True Navy Blue: SEAL Brotherhood, True Blue SEALs Series Premiere by Sharon Hamilton Read Free Book Online Page B

and sighed. She picked up the remnants of their plates, taking them to the kitchen, and returned to her living room. Hand on her hips, she surveyed the view of the bay. She could see the smooth waters of the inlet from San Francisco to Oakland. The island to the left. The busy Ferry Plaza and Pier was teaming with tourists, even on a weekday.
    The San Francisco side of the bay was still bright white, buildings looking like a bunch of folded paper cups of various sizes, anchored by tall dark spires. There was a rhythm, a pulse here. A sort of order to the way life went. She wasn’t yet a part of it fully, but was stepping closer to an experience outside her control. She was partially fearful, but mostly, she was ready to join her next great adventure.
    Was this how Zak felt? She wondered if he ever thought about her. On a nice clear day like today, this was something she’d like to share with him some time.
    Several months later her Saturday was shattered by a stream of bright red lights and piercing sirens as paramedic vans and police cars, even a fire engine, zoomed past her glass Model Home office on the ground floor. Crowds of people began spilling out from buildings nearby, heading towards the Pier. News crews arrived and attempted to get parking.
    One lone figure in disheveled green clothes, came running from the crowd that had gathered, and abruptly turned in front of her office. With his hands tucked into his jacket he lost his balance and tripped over her sandwich sign, toppling it. When he picked it up, the man’s hands were bloodied, and left a bloody print on the sign as he righted it. His wild hair was pushed off his high forehead. His light chocolate skin and large brown eyes framed lips that showed a purple cast to them. He stared into the glass at Amy, his eyes full and round. He yanked on the doors, which were securely locked, waiting for her to release the button. Amy knew letting him in would be a horrible mistake.
    He shook both handles, attempting to jiggle the glass, yelling something in a dialect she didn’t understand, tugging and pulling on the doors in panic. He shoved against the doors with his shoulder, and although the glass bent slightly, they remained intact and didn’t shatter.
    Amy dialed 911, and then decided to call building security. She pushed the red button and heard a small alarm go off somewhere upstairs. The man stormed off to the left, barreling down the street, leaving a bloody print on the glass in front of her.
    For several seconds Amy stared at the bloody print, frozen in place. Lights continued to flash outside, noises were escalating. She heard no shots fired and no other signs of violence or struggle. No blasts. But her eyes fixated on the red handprint with one bloody drip trailing down over the smooth clean surface of the door.
    Doors behind her opened and she started, whipping around to find one building security guard entering through the rear entrance behind her, calling her name. When he reached the lobby, she noticed he was unarmed.
    “I—I’m okay, but there was a guy out there with blood on his hands.” Her voice was shrill. She could barely speak. Amy saw another security guard running toward the doors and stop just short, seeing the blood on the handles.
    “I’ll buzz him through,” said the other guard as he pressed the entry button.
    Amy pushed with her shoulder, letting in the second guard. “Bring in the sandwich sign,” she called to him. “Don’t touch where he did.”
    The guard reached low, bringing the sign inside the lobby, setting it down gently on the granite tile. They let the doors lock into place. A large crowd was gathering in the street over by the plaza.
    “What happened?” asked Amy. “Does anyone know?”
    One of the guards had been monitoring chatter on his radio. “I guess there’s been a shooting at the Plaza.”
    “Listen,” said the second guard, “I’ve got to help Kwon over at the Building One desk. The occupants are