Read Online Cruisin' For A SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood #5 by Sharon Hamilton - Free Book Online Page B

his cargo, smacking the donkey’s rear with a reed. The little animal was skipping down the dusty road parallel to the bus, looking malnourished and scared to death.
    They drove by a square with a large school and mosque. Mark didn’t have the desire to go inside, and he knew his buds probably felt the same, but they weren’t about to be difficult or draw attention to themselves. They poured out onto the hot, dusty street and immediately were assaulted with the same familiar sounds of traffic, minaret callers, radios blaring the calls, several dialects he recognized, and several he didn’t. Young, crippled boys hobbled on one foot with plastic water bottles cut in half asking for coin. All of the SEALs opened their wallets and layered small one-dollar bills there, creating a small crowd of followers the tour guide sharply shooed away.
    “American? You are US?” the guide asked.
    Kyle shrugged and nodded.
    “We love Americans,” he said as he tried to open his arms and give Kyle a hug. Kyle stepped back and the guide laughed at the rebuff, but Mark could see an underlying resentment there. “You will see, we love Americans in this country. Morocco isn’t like the rest of Africa.”
    The rest of the bus unloaded until they were standing amidst heavyset older tourists.
    “In my country,” the guide continued, “we have a very good King. He love Obama. He and Obama are good friends,” he held up two forefingers side by side, the universal sign for togetherness. The Berber guide wasn’t giving up, “You will see, my friends.”
    As they walked into the large market square they were assaulted by bright-colored clothing, and spices that made Mark want to sneeze. A couple of small boys were holding snakes, asking for money for a picture. Necklaces made out of nuts and shells, plastic gems and knots of colored leather started to look alike. Some had baseball caps with “I heart Marrakesh” logos on them, and silk shawls of every color.
    Christy wandered into a stall and was surrounded by a bevy of dark-skinned men draping silks over her body as she laughed, her beautiful long, blonde hair and hoop earrings flashing in the sunlight. Kyle went on instant alert and pulled her away from the quicksand of commerce, earning some disapproving looks from the vendors.
    “You don’t just do that, Christy,” Mark heard him tell his wife.
    “Oh stop it, Kyle.” Christy wiggled away from his grip and turned her back to him, looking for another stall to explore.
    “This isn’t Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” he said to her back.
    She lifted her sunglasses and gave him a sultry smile, but a challenge. “I’m on vacation. I want to experience this place, just a little. Besides, with all of you right here, on duty, we’re safe.” She joined Libby and they walked ahead of the rest of the Team.
    Fredo rolled his eyes as Mia pulled him into another stall to do some haggling.
    The tour guide abruptly interrupted any viable commerce. Mark realized the guy had his own ideas about who should benefit from the group’s dollars.
    Mark saw a beautiful turquoise necklace dotted with amber beads and stopped to inquire. The guide stood in front of him, waving his arms, the sleeves of his kaftan flapping like butterfly wings. The shopkeeper slunk to the background.
    “Hold it there, Tonto. I’m interested in that necklace,” Mark said.
    “Not good quality. I have a place you will find much better quality at a better price. Trust me. Your lady will be very, very pleased.”
    The guide’s defiant brown grin ticked Mark off a bit. He picked the man up by the forearms and placed him three feet from where he originally stood. Mark motioned for the owner to come forward. The black-skinned man’s eyes darted from side to side as he bowed and came forward.
    “How much?”
    The Berber guide tried to insert himself again, but Mark gave him a glare.
    “Not the quality. Not the quality.”
    “I don’t care a fuck about the quality. What’s the