Behind you, Archie and Buck are still barking at the stupid sedan that nearly plowed through your fencing. Ryker circles your legs, herding you toward the porch like you're a stubborn sheep.

Then you hear it.

Footsteps. Squelching. Muffled cursing.

A man in a crisp gray suit—was crisp—is trudging through the muck toward your gate. His tie is loosened. His jaw is tight. His dark cropped hair is perfectly in place, which only makes the rest of him look more ridiculous.

He stops when he sees you.

The man flinches.