PART 11



He heard her voice and jumped the slightest bit.

"I understand you're looking for me, Mr. Graham."

A striking woman came to stand beside the chair next to his on the deck. Her photos didn't do her justice, he noted.

"Clarice Starling."

It was not a question.

She made no reply, simply inclined her head slightly and offered him the hint of a smile.

"May I?"

"Um.. yes, " he stammered, "please."

She settled into her chair and regarded him with an intense scrutiny.

"I take it the late Mr. Crawford is responsible for your sudden interest in my welfare?"

Graham was taken aback by an eerily familiar undercurrent in her tone that made his flesh crawl. Was it unconscious on her part, or was she playing with him?

"Uh..." Get a grip, for crissakes! "Jack was very worried about you, Agent Starling."

"It's not Agent Starling anymore, Will. May I call you Will?" He nodded and she went on. "Clarice will do... or Starling, if you prefer." She allowed several beats to pass in silence before moving on. He studied her profile as she looked out across the beach to the water, but could read very little.

"Jack was worried about me, was he? How touching."

"I was under the impression that you and Jack were friends."

She arched an eyebrow, released a heavy sigh.

"I suppose we were. You were friends with him, too, weren't you?" She turned her face to him now. "Tell me, would Jack have been the friend you'd choose to take your back going into a tight spot?"

She waited, registered what came into his eyes.

"So you understand."

"Understand you? I'm not sure if that's possible."

"I'm disappointed, Will. I'd heard you were better than that... or are you only good with what you know?"

He flinched quite visibly. She remained impassive.

"You sound like him."

"Jack?" she asked with exaggerated innocence.

"Dr. Lecter."

"Ah." A pause. An altogether disconcerting gleam in her eye as she continued. "I suspect he'd be pleased to hear that you think so."

"Jack?" Graham responded in a shrilly challenging tone that was more appropriate for a school yard.

"Hannibal," she replied calmly. "If you don't mind my saying so, you sound a bit overwrought. Maybe you should find yourself a good psychiatrist." She couldn't quite keep the hint of a smirk from appearing at the corners of her mouth as she added, "It's done wonders for me."

"So you have been with him." He was suddenly working very hard to control the nausea threatening to overtake him. He took several deep breaths as she spoke.

"I can't imagine any evidence that might point to that conclusion."

"I'm not wired, Ms. Starling. You don't have to be that careful with what you say." He risked meeting her eyes. "Besides, I had the impression that you were more forthcoming in your discussions."

The eyebrow went up again.

"Not always."

"Not often, I'd guess."

She inclined her head in acknowledgment.

"As I said, I'm not wired...."

"No, I suspect you're not. I can't imagine anyone in the Bureau, other than Jack, who might trust you enough to use you now... at least that's what I've read. Or am I mistaken in the assumption that you're on your own with this?"

He offered no answer.

"If it makes you feel any better, I most definitely know how it feels to be cast aside by the Bureau." She paused, a bitter smile passing over her lips. "So, tell me, Will Graham, what exactly is it that we're doing here?"

"I told you, Jack was worried about you. He asked me to try and find you."

"Jack is dead." The chill in her voice was disconcerting in the extreme.

He shrugged.

"I expect he assumed I'd been abducted... or worse."

"He thought Dr. Lecter might... keep you alive for awhile."

A genuine laugh escaped her at this.

"It shouldn't surprise me." Amusement shone in her eyes. "So he came asking you to help him save me from a fate worse than death."

Graham looked away, unable to meet her steady gaze, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. He said nothing, simply looked out over the expanse of beach stretching in front of him. She followed his line of sight for a long moment before bringing her attention back to his profile.

"We both know Crawford didn't seek you out just to check up on me. He wanted you to catch Hannibal, yes?"

Hannibal. That was the second time she had tossed out his given name without so much as a pause. To Graham, that seemed monumental in its casual familiarity. He found himself wondering just how intimate they were. How much intimacy was Lecter capable of?

His eyes came back to her, searching for some sign of... ownership.

"He did mention something to that effect."

Come to think of it, why would he let her come here on her own... was he that sure of her?

Graham shifted uncomfortably in his chair, suddenly more aware of just how vulnerable he was.

She fixed him with a formidable stare, her manner grave.

"What did he say to make you agree to it? It must have been terribly persuasive."

"Jack could be a persuasive man, Ms. Starling. Surely you know that."

She studied him for a long moment.

"Or maybe he had to die to convince you."

He flinched again, and this time she smiled.

"You're a quick study."

"I have an exceptional teacher."

"Speaking of your..." he spat out the word, "teacher... I'm surprised he didn't come with you."

"Will."

Graham snapped around violently at the sound of Lecter's voice.

"Surely Jackie-Boy warned you about the dangers of making assumptions."

He seemed frozen for a moment and then grasped the arms of his chair in preparation for standing.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Her voice.

He turned his head back towards her. He was not surprised to see a pistol trained on him.

"Don't get up on my account."

Lecter smiled and moved to stand behind Starling's chair, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. She leaned back into his touch but did not relax her aim. The gun remained leveled at Graham.

"I suspect Jack brought you former Special Agent Starling's file along with mine, so you must know that she's an excellent shot - even without the benefit of such close range."

Graham looked at the pair of them for a moment and understood that he was going to die. The knowledge afforded him a curious sense of freedom.

"I didn't think you liked guns, Dr. Lecter. Aren't they a little merciful for your tastes?"

The Doctor laughed at that, and the chill of fear returned. It coiled like a snake at the base of his spine.

"Not the gun, Will. Nothing so easy, I'm afraid."

"And if I force her hand?"

"Then you will continue our discussion in some considerable pain, but I assure you Clarice will not shoot to kill. When you die, it will be by my hand, not hers."