The Analyst
Copyright© 2025 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 21: Unexpected Connections
“I just assumed they were going to be put on behind my back,” Becca said.
“Why did you assume that?” Agent Myers asked.
“I thought I’d be placed in a lockbox, and seeing the hinged handcuffs, I didn’t know they made lockboxes for them,” Becca explained, gently emphasizing with her restrained hands.
Agent Myers nodded. She had started questioning Becca about the restraints soon after we hit the road. I listened as Agent Myers asked questions, and Becca responded thoughtfully, careful not to say more than necessary.
The questioning continued until we arrived at the airport. Agent Reinhardt drove us to the same parking lot where we had picked up the SUV before going to the courthouse. We got out, and as I retrieved the luggage from the back of the vehicle, Agent Reinhardt helped Becca from the back seat. We all walked together to the elevators. Becca struggled a bit, not because of the restraints but because her skirt forced her into a wiggle.
We could see there were two people already there. As we got closer, we saw a U.S. Marshal and a woman who was clearly in restraints. She was dressed in a black business suit consisting of a pencil skirt, a fitted jacket, a white blouse, sheer black pantyhose, and four-inch stacked heels.
The marshal had her secured with handcuffs, a lockbox, a waist chain, a connecting chain, and leg cuffs. Aside from the length of the leg cuffs’ chain, her appearance resembled Becca’s from a few weeks ago.
I watched as the woman and Becca exchanged smiles as if they were part of some secret club. The woman then fidgeted in her cuffs.
“When I said you’d have to drag me in cuffs, I didn’t mean—” the woman said to the marshal, emphasizing her hands.
He smiled in return. “You’re getting the full experience,” the marshal replied.
It was clear that they had a more personal connection. As I tried to guess their relationship, the marshal looked at the agents and said, “It might be a while. They’re moving someone important and have stopped all the elevators until they’re in the lobby.”
Agent Reinhardt nodded as if she understood the situation. She then remarked, “Outside of catching our flight, we’re in no hurry.”
While we waited, the woman asked, “Can you at least take these off?” She pointed to her restrained ankles, clearly referring to the leg cuffs.
The marshal shook his head. “No, those stay on.”
The woman rolled her eyes and looked at Becca. “She doesn’t have to wear them,” she told the marshal.
Becca smiled and said in a friendly voice, “I was in short-chained ones a few weeks ago.”
“Wait!” the woman exclaimed, “What do you mean, short-chained?”
“The chain was—” Becca started, glancing at me.
“Six inches—well, eight if you include the cuffs,” I said.
“How did you walk?” the woman asked, clearly taken aback.
“I hobbled very carefully,” Becca responded, “so as not to fall in these heels.”
The woman then noticed Becca’s shoes. “You were wearing those?!” she asked, trying to point at Becca’s stilettos but struggling in the cuffs.
“Yeah,” Becca said, “all five inches of them.”
“Those are high,” the woman remarked. “But at least you’re not having to hobble this time,” she added.
Becca smiled and then pulled her legs apart to show how her knees were kept together. “Well, I kind of indirectly decided I was hobbling anyway.”
The woman laughed, noticing the skirt peeking through Becca’s coat. “That is tight,” she said.
We eventually entered the elevator, and Agent Myers pressed the lobby button. We only made it one floor before the elevator stopped. I glanced at Becca, who was smiling, aware that we’d likely stop on every floor before reaching the lobby.
The doors opened, and two young women with carry-on luggage started to enter. When they noticed Becca and, more so, the restrained woman, they hesitated and stepped back out. “We’ll take the next one,” they said before hurrying away.
As the elevator made its way to the lobby, the woman looked at the marshal and said, “Okay, you’ve had your fun. You can take these off now.”
He nodded but then informed her that the restraints would stay on until they arrived in New York.
The woman’s demeanor shifted. “You’re not taking them off?!” she asked, clearly upset. “I was okay wearing them here. I was even okay walking out of my apartment building and through the parking garage like this. But through an airport? That’s too much!” she said.
Seeing the woman visibly upset, Becca spoke up. “I was in the same situation,” she said. “In fact, I think if I asked now, I’m not sure either of these agents would remove these,” Becca added, tugging at her own cuffs.
The woman appreciated Becca’s attempt to make her feel better but was still clearly unhappy. Hearing about Becca’s own restraints, she asked, “So, you’re not—”
Becca nodded and replied, “No, I’m helping these two nice agents with a study and understanding some things.” She then asked, “And you?”
The woman sighed and said, “My brother here is escorting me to a family wedding. I wasn’t going to go and had just gotten home from work,” she said, pointing to her outfit with her cuffed hands. “I told him the only way I’d go is if I was chained up, and well—” she said, looking perturbed.
Becca raised an eyebrow. “So, he took you seriously?”
The woman nodded. “Yeah, didn’t think he’d actually do it,” she said. “Anyway, once they were on, I still didn’t think he’d go through with it. So, I said, ‘sure, let’s go. Take me like this,’ and I walked out of my apartment, down the elevator, through the parking garage, and into his SUV.”
Becca smiled sympathetically. “I can understand that. I had a similar experience where things didn’t quite go as planned.”
The woman appreciated Becca’s empathy but remained clearly frustrated. “Yeah, well, here I am,” she said.
“Here we both are,” Becca said smiling, and “Looks like we’re both going to New York.”
The women chatted more and discovered that we were on the same flight, which seemed to ease the woman’s nerves a bit. When the elevator doors opened to the lobby, we stepped out. Becca was fearless and didn’t flinch, but the woman was clearly rattled by the commotion of the bustling area.
“It’s okay,” Becca said. “Just focus on walking and don’t look at anyone.”
The woman nodded, looking horrified, and we moved forward as a group. As expected, there were stares, but this time, they weren’t directed at Becca. Only a few people noticed Becca’s restrained hands—Agent Reinhardt did an excellent job of concealing her predicament.
We proceeded through security as Agent Myers pulled out her tablet and spoke with a TSA agent for a few minutes. She then signaled for us to follow her to a separate area for a more private screening. I was relieved, having forgotten that the straitjacket and leather restraints were in one of the carry-ons. Although one TSA agent had seen them, he didn’t question their presence, likely assuming they were related to the situation. Thankfully, only the agent and I were aware of the items; neither Agent Reinhardt nor Myers noticed them.
We cleared security at separate times, but everyone made it to the tram without incident and then proceeded to the gate. Since we arrived early, we sat and waited while Agent Myers and the marshal spoke with airport personnel. They then walked over to join us.
“We’ll be boarding first,” The agent said.
We nodded and got up, were processed by the flight attendants at the gate, and then headed to the plane. I could see the gazes—some glancing up while others were openly gawking. I imagined it wasn’t every day that people saw two attractive women being transported in restraints.
As we boarded, one of the flight attendants showed us to our seats. The marshal by the window, next to his sister. Similarly, Agent Myers sat next to Becca, so the two women were directly across the aisle from each other. Agent Reinhardt then took a seat behind Agent Myers and me, positioning myself behind Becca.
The girls were buckled in as the plane slowly filled with passengers. As people walked by, they glanced at Becca’s cuffed hands, which were more visible now that she was seated, but she seemed unfazed by the attention. The woman, on the other hand, appeared uncomfortable with the unwanted scrutiny. Most of the attention was drawn to the visible chain running from her waist to her cuffed ankles.
I watched as the woman spoke to her brother, gesturing with her hands outward in frustration, clearly pleading for him to remove her restraints. As I observed the woman lose the discussion with her sibling, I noticed Becca’s stiletto occasionally poking out into the aisle. Every so often, glimpses of her stocking-clad foot and the tip of her heel were visible as she crossed her legs. She was doing this deliberately, knowing that seeing her shoe and foot like this would drive me, well—a bit crazy.
We eventually reached cruising altitude, and the seatbelt sign was turned off. Released from their temporary restraints, I could see more of Becca’s stiletto-clad foot. At one point, she knowingly dangled her shoe, revealing her stocking heel briefly before slipping her foot back into the stiletto. The heel reappeared soon after, maintaining its teasing presence.
As people had settled in for the flight, the two girls talked.
“Stephanie,” the woman said, holding out her hand, then remembering her predicament.
“Rebecca,” Becca replied, waving with her cuffed hands.
“So, what’s happening at this wedding that required you to be escorted like that?” Becca asked playfully, hoping she wasn’t overstepping.
“It’s our father’s wedding,” Stephanie said, clearly showing some resentment. “He’s remarrying, and I’m one of the bridesmaids. But I wasn’t going to go,” she added.
“Family thing?” Becca asked in a questioning but non-threatening voice.
“You could say that” Stephanie replied. “His wife-to-be is ... well, we don’t get along.”
Becca looked sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She said.
“It’s okay. She makes him happy; that’s all that matters,” Stephanie replied, though her tone was marked with sadness. “I just never thought he’d—remarry,” she said, looking downcast.
“Maybe the wedding will help you get to a better place,” Becca replied, trying to be optimistic.
“Maybe,” Stephanie said with a shrug. “I guess I’ll be wearing that skin-tight bridesmaid dress and those CFMs after all,” she added, chuckling slightly.
Becca looked over, surprised by the comment, and laughed inwardly. “Really?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Stephanie replied. “You think that skirt is tight? You should see the dress.”
“Tighter than this?” Becca asked, clearly intrigued.
“Long-sleeve bodycon maxi, just above my ankles,” Stephanie said, glancing at Becca to gauge her reaction.
“Seriously?!” Becca exclaimed, “As a bridesmaid dress?”
“Yeah,” Stephanie confirmed. “It’s a light cream color, paired with a pair of five-inch cream-colored open-toe stilettos.” She pointed as best she could with her cuffed hands at Becca’s stiletto foot, which was still teasing me. “Like those, but ... slutty.”
Becca smiled, trying to hide her amusement. “Maybe it won’t be that bad,” she said.
“No, it’s bad,” Stephanie replied, laughing. “I tried it on a few weeks ago at the bridal shop. Without pantyhose—I couldn’t get out of it. It just suctioned to my legs.” She chuckled again. “Guess I’m wearing hose with open-toe heels.”
As Becca smiled, Stephanie then, realizing the color of the hose she had on, turned to her brother, “We have to stop somewhere to get nude pantyhose before we head to the hotel for me to change.” She told him.
“We’re going straight to the venue; we won’t have time to stop at the hotel,” he told her. “Plus, your dress is already there, so you can change when there.”