wanted to talk to her about. “I’ve decided to make another change to the schedule.”
She leaned forward and sat cross legged on the bed, giving him her full attention. “Okay…”
“There’s no credible threat against you or anyone involved with the foundation, but after today I’d feel better if we changed the itinerary for when you arrive at the school.”
Her brow creased. “You mean I won’t be there for the official opening?”
“You will, but we’ll get you there an hour or so prior to the ceremony, rather than stay the night before in Saidu Sharif.”
She digested that for a moment, and he could tell her mind was working overtime on that piece of information. “So what time will we leave here, then?”
“Oh-three-hundred Tuesday morning.”
Rather than protest the early hour, she consented with a thoughtful nod. “What about Ray?”
“He’ll be arriving an hour before you. I’ll be there ahead of him with the rest of his team. Gage and the others will travel with you to the school.”
Her frown deepened. “So you want to be there hours in advance to set up, but there’s no credible threat. Is there an indirect one?”
He had to admire her quick mind. “No.” Not other than the TTP’s vow to eliminate her and anyone involved with the foundation, and he wasn’t going to remind her of that because he knew she hadn’t forgotten.
Nodding slowly, Khalia broke eye contact and shifted on the bed to fiddle with the sheet. She was silent for a few beats before speaking. “My father knew the risks involved before he was kidnapped,” she began, surprising him with the turn in conversation. “He believed in his cause enough to come here in spite of them. Then he…died,” she managed, stumbling over the wording, and Hunter knew why. Her father hadn’t merely died. He’d been murdered—throat slit, then beheaded with a sword on camera for the US authorities to see. He hoped the hell no one had let her watch the footage. He hated that her life had been touched with that sort of violence.
“When he died he left instructions in his will that his work with the foundation be carried on,” she continued. “I’m a founding Board member in addition to being his daughter. I believe in what we were doing. He believed in it enough to risk his life for it.” She raised haunted eyes to his, and Hunter’s heart squeezed at the raw pain he saw there.
“I know I don’t belong here—for God’s sake, I’m a high school math teacher—but he died for what he believed in. I’m not proud to admit it, but I don’t want to be here.” Her expression was tortured. “But after what happened, the way he died, how could I not step up and try to make this dream come true for him now that he’s gone?”
The weight of responsibility on her shoulders, the grief in her eyes—they hit Hunter like a kick to the gut. He squeezed his fingers around the padded arms of the chair, fighting the urge to walk over there and wrap her up in his arms. For Christ’s sake, he was only human. To see this confident, polished woman so lost and vulnerable turned him inside out. She was clearly afraid to be here, yet she’d somehow found the strength to overcome it and do what she felt necessary.
“And these girls.” She pushed a hand through the tangle of her hair and blew out a breath, then drew her knees up to her chest and looped her arms around them. “They want an education badly enough to risk their lives by simply coming to school. How the hell can that happen in this day and age? I’m not brave, never have been. I’m scared to death about going into that valley because of what happened to my father, but if those girls have the courage to defy the Taliban and show up to school, I have to help them. What sort of person would I be if I stayed home in the States when they show that sort of bravery on a daily basis?”
A pretty normal one, he thought . Few people had the moral conviction to take on something