6 .
Adriana adjusted the handcuffs and badge on her belt and pounded on the apartment door as authoritatively as she could without sounding urgent.
Impersonating a police officer was nothing new to her, many clients had role-play fantasies involving law enforcement, but this was the first time she was actually doing so in a deceitful, and illegal, manner.
As soon as I get my hands on that princess, she’s dead. Adriana fumed as she folded her arms in an attempt to look as intimidating as possible.
She would have to ask Balal what the boundaries were for punishing the princess, because after chasing that royal brat all over Miami, Adriana wasn’t about to let Nala off easy.
Maybe a butt plug. Adriana smiled at the thought. Yes, a butt plug would be a good punishment. One that wouldn’t leave visible marks but would cause the princess significant discomfort, and definitely give her pause if she ever thought about running again.
She stared at the apartment door, willing it to open, but didn’t hear any movement on the other side, and knocked again, this time more forcefully, and rolled her eyes.
I swear, they better be in here.
The royal family was officially in panic mode after the paparazzi pictures of the princess climbing down the side of the hotel with her ass hanging out went online.
As soon as Balal saw the pictures, Adriana thought he was going to have an aneurism as he screamed at her, his face growing redder with every syllable.
He had made the stakes clear during that tirade: Either Adriana locate the princess in 24 hours, or she was fired.
As the man screamed at her, Adriana kept her face a mask, nodding and rolling her eyes at moments, before finally sighing “Are you finished?”
once it seemed like he was out of breath.
What she didn’t want Balal to see was that she was also panicking on the inside.
She couldn’t lose a gig like this, it was her ticket to the big time.
She assured Balal she would have the princess back in less than 24 hours, and would keep her under constant watch after that. Thankfully, the thing that the royal family hated the most ended up being what led the dominatrix to Nala: the paparazzi.
A photo had been snapped of Nala eating at a Mexican restaurant with a “mystery man” as the tabloids had labeled him, but Adriana recognized the man immediately: He was from the department store.
It all made sense in that moment, that Nala must have been hiding in the changing rooms and the young man had been covering for her.
Thankfully for Adriana, this is the age of social media, and she knew people who were computer savvy.
It didn’t take long for an image search to turn up who the young man was.
He was a photographer named William Pratt, who specialized mostly in portraits and boudoir.
Once Adriana had the man’s identity, she figured out a story of how to get in, get the princess, and get out.
She would tell Pratt that she was a detective chasing a wanted fugitive, after all, she had the handcuffs and a prop police badge already.
The badge wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny, but she didn’t intend on letting Pratt get a close enough look to know that.
The badge now rested on her belt next to the handcuffs, and she even had a roll of duct tape clipped to her belt as well in case she needed to silence the princess.
If Pratt mentioned anything about that, Adriana would just say it was standard practice to gag unruly prisoners, and if he made trouble, she would threaten to take him in too.
As the muscular Brazilian waited outside of the photographer’s apartment, she began to question if he and Nala were there.
Perhaps they had gone out for a night on the town?
If so, then maybe Adriana could stake out the place, wait for them to come back.
Just to be sure, she knocked again, this time louder.
If there was no answer, she would find a corner to wait, and keep an eye on the gossip sites just in case.
After this knock, she heard movement inside, then the familiar sound of locks clicking open. A moment later, the door opened a crack and Pratt’s wide, puppy dog eyes peered out into the hallway.
“Umm…” He undressed Adriana with his eyes. “I didn’t have a shoot scheduled today but if you like we can set something up for later this week?”
“Excuse me?” Adriana raised her eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, you aren’t a model?” He blushed.
Adriana was almost flattered, then realized that was his game.
“No I’m not,” She kept her voice stern and flashed her badge. “I’m Detective Adriana Flores, Miami PD.”
Pratt’s eyes went wide and he stared at her slack-jawed.
“Oh, I’m so sorry officer,” He opened the door wider. “What can I do for you?”
“Can I come in?” She asked, and was immediately rewarded by him stepping aside.
“Of course.”
Adriana cracked a smile and stepped inside. She had pegged Pratt instantly from the moment he opened the door, puppy dog kinda guy, could be pushed around easily.
The apartment was bigger than she expected, with a large wall on the far side of the room set aside for photo shoots, with a backdrop and lights. A TV was blaring in a small living space set to the side, which may explain why he didn’t hear her knocking.
“What… what is this about officer?” He was wringing his hands.
Adriana smiled.
A guilty conscience?
“We’re on the lookout for a wanted fugitive. Are you alone right now?” She asked. If he remembered her from earlier, he was doing a good job of pretending he didn’t.
“Yes, yes I am, just watching TV.” He gestured to the living area.
Adriana stepped around to the large flat screen against the wall.
On the screen, a buxom blond woman in a red, white, and blue bikini, a mask, and a cape resembling the American Flag, was creeping around outside of a large home.
She sighed, recognizing the old television show from the 70s called The Adventures of Mrs. Americana, it was a favorite of many of her clients.
Pratt caught her looking at the TV and flashed a sheepish grin.
“It’s a… guilty pleasure.” He murmured.
“Anyway,” She sighed. “So you haven’t had anyone over tonight?”
“No…” He shook his head.
“What about earlier, can you attest for your whereabouts?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Well…” He bit his lip.
Adriana took out her phone, brought up a picture of Nala, and held it out for him to see.
“Do you know who this woman is?” She asked.
Pratt looked at the phone, and shook his head.
“No?” She asked. “Look again.”
He did, and shook his head again.
“No, I don’t know her. Should I?”
Adriana smiled, and then brought up the picture of him and Nala at the restaurant.
“I don’t know, you tell me.” She smiled at him, watching the color drain from his face.
“Oh…” He stammered.
“You don’t remember from the store, do you?” She smiled at him.
“Oh right,” His eyes widened. “I was wondering why you looked familiar, that’s why I thought you were a model earlier.”
“This woman is a wanted fugitive from justice, and if you are harboring her, that makes you an accessory.” Adriana said in her most stern voice.
“Oh no, I’m not harboring anyone here.” He shook his head, and then turned to the television.
Adriana followed his gaze. On the screen, the buxom Mrs. Americana was sneaking around the house, bending over so the viewers had a nice view of her amble cleavage.
As she made her way down a hallway, a door flew open and a large hand came out and clamped over the heroine’s mouth while another hand wrapped around her waist.
Mrs. Americana’s eyes went wide with terror and shock, and then the image went into a freeze frame, zoomed in on her terrified face, and the music swelled before the image faded out for what would have been a commercial break.
Adriana sighed at the cheesy show and turned back to Pratt, who blushed.
“Sorry, gotta love the classics.” He shrugged.
“So, want to tell me what you were doing having dinner with a known criminal?” She asked him.
“Uhh, right,” He cleared his throat. “She told me a very convincing story, that she was in danger, being chased by some very bad people. After the store, she took me out for dinner to thank me, and then said she was meeting some people at the docks who could get her to safety. That was it.”
“Really?” Adriana pressed.
“Yes, she didn’t elaborate any further. She said knowing more would put me in danger.” The way his wide, shocked puppy dog eyes looked made her think he might just be telling the truth. After all, a beautiful, exotic looking woman like Nala could play a sap like Pratt like a fiddle.
But Adriana also knew that Nala could still be playing Pratt.
“So you wouldn’t mind if I looked around?” She asked.
“Oh not at all, help yourself.” He stepped back, as if giving him permission.
“Thank you.” Adriana paced away from him and scanned the apartment.
On the TV, a clean cut man in a police outfit was sitting down to eat with another man in the house that Mrs. Americana was just snooping around in.
“Oh the suspense, I love it.” Pratt gushed, looking at the screen.
“What?” Adriana turned back to him, but he seemed engrossed in the old show.
“The police man is Sheriff Matthew Washington, who doesn’t know that his wife Betsy is secretly the costumed crime fighter Mrs. Americana.” Pratt explained.
“Right…” Adriana sighed.
“He also doesn’t know that the man he’s eating with, his new neighbor, is actually the son of a dangerous criminal that Washington sent away to prison for life and is out for revenge. Mrs. Americana had just discovered that, and went to the house to bring the man to justice, but as you saw,
got caught by him just before the commercial break.”
Pratt’s eyes were filled with excitement, and something else…
Lust.
“So when the show comes back from commercial, there’s no sign of Mrs. Americana, but Sheriff Washington is sitting down for dinner with a man who is planning on killing him, and also has done something nefarious with the title character, though we don’t know what.
So there’s the suspense of the audience knowing that the neighbor is the bad guy but the sheriff doesn’t, but also the suspense of wondering what he’s done with Mrs. Americana.”