A/N: Most of my stories are written in third person. This one is written in first person.

My Love Under Cover is written in the Supernaturals Universe by Shannon Phoenix (that's me). You can find books and stories based in the Supernaturals Universe on my website. This story is written for those who have read and know about my series and know the basics of the Universe already. There won't be a lot of explanation about it.

What you might want to know are a few things: Vampires are "out". Gargoyles also "came out", but were killed to near extinction. Almost no other Supernatural races are known about, but there are a great many of them. So don't be surprised when the heroine is unsurprised by the presence of Vampires, as they're a known phenomenon. She expects gargoyles to be extinct, since they went into hiding.

Yes, I'm arrogant enough to ask that my books be added so I can put this here. I think you'll like it, and hell, it's free entertainment. Enjoy. :)

Chapter 1

Introducing Kim

Hi, I'm Kim, and I work at Lenny's Maccheroni Ristaurante in Wisteria, Maine. Don't try to doll the name up, it's just the Italian spelling of Macaroni. So yeah, I work at Lenny's Macaroni Restaurant. But I have to pretend I don't, and try to fancy the name up to mach-air-oni rist-er-ont-ay. The rest of the town gets to call it "Lenny's Macaroni". Lucky them.

I'm a waitress there, which wouldn't mean much of anything, provided you didn't know Lenny's deep, dark secret. Lenny's only real purpose here is to launder money. He's part of the mob. Not the Italian mafioso, or any of those well-known organizations, I don't think. He's part of the 'new mob'. These days, the mob operates on a world-wide basis. Cheecago? Who needs Cheecago... They can mob anywhere and everywhere now.

They're running drugs in Mexico and laundering the money here. I guess Italian restaurants work as well as taco joints.

I don't think they know that I know about that part of the business. If they think of me at all, besides to yell at me now and again, that is. Which is fine with me, I don't mind. I think I'll live longer if it stays that way. The funny thing is that they speak around me like I'm not even there. I'm furniture; a moving chair. You'd think they'd know better, but I've been here for eight years now, and I guess they've just gotten used to me.

As far as my personal life goes, it's pretty boring. I have a son. His father's dead, which is a good thing, because I think I was well on my way towards homicide, myself. The guy was a jerk. He sabotaged my birth control pills by giving me 'vitamins' which were really St. John's Wort. Note to all of you aspiring non-mothers out there; St. John's Wort plus the pill equals bad juju. If you're depressed and want some, you're probably too depressed to have a kid, anyway, so use condoms. So why did he do it, when it's usually the woman that does that? His mother wanted a grandkid. Great reasoning, if you ask me. Whiny little mama's boy.

Funny thing, that, though. Now I have an amazing relationship with his mom. Which is more than you can say for my own mom. I can't stand my own mother. She was everything I didn't want to be, the single mother that couldn't accept the inevitable.

What does that mean? It seems like people think that, as a single mother, I don't know what men say about us single mothers. Like they magically don't talk about how they hate us right in front of us. Trust me when I tell you, men aren't nice people in general. That's not to say that some aren't, but as a rule; men will say whatever the hell they want if they don't have the hots for you.

And there's the rub. I'm not pretty. I'm very average. I have an average job, live in a small town, and have average looks. Depending on who you ask, somewhere between average and below average intelligence... Yay me.

So yeah. I work at a ridiculous restaurant that somehow manages to remain barely afloat year after year. I have an average name, an average life, with average looks. The only part of my life that isn't average is Drake, my son. He's awesome. You can't hold his dad against him, it wasn't Drake's fault Jason was a prick.

Life was pretty simple for us for a while, but then the FBI or somebody got wind of Lenny's little side trade. I don't know how, so don't ask. I can't tell you what I don't know, and I'm not going to make something up. Alright, so how do I know?

I know because of Pete. Everyone else calls him 'Rolling Pin Pete' because he's the pastry chef. He's a really good pastry chef, and he's also an undercover cop of some sort. I'm not sure which branch, but I figured it out when his supposedly angry ex-wife never came around. Never saw his supposed two kids, either.

So one day he asked me out. I said yes. While we were out on the date, I oh-so-casually told him that people were starting to mutter about how suspicious it was that his ex never called, never showed up, never dropped his kids off at company picnics and stuff. Next bowl-a-ding-dong night, he had his kids. They kept calling him Pete. I helped him out, asking if his ex refused to let them call him 'dad'. Doesn't anyone teach these undercover cops anything?

Then when his ex showed up at the restaurant to chew him out, I reminded him on our next date that people who live together don't just argue about bringing the kids home late. They argue about stupid things mostly. Like how he leaves the seat up all the time and his disgusting habit of hocking loogies in the kitchen sink. He'll snarl about her disgusting habit of using her electric shaver over the countertop in the bathroom and not cleaning it all up.

After that, I politely told him we should quit dating, or it would look suspicious, and I wasn't getting killed for him. He really wasn't my type, and I obviously wasn't his, either. He tried to grill me for information, once he knew that I knew he was a cop, but I didn't know anything helpful. I know that they're laundering money, but mostly just from things said and suspicious actions. Not enough to make me a material witness or whatever it happens to be called. Thank god.

When Pete failed to get anything accomplished, they sent Evangeline. Everybody made Evangeline by the third day. A week later, we were all ignoring and avoiding her. She was a waitress like me, but she thought she was the Company Commander and we were all sailors under her command. She tried to act like she was some old-world Italian matriarch, but she failed completely. I didn't bother to tell her why she wasn't working out. A few times, I admit I almost hoped she'd learn something and Lenny would have her offed. Fine, I'm a bad person, but she is, too. I would call her a murdering tyrant, but I think Pol Pot would be offended to be grouped in with her.

Three months ago now, though, they finally got it right. This time, they sent in someone to be a so-called 'accountant' who's obviously really a muscle man. Michael is incredible. Nobody would ever mistake him for an accountant, though. He's muscle through-and-through.

Yes, he's built like a tank, but that's not what I mean. I mean he looks like the type who could go five rounds with Mohammed Ali and still come out looking fresh as a daisy. He's lean, but he's extremely muscular. He must run five miles every day and lift weights for another two hours. A lot of guys who do that, do it because they're pretty average otherwise. I don't blame them, it's just the truth of it. I'm average myself, so I'm not being disrespectful.

Not Michael, though. Michael's got the face of an underwear model. The body of Adonis and the face of an underwear model... to die for. If God decided to put all of the sun's heat in one bundle and drop it onto Earth, I think it'd look like Michael. He's just that freaking hot. Better than that, he's probably absolutely perfect for an undercover cop. Maybe they sent those other two in to draw attention off of Michael's arrival.

On the down side, not only is Michael a billion miles or two out of my league, he also hates me. I don't know what I ever did to him, but if looks could kill, he'd have had to bury me in the back yard the first day he arrived. My only suspicion is that Pete told him I'd made him and given him information, and Michael's afraid I'd make him like I did Pete.

The thing is, it's Michael's fault I made him a week or two after he started here.