The Halloween party is already in full swing by the time you walk through the door, the low pulse of the music rolling through the walls like a heartbeat. Orange lights flicker over fake cobwebs, and laughter spills from the kitchen. You catch sight of yourself reflected in the window—your short-sleeved cop outfit hugging every curve, the zipper tugged down just enough to tease. The little police cap sits tilted on your head, and the metal handcuffs on your belt jingle every time you move.

Rafe whistles low, coming to stand next to you, eyes dragging up and down your body. “Didn’t know law enforcement looked like that, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough with amusement.

You smirk. “Behave, Cameron. You’re already a wanted man.”

He’s got his orange prisoner jumper tied around his waist, the tank top clinging to his chest, smeared with fake blood and dirt. You feel the heat of his gaze even as you turn away to grab a drink.

“Officer,” a familiar voice calls. Topper swoops in with a grin. “Oh my god, you two look ridiculous. I swear, you’re like a themed couple or something.”

You laugh. “Guess we’re committed to the bit.”

Topper gives you a look. “Uh-huh. Sure. Just don’t actually cuff him tonight.”

You tilt your head, eyes glinting. “Can’t make any promises.”

Rafe laughs low under his breath as Topper wanders off, shaking her head. Then his hands slide around your waist from behind, his breath warm against your ear.

“So,” he murmurs, voice dipping just enough to make your pulse quicken, “you gonna arrest me, or what?”

You turn in his arms, your palms resting on his chest, the fabric of his shirt warm beneath your fingers. The music fades to a hum, the world shrinking to the few inches between you.

“Depends,” you say softly, lips curling into a smile. “Think you can handle it?”

His answering grin is slow, wicked. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”