Stockholm Syndrome (16 page)

Mason was still holding her hand. He squeezed her fingers
gently.

“What about the sex, Evvy? It was your honeymoon, but you
don’t mention sex. You should have been in bed, not out sightseeing! Were you a
virgin?”

“Why is everything always about sex for you?” she cried. She
tried to reclaim her hand, but he held on to her fingers and trapped her gaze
with his pale-green stare.

“Because you could spend a month with me in a tent in the
backyard, and it would be the best holiday you ever had!”

“
Ooh
, listen to Mr. Modesty!” she exclaimed. His
husky words had her stomach flipping in a most disturbing manner, but there was
no way she’d let him see how he affected her. He was horrendously arrogant
already, and she’d pandered enough to his inflated ego for one day. Backyard
indeed!

“Come on, Evvy! Tell me about your first time. You
were
a virgin, weren’t you?” He trailed his fingers up her forearm, a featherlight
touch, investigating the texture of her skin.

He wasn’t letting it go. “It was very nice,” she said
stiffly. “Obviously it was a bit sore, but he was very quick and then he held
me until I felt better.”

Mason bit out a harsh laugh. “That bad, hey? Oh dear, Evvy.”
He sounded genuinely regretful as his fingers whispered back down her arm to
the sensitive area over her inner wrist, gently rubbing away the residual marks
left by the cuff. “You deserve so much better!”

“Well, you’re right about that at least! By the time we’d
been back a couple of months, he was out partying like a playboy. I hardly ever
saw him, and when I did, he just wanted sex. We had no life together to speak
of. I was miserable, bored, and lonely, and I couldn’t talk to anybody about
it. I mean, what would they think? I caught the man of the year, and I had the
wedding of the year, and now I was complaining!” She took a deep, shuddering
breath, surprised at her sudden outburst.

“Anyway, to cut a long story short, it went on for three
years. Then I came home early one day and caught him in bed with two women.
What a cliché!” She laughed bitterly. “It was a relief, in a way. We got
divorced, and I started living my own life.”

“Owen said your apartment is tiny.”

“It’s fine for me. Why should I spend all my time looking
after a big place when I live alone? I have better things to do.”

“Like?”

“Travel. And study. And I have my work at the university and
I volunteer two nights a week at a family counseling center. Believe me, I’m
busy!”

“It sounds like it, but why don’t you just hire somebody to
clean for you?”

“Assistant lecturer jobs don’t pay that well and travel is
expensive, you know, even if you’re just backpacking around.” God, he asked a
lot of questions. Just wait ’til it was her turn!

“What about your parents? Surely you don’t have to live on
your salary from the university?”

“I don’t have to, but I do. And before that I did
waitressing and babysitting. I don’t take money from my parents anymore. When
people fund you, they think they have the right to run your life, which is
understandable I suppose, but I don’t want that ever again.”

“That must cause some difficulties between you?”

“Never with my mother… She understands. And my father’s had
four years to get used to it. We’re okay now.”

***

She was admirable, thought Mason as she dropped her gaze and
looked down to where he still toyed with her hand. Her slender fingers felt
good to hold. It couldn’t have been easy, first being hurt by her idiot husband
and then giving up a life of wealth and privilege for the sake of her
principles. He was unexpectedly moved by her story.

He frowned. She was engaging his empathy, calling to life
those other deeply buried instincts intrinsically related to his inclination
for dominance and control, the need to possess and to protect.

He stood up without releasing her hand, drawing her to her
feet, their naked bodies close, and kissed her, deeply but gently. She accepted
his kiss sweetly, sucking his tongue and wrapping her arms around his waist. He
lifted his head and looked at her. The delicate skin under her eyes was tinged
with purple. She needed to sleep, properly, in a warm, soft bed.

“Let’s dress and go home,” he suggested quietly.

***

Later that afternoon, while Evelyn was tucked up in bed and
sound asleep, Mason went online on his computer, bought her a one-way air ticket
from Rockhampton to Brisbane for the following morning, and printed the
e-ticket. Then he went to his bedroom and took out the iPhone he’d bought for
her. He’d had a data-retrieval job done on her old broken phone by a specialist
in Rockhampton. The new phone was already set up with her original number, and
he’d added himself to her contact list.

Finally he retrieved an envelope from the concealed safe in
his study. Inside was $7,000 in cash. He’d found her plane ticket and the
booking confirmation from the tour company that organized the Kilimanjaro climb
in her backpack, but he’d had to guess at her other expenses. He was sure that
the $7,000 would cover everything, but hopefully not be so much more as to
embarrass her.

He arranged the items on his desk and stared at the little
pile. It was painfully inadequate. He could never, ever, recompense her for
what had happened, though he’d love to spend the rest of his life trying. He’d
finally admitted to himself how strong his feelings for her were, and how
hopeless.

Chapter Seven

She had won
. He was letting her go.

Evelyn’s hands were shaking as she counted out $5,600 and handed
the rest back to Mason.

“This covers it, thank you.”

He didn’t take the money. “How can it be so little? Are you
sure you’ve remembered everything?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I only paid deposits for things like my
hotel accommodation, so it wasn’t that much. I won’t take extra.” She placed
the spare notes on the table between them.

“What about the taxi from the airport to your apartment?”

“Already included.”

He left the money on the table.

They were having dinner on the deck, a simple but delicious
spaghetti Bolognese with freshly grated Parmesan cheese and a salad, but she
had no appetite.
She’d won
.

He’d woken her from her nap and asked her to join him for a
meal. Then he’d told her that he was letting her go. She had the plane ticket
in her pocket.

“I got you a new phone.” He handed her an iPhone. “I’ve got
an iPhone too. They’re good.”

“Thank you.”

She didn’t know what else to say. They picked at their food
in silence for a few minutes then she put her knife and fork together and stood
up. She couldn’t bear the tension between them for another moment.

“I think I’ll go to bed now. I’m still really tired. Good
night, Mason.”

He got to his feet as well. “Evvy?”

Her heart raced. Was he going to proposition her, or try to
seduce her? She’d have to go along with it if he did, because she wasn’t free
yet. He could still change his mind. “Yeah?”

“We’ll leave for the airport at seven tomorrow morning.
Sleep well.”

She wasn’t disappointed.
She’d won
.

When she got to her room, she shut the door and leaned
against it briefly.

“Yeah!” she whispered. “Oh, yeah! I won! I’m going home.”
She frowned. Now that she was alone, she expected to feel triumphant, ecstatic,
excited—but she didn’t. She tried a bit of air punching, but it felt forced and
unnatural. Tears pricked her eyes. Maybe it was too soon to celebrate. She’d
only be truly free when the plane took off tomorrow, with her in it.

And there was another problem. It was very important that he
should know the truth. She still had every intention of going to the police and
laying charges against him for rape and kidnapping. He’d derailed her life,
frightened her, and put her in a situation where she’d been forced to do things
that she would never normally have done in order to get away from him, and
those things had changed her. She would never again be the same person she’d
been before Mason Brady had crossed her path. It wasn’t fair that he should get
away with that.

She contemplated calling triple zero right away—she had a
working phone now—but the thought of being present when the police came for
Mason, and having to face George and Edna when they took him away, was too
much. She wanted to be safely in Brisbane when that happened.

She summoned up her hurt and anger, and drew them tightly
around her like a protective cloak. In the long, dreary hours that she’d spent
locked in this room, she’d discovered writing materials amongst the clutter on
the bookshelf. Choosing a pen and some paper, she sat down in the armchair and
considered what to write. When she finally decided, her words were brief and to
the point.

Mason

I win, you lose.

I do not have
Stockholm syndrome. Everything that I said and did was to convince you to let
me go.

I will be going
to the police about what happened. You raped and kidnapped me, and you should
not be allowed to get away with it.

Evelyn

She nodded in satisfaction. It sounded decisive. That’s what
a strong, determined woman would write—a woman who knew that she was not to
blame.

She folded the page in half, slipped it into an envelope,
sealed it, and wrote his name on the front. Then she showered, packed her meager
belongings into her backpack, climbed into bed, and turned out the light. Sleep
was a blessed escape.

***

The morning was a flurry of activity, but by quarter to
seven, she was saying goodbye to George and Edna. The older woman enfolded her
in a meaty hug.

“I’ll miss ya, sweetie. I’ve enjoyed having ya ’round. But I’m
glad youse got everything sorted out. I told you he’s a good man. I hope we’ll
see ya ’gain soon.”

“Thanks for all the wonderful food, Edna,” she replied
evasively. “You take care.”

“Are you ready to go, Evvy?” asked Mason.

“I just need to pop into the powder room. Go ahead, I’ll be
right there.”

George and Edna followed Mason out to the car. She ran down
the passage to his study, pulled the letter from her pocket, and placed it on
his desk, front and center, smoothing it flat. Then she hurried outside before
she could have second thoughts, and climbed into the Range Rover next to Mason.

The drive seemed interminably long, and they hardly spoke.
She was afraid that at any moment he would announce that he’d changed his mind
and turn the car around, and she clutched the arm of her seat and stared out
the window as the trees flew past in a blur. She almost jumped out of her skin
when he spoke.

“I’ve put my details onto your phone, Evvy. If you ever need
anything—anything at all—you can call me.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

It would never happen.

When they arrived, he found a parking space and walked her
into the terminal. He stayed with her, carrying her bag until they got to the
security checkpoint. Then he turned to face her, his eyes unreadable.

“Well, this is it. Goodbye, Evvy.” His voice was husky.

“Goodbye, Mace.”

He didn’t release her bag. “Evvy? Can I kiss you?”

Her breath caught in her throat. His face was pale but his
eyes burned into hers.

“Okay,” she whispered.

He put her bag down on the floor and drew her into his arms.
For a long moment, he stared into her eyes, as if trying to fathom her mind,
then he covered her mouth with his. His face was cold, but his taste
overwhelmed her as he parted her lips with a sweep of his tongue. He surged
into her mouth with his usual possessive confidence, but there was something
slightly desperate about the way he explored her. She responded as strongly as
ever, her body leaping to life, a flare of heat kindling in her pussy as she
melted against his body, but all too soon he tore his lips away.

“Go,” he said roughly, wiping her mouth clean with his
thumb. “Go while I can still let you.”

She picked up her bag and hurried to the gate, aroused and
disconcerted, trying to ignore the knowing grins of the security staff as they
checked her boarding pass and inspected her backpack.

The flight was just over an hour long, a routine and
entirely uneventful hop, with barely enough time between takeoff and landing
for the cabin crew to hand out snack packs and collect the litter. Evelyn was
puzzled. Instead of finally feeling euphoric, now that she’d gotten clean away
from Mason, she was numb. A stewardess was shaking her arm.

“We’re landing in fifteen minutes, ma’am. The seatbelt sign
is on, so you need to do up your belt.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry about that, I didn’t notice.”

“Are you okay, ma’am? You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.”

The stewardess hurried off to help someone else, and Evelyn
sank back into her chair. Landing was the worst part of flying for her. She
always worried that after everything had gone smoothly, some dreadful accident
would happen at the last minute. But today she was unable to summon the energy
to feel nervous, and stared out the window with detachment as the ground rushed
up to meet the plane. She wondered, dully, if she was in shock, or had
posttraumatic stress or something. She would probably need some therapy.

She made her way through the airport robotically. What she
really needed was closure. She wanted to end this unfortunate chapter in her
life, so that she could move on, get back into her job, arrange her next trip,
and reconnect with her friends and her patients at the counseling center.

She told the taxi driver to take her to the police station
near her apartment, and gave him the street name. The sooner she laid the
charges against Mason and jumped through whatever legal hoops were required to
see him suitably punished, the sooner she could forget about him and get back
to normal.

When they arrived, she paid her fare and plodded up the
front stairs of the police station, her backpack heavy on her shoulder. There,
two officers on duty were busy with other people. Several more occupied the
waiting area. She sighed and sat down, balancing her bag on her knees, thinking
she might dig out her new phone and take a look at it. It was obviously going
to be quite a wait before it was her turn.

She unzipped the pack then changed her mind. The phone
reminded her too much of Mason—not that she wasn’t thinking about him all the
time anyway. She didn’t want to see the envelope full of cash either. She
squeezed her eyes shut. God, she felt crappy! She was exhausted and aching.

Maybe she’d only tell the police about the kidnapping. She
seemed to remember reading that if you reported a rape, you had to have a
physical examination for evidence in support of your case. After everything she’d
done with Mason, there would be no shortage of evidence on and in her body, but
the last thing she felt like was being prodded and poked by a doctor,
especially down
there
.

She studied the others surreptitiously, wondering why they
were there, and if they felt as miserable about their problems as she did. The
elderly man sitting opposite didn’t look unhappy; he seemed very relaxed,
reading a newspaper. But a young couple sat a few seats to the left of him, and
the girl looked very upset, her face stained with tears as she huddled within
the boy’s sheltering arm. He leaned toward her, every line of his body
concerned and protective, bending his head to whisper in her ear, and covering
her hands with one of his, where they lay clenched in her lap. Whatever the
girl’s misfortune was, she didn’t have to face it alone. That boy would stand
by her, and she could draw on his strength and take comfort in his care for
her.

Evelyn felt a stab of envy. Her own task would be so much
easier, and she’d feel so much stronger, if Mason was beside her, supporting
her and lending her his—

She froze, literally stopped breathing, as shock coursed
through her entire body, shaking her like an earthquake. What was she thinking?
She was here to report Mason to the police, but she was wishing he was with
her. To
help
her? To
comfort
her? The muscles in her chest and
stomach had turned to petrified wood. She was sure she’d never manage to suck
in a breath of air again. She was going to die horribly…from stupidity.

She clutched frantically at her backpack, trying to clamp
down the roiling wave of nausea rising from her belly to her throat. When the
hell had it happened? She’d been so busy
pretending
to love him that she
hadn’t noticed when she’d
really
fallen for him. Hadn’t bloody
noticed
?

She shook, in huge, violent tremors. Escaping had been such
an all-consuming obsession that she hadn’t realized she didn’t want to leave
him. What was wrong with her?

And that letter. Oh god, she’d left him that awful letter!
Her backpack crashed off her lap as she sprang to her feet, only to collapse to
her knees as pain wrenched through her gut. He liked her, she knew it. He’d
been trying to tell her on the way to the airport, trying to make her
understand that he wanted to see her again. Well, that would change when he
read the letter.

A police officer appeared next to her, crouching down to
grip her arm and shoulder, frowning in concern.

“What’s going on, miss? Do you need an ambulance?”

She shook her head and finally drew a huge gasp of air into
her twisted lungs.

“Not ambulance… Plane,” she wheezed. “I need to get back to
Rockhampton!” Somehow she had to stop Mason from reading that letter!

She scrambled to her feet, relieved that her body could move
properly again, and snatched up her backpack.

“I’m fine,” she told the astonished policeman, “but I have
to go!” She ran out of the police station and sprinted up the road, dodging
other pedestrians. Her apartment was only three blocks away, and a few minutes
later she fumbled her key from the zipped compartment in her pack where she
always stowed it, and fitted it into the lock of her front door with fingers
that could barely grip.

Without looking left or right, she darted to the table where
her computer stood and wrenched the lid open, watching the screen flicker to
life. She waited while it connected to the Internet, seething with impatience,
then went to the Qantas website, running a search for flights to Rockhampton
with immediate availability.

Damn, the earliest ticket she could get was for a flight at
twenty-five past four that afternoon! That was way too late. It was only half
past eleven now. But wait, there was a business-class seat available at half
past three. Still too late, but better! She paid the exorbitant price with her
credit card and printed the e-ticket while working out the times backward in
her head. If the flight left at half past three, she would have to be at the
airport by three, so she would have to catch a taxi by two o’clock.

She had two and a half hours to go. Two and a half agonizing
hours of waiting before she could take action. Mason was going to find the
letter long before she got there!

***

Mason watched Evelyn’s plane take off through the windows of
the departure lounge, and felt as if a piece of himself was flying away with
it. Letting her go was the hardest thing he’d ever done, and he was already
cursing himself for not saying more, doing more, while he had the chance. Now
who knew if he’d ever see her again?