Forbidden by Jacquelyn Frank Page A

bars in the cart. He was a good-sized man, easily beating out Jackson’s shoulder breadth and general height by several inches, and was built as though he spent a good deal of time in the gym. Jackson ought to know … they usually spent that time in the gym together. So when Leo went still like that, it tended to look ominous. Very …
scary
.
    He and Leo were a little like oil and vinegar. Theywere good together for the most part, but all you had to do was look at them to see they were very different from each other. And not just because Leo was a font of dark, Latino good looks and Jackson was made from a sharper cut of all-American cream cheese. Leo’s scruffy tendencies, with his medium-length black hair, semi-kempt goatee, and well-worn jeans and leather boots, were vastly different from the usually clean, almost military cut of Jackson’s hair and neatly shaven face. But now Leo was narrowing nearly black eyes on his friend in that way he had that made even big, powerful men take a few courteous steps back out of Leo’s way. He knew Leo was assessing him, registering the fact that he hadn’t shaved in several days, that he wasn’t turned out the way he usually was when he left the house, having opted for old jeans and a T-shirt because they had been fast and easy and he’d wanted to get back to Docia as quickly as possible. He supposed by this point, with her recovering so remarkably well, he should have relaxed a little. He should have gone back to work. But he couldn’t shake the memory of them telling him that his sister was dead, and damn them, they were just going to have to deal with it if he needed a few extra days to calm the fuck down and see to it she was well taken care of. They owed him at least that much. They owed it to themselves as well because he still wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to smack them around on sight.
    But not telling Leo about it … that was a whole different can of worms. Funny, though, since Docia had been all over the news, lauded as some kind of miracle right there in their own hometown. How could Leo have missed that?
    “What. Happened.” Leo dropped each word individually, his tone cold and brooking no other options other than to tell him exactly what he wanted to know.
    Jackson gave him a quick rundown of events. He wassuccinct but detailed … at least, as detailed as he could be. Docia had not had very much to offer by way of information, and their investigations thus far had turned up next to nothing. All they really had was one very discombobulated witness, the make and model and color of one of the most popular purchases in the area, and scrapings of metal and paint on a patch of stone that had seen its share of scrapings and paint.
    Jackson pushed on with his shopping, the urgency to get back to Docia still ticking hard in the back of his head. Leo fell into step, every so often grabbing something off a shelf and sticking it in Jackson’s cart. It shouldn’t have been funny, but Jackson had to suppress a smile. Even when his mind was busy digesting other disturbing details of life, there was a part of Leo that couldn’t stop being a wiseass, and loading up the cart with things
he
liked or that were so completely disgusting they ought not to be on a shelf for human consumption was as wise as it got. Jackson took a jar of pickled pig’s feet out of the cart and put it back on the shelf.
    “I was out of town,” Leo said gruffly after a few minutes.
    Ah. That explained it. Jackson also realized it was Leo’s version of an apology. He had nothing to apologize for. If anything, Jackson should be apologizing to him for leaving him out of the loop. Leo cared a great deal for Docia. “I should have called you,” Jackson said, letting his friend off the hook.
    “Yes. You should have,” he barked at him suddenly. He turned a dark-eyed glare at him. “What the fuck, Jacks?”
    “Sorry,” Jackson muttered, instantly contrite. “I was a little …” He shrugged