Delta Force Die Hard. Carol Ericson
to wedge it against the rocky wall of the cliff face. As the gritty surface abraded the skinned flesh on the heel of his hand, he sucked in a breath.
Sinking into a crouch, he extended his injured leg in front of him and surveyed the rocky expanse below. Even with two steady legs, hydrated and nourished, this landscape would pose a challenge to navigate. Parched, weakened by hunger and with a bum ankle, he didn’t stand a chance.
He eyed the gray skies, scuffs of cloud rolling across the expanse, promising rain and relief—and more challenges. He dragged his boot over the rocks coated with dirt. Once the rains started, rivulets of water would wash the grit from the stones, joining forces in a muddy stream, making his path to the bottom of the mountain a slippery—and dangerous—proposition.
He’d already witnessed one of his men take a tumble down the side of a mountain. Had Knight survived that fall? If he knew anything about his Delta Force team, he’d lay odds on it. But even if Asher Knight had made it through, the men who had double-crossed them would’ve finished off Knight.
They wouldn’t have left any witnesses.
He took a deep breath and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Did you think it was gonna be easy going AWOL in Afghanistan in the middle of enemy territory, Denver?”
His voice sounded rusty to his own ears, but it was strong enough to startle a bird from its hiding place. The bird scuttled and flapped before taking wing and soaring up to those threatening clouds. He watched its ascent with something like envy roiling in his gut.
He willed himself to stand up—he owed it to Knight and the others to persevere. He stomped his bad foot and secured the laces on his boot—the tighter, the better for support. He hoisted his backpack and belted it around his waist. He strapped his rifle across his body. Couldn’t afford to lose that if he took a fall.
The first step jolted his bones, and he gritted his teeth. The next step felt worse, but at least he didn’t slide down the mountain.
Several more yards of jerky movement and his face broke into a sweat, which dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision. Maybe this descent would work better by touch and feel than sight, anyway. He didn’t need to see the view if he pitched off a cliff.
Something scrabbled behind him, dislodging several small stones that tumbled down and peppered the back of his legs. He could get lucky and ride down with an avalanche.
“Meester.”
Ripping his sidearm from its holster, he whipped around and took aim at...a boy. The boy looked down at him from several feet above, clinging to the side of the mountain like a goat.
Denver’s muscles coiled, and he spat out in guttural Pashto, “Who are you? Where did you come from?”
The boy’s eyes grew round, crowding out the other features in his gaunt face. Then he raised an old Russian rifle, pointed it at him and said, “American soldier. You die today.”
“I’m sorry. Lieutenant Knight doesn’t remember you.” The army officer on the line cleared his throat. “But he doesn’t remember much of anything. He didn’t mention your name. That’s for sure. Are you positive you’re engaged to him?”
Paige’s hand shook as she tried to hold on to her phone. “That’s crazy. Do you think I’d make up some phony engagement to an injured Delta Force soldier?”
The army officer on the line paused, and a burning rage sizzled through Paige’s veins. She released it as a hiss through her teeth.
“I—I’m sure you are engaged and Lieutenant Knight will remember soon enough. The doctors are confident he’ll remember everything.”
“Oh, that’s encouraging.” Paige took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “What else has he forgotten?”
“Well, ma’am.” The officer coughed. “If he’s forgotten it, how would he be able to tell us about it?”
Her fist clenched in her lap. “You must know details of his life. Does he remember them?”
“I’m just the messenger, ma’am. I don’t know much about Lieutenant Knight’s condition.”
That’s for sure. Paige took a gulp of water from the glass on her desk. “Can I talk to his doctors? I’m a psychologist myself.”
“Ma’am, since you’re not next of kin, the doctors won’t speak to you.”
She ground her back teeth together, suppressing the scream that ached in her throat. “His mother is dead, his father’s in prison and he’s an only child. Whom exactly is the doctor speaking to about his care?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. We called you because Lieutenant Knight had your name and number in his phone. Yours was the only number listed in his favorites.”
“There!” She was his favorite. Didn’t that mean something? “Obviously, I’m the person he’d want you to contact in an emergency. Can I fly out to see him?”
“No, ma’am. We can’t allow that—yet.”
The soldier’s words punched her in the gut, and she doubled over. She had to speak to Asher, had to see him. Once they were back in each other’s arms, he’d remember everything.
“How much longer will he be in Germany?”
“Again, ma’am, I’m not at liberty to discuss any of the particulars of the lieutenant’s recovery with you. I got the order to call you out of courtesy...because you’re a favorite.”
She wished he’d stop saying that word. “Can you at least tell me he’s not badly injured physically? Will he make a full recovery?”
“He’s strong. As far as I know, he’s doing fine physically and is expected to make a full recovery. And, ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“That’s off the record.”
When the call ended, Paige sank to her chair behind the desk and placed her hands flat on the surface. What did this mean? Just because Asher had amnesia and couldn’t recall the details of their relationship...or her, did that mean it never happened? What were those doctors in Germany doing to help him recover his memories?
A light blinked above her door, indicating her next client had arrived. How in the world could she help anyone right now when she couldn’t even help herself?
She dragged herself out of the chair, straightened her shoulders and strode to the door. Plastering a smile on her face, she swung it open.
“Come on in, Krystal.”
Her next client sashayed into the room, flicking her long hair over one shoulder and wiggling her hips in a tight skirt that she must wear to impress her johns—which she wasn’t supposed to have anymore.
She smacked a piece of paper on Paige’s desk and tapped it with one long fingernail. “Can you sign now? Only two more sessions after this one before I satisfy the terms of my probation.”
Paige scribbled her signature on the form. “I hope you’ve gotten more out of these sessions than just the completion of your probation.”
“I have.” Krystal sat in her usual chair and crossed her long legs. “You’ve been great, Paige.”
Paige took the seat across from Krystal and nodded, which Krystal took as a signal to launch into a recitation of her sad life story.
Her words filled the room, and Paige tried to catch one or two to get the gist, although she’d heard most of it before.
“So, do you think I should call my father?”
Paige blinked and dropped the pencil she’d been tapping against the arm