Free Stockholm Syndrome by JB Brooks Page A

that now.”
    He folded a length of rope in half and, starting near the
folded end, looped it around her wrists, once, twice, three times. Then he
passed the long end between her arms and started wrapping it around the loops
that encircled her wrists, filling up the space between them so that there was
no slack. He worked carefully and unhurriedly, and she found herself staring at
the rope, entranced, as he pulled it caressingly between her hands. He took
particular care not to chafe her skin or pinch her as he layered the neat
coils. His tanned hands were strong and his fingers were long with short,
neatly squared-off nails. Capable hands. Sexy hands. She wondered which fingers
he’d penetrated her with, and flushed in shock at her thoughts.
    “How does that feel?” he asked when he finally tied off the
ends and tucked them away.
    “Er… Okay,” she answered, glancing at him curiously. He
sounded so strange, and he was staring at her hands intently.
    “Yeah, it looks good.”
    Now what did he mean by that? It was a tidy job, and she
certainly wouldn’t be escaping anytime soon, but his tone was so…appreciative.
But before she could ponder his strange mood, he lifted her and sat her in the
back of the van, with her feet dangling out the open doors.
    “Ankles too.”
    He folded up her jeans neatly, exposing her legs to the
calves, then repeated the procedure with the rope to tie up her ankles. She sat
quietly, watching him twist and knot the rope with rhythmic movements.
    When he was finished, he sat back and looked at her, as if
admiring his handiwork. She watched his eyes darken with desire and a
realization tingled through her body. Mason Brady got a kick out of tying up
women.
    She had no time to process this new insight about her captor
because he grabbed her legs and flipped them sideways into the van, rolling her
onto her side on the mattress. Working quickly with a third length of rope, he
looped it ’round the bindings between her hands then secured it to the ropes
around her ankles, pulling it taut. She squawked, realizing that he’d
immobilized her in a deeply bent position, with her hands close to her feet.
    He slammed and locked the doors then climbed into the cab
and started the engine.
    “Don’t make this unpleasant, please, Evelyn. Just lie down
and keep quiet. We’ll be home in about an hour.”
    “I can’t stay like this for an hour! It’s extremely
uncomfortable!”
    “Yes, you can. Just relax, and it won’t be so bad. Don’t
fight it.”
    He reversed the van out of the trees then drove along the
dirt road for about ten minutes before indicating and accelerating onto a
smooth surface, the highway, no doubt. As the van picked up speed, she wriggled
around until she maneuvered her head onto a pillow.
    At last she found a less uncomfortable position, and settled
down to think about escape. He was very strong and she was no match for him
physically, but she was quite sure that she was the smarter one! He didn’t know
it yet, but he’d met his match.
    Unfortunately Mason’s assessment of her situation was
accurate. Nobody would be looking for her for at least two weeks. She was on
leave from work and from the family counseling center where she volunteered on
Tuesday and Thursday evenings. She’d told all her friends and family not to
expect any calls or texts—she was heading off to Africa, to wild regions where
there was no mobile phone signal and no Internet.
    When they finally realized she was missing, they’d have no
clue where to start looking for her. It wouldn’t take the police long to
determine that she’d never caught her flight to Tanzania, and they would soon
find out that she’d used her access card that night at the university, but
after that…
    There was no logical explanation for her kidnapping, no
motive to provide any clues. It was a freak accident. And now Mason was taking
her far, far away from where it happened. Her trail would be long cold by the
time the