He found the beer section on the left side of the store where it took up the whole wall. But nowhere on that wall could he find Ybor Gold. He saw a stock boy who didn’t look old enough to drink stacking twelve-packs of Bud Light in the cooler; he had late acne and an early goatee. His brown hair was gelled into shiny spikes. Jack asked him where they hid the Ybor Gold.

“I don’t think we carry that one anymore,” he said.

Damn. He’d enjoyed those two he’d had on the way down.

“Why not? It’s a local beer.”

“That’s not local. It’s made in Tampa.”

Exasperated, Jack started waving his arms. “If you can stock Sapporo Draft from the other side of the world, how come you can’t stock something from the other side of the state?”

“Wait a minute,” the kid said. “Come to think of it…”

He went over to the imported section, shuffled some stock around, and pulled out a six pack of Ybor Gold. He held it up, grinning.

“Knew I’d seen this somewhere.”

“My hero,” Jack said.

“There’s one more back there. Do you—?”

“Sold!”

As the kid put the two six packs in the cart, Jack handed him a five-dollar bill.

“Naw, that’s okay,” he said. “Just doing my job.”

Jack shoved it into the breast pocket of the kid’s shirt. “Yeah, but you deserve a raise.”

He hunted up Anya and followed her around as she picked out what she wanted. This involved playing touchy-feely with almost every piece of fruit in the store. Finally she was done and they checked out. Jack qualified for an Express Lane and cooled his heels by the door as her order was rung up.

Out in the parking lot, he was loading everything into the trunk when he spotted a battered red pickup parked against the far curb half a block down. Anya and Oyv were already in the car; it was running with the AC on. Jack leaned in the driver door.

“Can you spare a few minutes?” he said. “I want to check something out.”

She glanced at her watch. “Don’t be too long. I’d like to stop in on your father before we head home.”

That was on Jack’s to-do list as well. But first…

He angled across the parking lot, then crossed the street. As he approached the truck—no question now that it was the same one—he noticed a slim young woman with a dark complexion and wild hair a startling silver white. She leaned against a nearby wall. She wore white Levis and a tight black vest over a long-sleeved white shirt buttoned up to the collar.

He stared at her. Something familiar about her. Not the hair, but that face, those black eyes…