There was an edge of discomfort whenever he was around Rachel, which Jonas hadn't yet figured out.
"Contact me immediately if you so much as sense anything," Jonas ordered him. "I'll be working tonight, then Rachel and I have to fly back to D.C. tomorrow afternoon for a meeting with the House Appropriations Committee concerning satellite usage. I want the heli-jet and Alpha Team One providing security for the trip and the meeting, as well as the return."
Mordecai gave a sharp nod as Rachel moved toward her and Amber's room. As Rachel's door closed, Mordecai turned back to him.
"What?" Jonas questioned as Mordecai stared at him silently.
"Merinus was forced to leave the safe room just after the male mates left. She was in the hall for long moments. While there, David became very agitated. He was pacing the room, and though he was fighting to hold them back, I could hear the tiny growls rumbling in his chest. He had all the appearances of adolescent feral fever, Jonas."
Jonas's jaw clenched. "I'll talk to Callan and Ely and see what they think."
Mordecai nodded. "He's a good boy. I'd hate to see his head messed with feral fever."
As Mordecai left the cabin, Jonas blew out a hard, silent breath. Feral fever had caused the scientists to kill too many young Breeds while they were still in the labs. Jonas had hoped the hybrid Breeds would be immune to it.
Moving to the kitchen, he quickly pulled a prepared meal from the freezer and shoved it in the oven. He hated damned microwaves.
Setting the temperature, he moved to the coffeemaker and flipped the switch to start the brewing process for the already measured grounds of coffee, then set out two cups, bowls and spoons.
Chili was one of the few things he could prepare well. That and coffee.
Turning at the sound of the bedroom door opening, he watched as Rachel reentered the room. She had taken off the exquisite dress and replaced it with soft cashmere lounging pants and a top. Her feet were covered with pristine white socks, her long red hair brushed until it fell down her back in a soft, satiny ribbon.
Seeing her dressed more comfortably, her face devoid of makeup, her demeanor softer than it was in the office, gave her an even more delicate, petite appearance.
She barely cleared his chest at five foot six inches. In heels, she went no taller than his shoulders. She was so damned tiny he was almost scared to touch her.
Fear was something he wasn't used to feeling either, not in any regard. Confidence was, at times, a fault where he was concerned, and he knew it. When it came to Rachel though, confidence was something he invariably found himself lacking.
"Is Amber sleeping comfortably?" he asked as she made her way into the kitchen.
"Like a baby." Her lips tilted up in amusement. "That child could sleep through a bomb, I believe. As long as her diaper is dry and her belly is full."
She was an unusually peaceful child, Jonas had to admit. Even for her young age, Amber was content to watch everything and everyone when she was awake.
"I'll have something ready for us to eat in a few minutes," he promised as he poured the coffee. "You have to be hungry."
"Starved." She leaned against the counter, staring up at him, her gaze quiet, intense.
Jonas could almost hear trouble brewing in her mind. The woman had more questions than China had rice at times.
Rachel watched as Jonas moved around the kitchen, still dressed in the mission uniform, a weapon strapped to one thigh, a knife to the other.
He was the badass he was rumored to be, there was no doubt. But there was a softer part of Jonas that few
people saw, that he took great pains to hide. A part that she had often glimpsed, even when she knew he would prefer no one see.
It was the same part that had him fixing her coffee, and long minutes later preparing her meal before he set it on the table. She had never had a meal prepared for her, that she could remember, by anyone other than herself or her sister. Even Devon, when they had lived together, had never bothered to fix her so much as a glass of water.
But here was Jonas, tough, hard, coming down from the surge of adrenaline that she knew came from battle, and he was fixing her coffee, chili, a salad. There were crackers and fruits and bread. Everything laid out on the table for her to tempt her appetite.
"I'll get fat at this rate." She moved to sit in the chair he pulled out for her, and felt a start of surprise as he helped her adjust it.
"Your metabolism is too well-adjusted and you're too physically active to get fat anytime soon." He took his own chair and began digging into his own food.
Breeds consumed vast quantities of food to power those gorgeous, powerful bodies.
There had actually been a television special concerning Breed eating habits. It had amazed her that producers would even think of such a thing.