this woman chose my section to sit in. "His name is Westen. Michael Westen."

"Thanks." I told her, smiling. "Is there any specific time that I should be calling him?"

"No, no, no!" She exclaimed. "He'd love to help, any time."

I grinned even wider, and stuffed the napkin in my pocket. Hopefully, this guy really could help.

After my shift ended that sunny Friday morning, I walked back to my house, about three blocks away, to change my clothes and call Michael. I put the napkin next to the phone and walked into my bedroom. My first choice was to wear my black t-shirt, but, it was particularly hot that day, so I put on my pink and orange, tight fitting, Hawaiian print tank top with my khaki cut off shorts and some orange flip flops. I didn't even bother to play with my hair; I just left it down and went back to the phone to call Michael.

The phone rang just once before a man picked up. His voice was gruff, "Yeah?"

"Hello?" I said. "This is Sandy. Your mom came into the diner where I work this morning –"

He cut me off before I could finish. "Meet me at the harbor, Sandy. Alone, ok?" He told me quickly and aggressively.

Suddenly, there was a click from his end of the phone. Assuming he hung

up, I slammed my phone down, grabbed my purse, and sprinted to the garage where my car was parked. When I got there, I jumped into my blue compact, sped to the harbor, and lost my tail. It looked like they got cut off by some old lady about two blocks from the harbor, so I sped up and got there in record time. My brakes screeched as I hit them and parked. I saw a man already standing next to his car. This man wore dark sunglasses, a pink button down shirt and some khaki pants with a matching jacket. His hair was very short and very dark, as were his shoes which looked brand new. He was very good looking with a dimpled chin and perfectly white teeth. I walked up to him, "Michael?" I put out my hand for him to shake. He took it quickly and let go almost immediately.

"So," he said, trying to avert his eyes, avoiding the painfully obvious fact that he was checking me out. He cleared his throat. "What's the problem?"

"Well, my boyfriend and I had a pretty nasty break up. Turned out he was stealing money from my bank accounts. Ever since he left two guys have been following me, watching my every move." I pushed my hair behind my ear. "I think I lost them before I got her. Can you help me?"

"Only if you help me. Can you answer a few questions?" He wouldn't smile, but I could still se his teeth, almost shining from being so white. "What's your boyfriends name?" He pulled out a small memo pad and wrote down my answers.

"Jeff. Jeff Clock."

"What can you tell me about the men following you?"

"They drive a black Mercedes, one of them blond the other one dark haired. Both of them look like they are in their mid thirties."

"Your cell number, address? Anyway of contacting you."

I snatched the memo pad from his hands and wrote down all of my information before handing it back to him. He pocketed the memo pad and turned towards his car. "I'll be in touch," he said, checking me out once more as he sat down in the drivers seat.

"Thank you." I said to him, just as he got into his car.