Hopscotch.

by REBECCA YORK.

Prologue.

Ten Years in the Past The sun dipped behind a cloud, and the wind began to blow, lifting the fine hairs on the back of Noel Emery's neck like unseen fingers dancing along her skin.Once more, she gave a quick half glance over her shoulder. " "Hey. Youexpectin someone? " Cindy Lummos asked.

"LTh-no." Ever since the dismissal bell at Patterson High School, Noel had felt as if they were being followed But no matter how quickly or how casually she peeked over her shoulder, she hadn't spotted anyone.

"You think Tommy D'Angelo would ask a sophomore to the Harvest Dance?" Cindywondered. "I'll die if he takes someone else."Noel shrugged.

"I keep forgetting. You're more interested in grades than guys: '

"Majoring in boyfriends isn't going to get me a scholarship to business school: ' " "You're jealous."

"I've just got a lot on my mind: Noel hugged the stack of textbooks she was

carrying against her chest.

Cindy's expression softened. "I know it's been tough since your dad moved out."

"We're okay." Noel scanned the sidewalk once more. Maybe it was Dadtrailing her. Like that day when he'd been waiting outside school so theycould talk. Only why didn't he show himself?

They had reached the small comer grocery where Mr. Dubinski let Mom run up a tab between paychecks.

"How about a soda?" Cindy asked.Noel hesitated. She'd earned a lot more than the minimum wage helping UncleHenry on Saturday, and she'd kept a little of the money for herself. " "Okay. "

Cindy touched the heart-shaped locket resting against her throat. "If you don't go to the Harvest Dance, would you-uh-mind if I keep your necklace till then?"

Noel stared at the pendant. "Well.. ." Really, she shouldn't have letCindy wear it at all. Uncle Henry had just lent it to her-the way hesometimes did when he was being real nice. But he was going to want it back." " Please. " " " I guess ."

"Oh, thanks! I'll treat you to a soda. And a Milky Way."

"You don't have to bribe me." Noel turned in mid-sentence This time shethought she saw a face disappearing around the comer into the alley, and herstomach clenched. It wasn't Dad. It wasn't anyone she recognized Quicklyshe brushed past her friend and hurried into the store. It was a tinyestablishment with everything from soap powder to canned peas stacked onnarrow floor to-ceiling shelves.

Mr. Dubinski looked up from restocking tomato sauce as they crossed to thedrink cooler. "How you girls doin'?"

" Fine. "

Noel's eyes flicked to the back of the shop. What if she went out that wayand ran for home? Then she tried to calm herself. Why did she assume shewas being followed ? It could just as well be some guy trying to get up hisnerve to talk to Cindy.

The conversation continued without her. Something about a fight the night before in Patterson Park.

Then the door opened again, and a man stepped inside , his face carefully neutral. His head was shaved, and his hand was shoved into the pocket of a black leather jacket.

It was him. And he wasn't here to ask Cindy for a date. Noel knew that with a kind of awful certainty as she shrank back against her friend.

"Hey, clumsy. Watch out," Cindy hissed. "That's my toe."

"Can I help you?" Mr. Dubinski asked. "

" Pack o' Camels. "

"Sure." The proprietor crossed to the counter, accepted the offered bill andopened the cash drawer. While he was making the change, the stranger pulleda snubnosed pistol out of his pocket.

"Give me the cash, Grandpa."

Mr. Dubinski turned ashen.

Cindy moaned.

Noel was incapable of making any sort of sound. This time, when she squeezed back against her friend, there was no protest.

"Hurry it up, ol' man! Put the cash in a paper bag."

The skinhead had heard Cindy; the weapon swung in their direction. "Hold it right there." For a fraction of a second, the hood's narrowed gaze darted from one girl to the other and back again. It came to rest on the jewel studded heart nestled in the hollow of Cindy's throat. "I'll have that, too."

From the corner of her eye, Noel saw Mr. Dubinski reach below the counter, but the thug sensed the movement , too. Whirling, he fired off two shots.

With a strangled sound, Mr. Dubinski toppled backward Screaming, Cindy pushed past Noel and dashed toward the exit. She never reached the door. Another shot reverberated in the enclosed space, and she slumped to the uneven floorboards. Leaning over her, the robber snapped the slim gold chain, yanked the locket free, and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

Noel was backing farther into the corner when he rounded on her. He had just killed two people. She was probably next. However, instead of shooting, he took a step toward her.

Noel's brain was barely functioning. The only thing she knew was that she wasn't going to let him touch her without a fight. The hand that hung limply at her side wrapped itself around a can.

All his attention was focused on her, so that he didn't see the light in back of him change subtly. Then the door opened again, this time very quietly. In a blur of motion , a figure sprang out of the daylight, hit the gunman and slammed him back against the counter.

Reflexively Noel threw the can, striking her target square in the shoulder.

"Jeez!" An exclamation of shock and dismay burst from the killer.

The two men began a desperate fight for possession of the gun.

Noel sagged against the cooler, unable to wrest her eyes from the struggle. The tiny part of her mind that still worked recognized the newcomer. Jason Zacharias. A tough guy from school who'd taken her out a couple of times and then dropped her.

The gun went off again, and the bullet slammed into a can of tomato sauce, splattering Noel. Seconds later, the weapon skated across the black-and-white tiles and slid under the counter. Then a foot kicked out, hitting one of the shelves, and cans rained down on the floor, rolling every which way.

Ignoring everything but each other, the men traded punches and grunts, but gradually it looked as if Jason was winning. Finally he brought the killer down with one last punch. The only sound in the room was Jason's agonized breathing.

Noel watched him push himself up and stand, swaying as he looked down at the unconscious man on the floor. Staggering to the counter, he leaned his elbows on it, panting. His denim jacket was ripped. His dark hair hung in his face.

After a moment he raised his head and stared at Noel. His face was battered, and his left eye was discolored and swelling shut.

She gasped. So did he. "Oh, God. You're hit," he croaked.

Jason swayed toward her. Three years older than she, he was supposed to be bad news. He didn't look rebellious now. He looked scared.

She followed the direction of his gaze. Splashes of red marred her mint green sweater, and momentarily she didn't understand what she was seeing. "No-I'm-it's just tomatoes- "

His hand connected with the soft knit sweater, touching the damp red splotches. It came to rest over the spot where her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She and Jason stared at each other, neither of them moving, neither of them breaking the contact. Then he seemed to remember where they were and why. In slow motion, he brought his fingers to his lips. "Yeah, tomato sauce."

His words broke the spell. "Cindy," Noel whispered. "

" And Mr. Dubinski. "

He turned and crossed to the girl sprawled on the floor, kneeling down beside her.

"Isshe-?"

"Dead." After checking, he issued the same diagnosis for the proprietor.

A wordless sound of anguish trickled from Noel's throat, and she started to shake. Jason was beside her then, folding his arms around her, keeping her safe. He'd held her close a couple of times before, when he'd taken her home after a movie and made her head spin with his kisses. Now only his strong arms cradling her shaking body kept her from sinking to the floor.

Jason held her tightly against his street-tough frame. Then she felt his grasp change as he looked down into her bewildered face.

"Noel. Pull yourself together." His voice was low and urgent.

Reality had narrowed to Jason's muscular body sheltering hers. She moaned in protest when he thrust her away from himself, shaking her shoulders. "You can't go to pieces now."

Her gaze bounced from Mr. Dubinski to Cindy. " " She. . she. . said she was going to die if Tommy didn't ask her to the dance. . " She trailed off on a sob.

Jason's hands tightened on her shoulders. "Stop it! Before that guy wakes up, you've got to call the cops: '

She stared up into his deep brown eyes, so dark they were almost black. "Please. Can't you do it?"

"If they find me here, they'll think I was with him: '

"But you.. you saved me. I'm going to tell them that "

"No. Tell them how you threw the can. Say you don't know who came in or where he went."

Before she could answer, he crossed the store, stepped over the cans and left.

Chapter One.

The man in the rented room narrowed his eyes against the morning sunlight. With a practioed hand, he reached to adjust the custom-designed lens of his video camera. Beyond the streaked window of Marconi, Ltd. " the proprietor was getting out Yrays of rings and braoelets. An innocent enough activity, unless you knew the real story behind Henry Marconi's success.

Six months ago Sovereign Enterprises had rented the upstairs apartment across from the little shop. For five months the shabby rooms had remained vacant, even though the rent had been paid promptly by a downtown bank before the first of each month.

Then, at the beginning of the previous week, the man had gotten his orders. Late the next evening, he'd moved in so unobtrusively that the landlady, Mrs. Potts, hadn't even known he was there until she heard the water running in the pipes. After a brief conversation at the door of his room, she'd kept out of his way. Which was exactly what he wanted.

Mostly he left his post at night, coming and going with the silence and measured pace of a nocturnal animal. Keeping his business private was an old habit. This time he had the added burden of making sure he didn't draw attention to himself in the neighborhood.

Of course, that wasn't too difficult in Fells Point, a working-class community experiencing the mixed blessings of gentrification. His seaman's jacket, short haircut and tough features would have been at home in any of the older bars. And the faded scar on his left cheek only added a touch of verisimilitude to the picture.

He watched through the video camera lens as Marconi swallowed a couple of pills and stood holding the glass. Then the old man glanced toward the window. Was he expecting someone?

The watcher followed Marconi's gaze down the sidewalk and saw a woman turn the corner off Broadway. At first, her walk interested him more than her face. He'd spent years studying people, gauging their state of mind from their body Ianguage. Her hesitant stride told him she wished she were somewhere else. The tight fingers wrapped around the strap of her shoulder bag reinforoed the impression.

Then she pushed her long, dark hair aside, and in the space of a heartbeat he felt as if he'd been socked in the gut.

Noel. It was Noel.

Jason Zacharias felt his heart stop and then start to pound. Unable to move, unable to tear his gaze away, he stared at her, drinking in details. She was older, more polished. More beautiful. Still, he'd know that upturned nose, those large blue eyes and that sensual mouth anywhere Against his will, he was swamped with sensations that had burned themselves into his memory. The warm, sweet scent of her body. The feel of her lips against his. The way the silky strands of her hair curled around his fingers.

With a low growl, he pulled himself out of the reverie.

He and Noel had connected in another life. She wasn't supposed to exist in this one, too. And she sure as hell wasn't supposed to come walking into the video he was taping.

Jason closed his eyes and called upon one of the Oriental relaxation exercises he'd learned in a village outside Shanghai. After a minute, his heartbeat slowed and his mind cleared. He willed Noel to keep moving down the sidewalk, to walk off the set. But she didn't. She paused and straightened her shoulders, then turned in between the dusty show windows of Marconi, Ltd.