I sat on the plane, quietly reflecting on Ardelia Mapp and what she was up to

Disclaimer: It's been a while, huh? Well I know this chapter seems like a lot happens, but Ardelia and Jack signify the way the world seems to come down around Jacqueline all at once with their presence. So no, I didn't just get bored, it's supposed to pick up and run in this chapter. Even though it's a shortie chappie. Btw, I don't own them. And in case no one noticed, yes Jack has a bit of a personality disorder. As my character, I suspect she's a little bit mentally unbalanced. But when your dad eats people for a living, who wouldn't be? Cliffhanger, btw.*

I sat on the plane, quietly reflecting on Ardelia Mapp and what she was up to. I couldn't help but be suspicious of her—she let me walk far too easily. No FBI agent with a brain on loan would let Hannibal Lecter's daughter walk into an airport and fly to Paris.

But Paris was much wiser than Florence, even though I would have jumped at the opportunity to go home again. Mom never did like living in Florence, but Dad and I both seemed to fit in well; he moreso than I because he was as well-dressed as the other Florentines and probably more at ease.

I looked out my window and sighed. Speaking of Ardelia, I absolutely could not mention her to Mom and Dad. I was grounded enough for seeing Jack Crawford (my namesake, I think) by myself and telling him who I was, and I would probably have no social life ever again if I let slip that I had stayed with Ardelia overnight.

I reclined my seat and brought the hat down over my eyes. Sleep was definitely a necessity. But even as consciousness evaded me, the words still kept drifting through my mind.

What are you playing at, Agent Mapp?

*

Nine hours, three in-flight movies, one sad excuse for an in-flight meal, and four flight changes later, I was looking at the International Airport in Paris and not seeing either of my parents anywhere.

Oh that would be just my luck, I thought dryly. Dad's going to make me walk around Paris before he picks me up somewhere. Thanks, Dad.

I sighed and made my way through customs, sufficiently unarmed and my duffel bag clutched in my hand tightly, my hat resting on my head comfortably to hide my discomfort. I sighed again, ignoring my heartbeat and the desire to not be alone in Paris—but I'd made it alone in Washington, so I'd be fine. I made for the door with a bit more confidence in my step and almost screamed out loud when I heard a voice behind me.

"Really, Jacqueline. If you wanted to wander Paris by yourself, you could have at least told me."

I spun around and saw Dad standing behind me, blue eyes sparkling with wicked amusement. I ripped off my hat and made a dash for him, and threw my arms around his neck.

"Dad don't SCARE me like that!" I exclaimed. "I thought I was going to have to look all over town for you!"

He took my bag and we started out the door. " I thought about it," he warned. "If you ever fly off to Washington like that again, I will let you wander around whatever city we end up in until you realize just how dangerous it was."

I scowled. "Fine, I get it."

"And to Washington D, C. is bad enough in and of itself," he continued, and I kept my mouth shut so that he could give me the full lecture, "but that was incredibly thoughtless and risky to go find Jack Crawford the way you did. You're lucky he's been forced into mandatory retirement, and has no ties to the FBI, otherwise I have no doubts that he would have detained you. And then what would end up happening?"

"Well I try not to think about it, as that didn't happen. Besides, if I haven't already mentioned this, Jack Crawford was not the person I intended to ask for help in the first place," I threw back as we walked to the car. "This chick came up behind me and gave me a random D, C. number, which I called when she left, and lo and behold, Jack Crawford answered the phone. So I also had a plane ticket in hand that would get me to Washington for free, so I used it. Besides, whoever was shooting at us in the airport knew Mom and I would fly out of that airport. And then I lost Mom anyway, because she went into FBI mode and disappeared."

Dad said nothing on the subject after that.

*

I was a little happier to see Mom than I'd expected, and gave her the biggest hug ever. "Hi, Mom," I grinned.

She narrowed her eyes after the initial hi-Jack was over with. "I hope you had fun on your little romp," she told me firmly. "If it wasn't so important that we try to get along right now, I'd ground you for the rest of your life."

I flinched. "Mom—I got the lecture."

She glanced at my father briefly. "Did she, or is she trying to worm out of it?"

"Both. I say have your way with her; I have few reservations in locking her in her room," he replied.

"Dad! You are absolutely no help to me whatsoever."

"I would be if you hadn't traipsed off to Washington," he threw back. I scowled.

"Fine, I get it, I'm in trouble. Can I at least go for a walk?"

The answer: a resounding 'no.'

*

I tried again the next morning.

"Please?"

"And where exactly would you go?" Dad asked casually.

"To get coffee."

"I have coffee made," put in Mom.

"Yeah, but your coffee tastes like cardboard. This is France, home of the French Roast. They're infamous for good coffee," I shot back.

"I seem to remember something about you being grounded . . ."

"So I can't fly to Washington, big loss," I scoffed. "I'll bring some back for you."

"You have thirty minutes. If you aren't back in the set time, I'll see to it that you never find out what the word 'social' means," Dad warned. "And I personally like your mother's coffee."

I stared. "That's okay, I still love you."

He fixed me with his warning glare, and I fell silent. Not because my father is a man-eating cannibal (oh the redundance), mind you, but because he's my dad.

Ten minutes later I had wandered from our temporary flat to a good coffee shop with a view of the city, sipping my drink and waiting for something interesting to happen. I should never, ever do that. Ever. Because something interesting always happens.

I heard chairs scooted around my table area, and I turned around. And almost dumped coffee into my lap.

"Oh, don't even tell me. I'm dreaming and you're not here. Do you know HOW MUCH TROUBLE I AM GOING TO BE IN?"

Ardelia Mapp and Jack Crawford exchanged glances. "We're aware of that."

"And not to mention you two! Hello, you honestly think Dad's going to offer the couch to you? I hate to be the one who says it, but really! And while I'm still thinking about it, DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH TROUBLE I'M OFFICIALLY IN?"

Crawford cleared his throat and took his bifocals off. "You'll be grounded, eaten if it's extremely bad, but it's better than being detained by the FBI and possibly arrested for harboring two known criminals. One of whom killed an agent before you were born. Consider yourself lucky."

"Harboring criminals?" I repeated shrilly. The other nice thing about Paris is that no one cares what you say, ever. It's your own business and no one else's. "I'm not of legal age to harbor a boat, let alone two criminals who, may I point out, are my parents! You're totally not arresting me for that!"

"You're right," Mapp told me. "We're not—for a price."

"You're bargaining my freedom," I exclaimed incredulously. "Oh that's brilliant."

I hesitated at my own reaction. It was too stereotypical of a teenager for me. I was not a stereotypical teenager, I was the daughter of a psychiatrist-gone-cannibal who was raised on the East Coast but felt more at home in Europe. That said something about me, for crying out loud. I quelled my rising panic and set my jaw.

"So what are your prices?" I asked calmly.

"You give us Lecter and lead us to the Italian mafia. In return, we let you and Starling walk."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're asking me to turn in my own father?" I demanded quietly.

"We're asking you to turn in the most dangerous man in Europe," Mapp corrected.

I raised an eyebrow and smiled coldly. "Oh. Well then I think I'll have to turn you down on your offer. Sorry."

Mapp and Crawford exchanged glances. "Jack, you don't understand—" began Crawford, making a move towards me.

I held up a finger to stop him. "Touch me, Mr. Crawford, and you'll have to deal with the French police for harassment—not to mention my father. I appreciate the hospitality you've both shown me, but demanding that I give you my dad is not a courtesy I can show you in return. I assure you that I'll find a way to keep my family safe and intact, so I think you've wasted the money on plane tickets here. America suits you better; this is France. I know it almost as well as I know Florence and Italy, so I'll be fine here. I'm afraid you fit in better in Manhattan or Washington, so I recommend you go back there." I stood up and picked up my coffee with a slight clip to my movements and turned away from the two agents.

"Jack, that's the best deal we can offer you," Crawford called to me. "You need to understand that."

I glanced back at him. "I do understand it. That doesn't mean that I'll agree to it." And I walked off and headed to my flat.

Ten minutes down the road, I heard a cough behind me. I was being followed. Damn Crawford and Ardelia, they didn't know when to quit, did they? I sighed and cut down a back alley, not even considering how stupid that was.

Footsteps echoed behind me, and I picked up my pace a bit, suddenly realizing how empty the alley was. Shitshitshitshitshit, I thought as my heart fluttered. I am so stupid, how can I be stupid enough to go down a back alley alone in Paris? Jeez. I am really stupid.

I didn't dare glance over my shoulder as the footsteps closed in on me. There was only one set of feet following me—where was the other one? I heard a splash in a puddle a foot behind me, and I broke into a run and threw my coffee over my shoulder in a blind attempt to hit my stalker. My feet pounded the pavement as I hauled ass to the nearest crowded district, but I didn't make it far. The collar of my shirt was snatched from behind, and chloroform was stuffed under my nose. I tried to breathe through my mouth, but the fumes choked me and I passed out . . .