“You have a right to enter your own home.”

Before she could dial, a black SUV pulled up behind us.

The headlights flashed twice in our rearview mirror.

I turned around in my seat to look.

It was Gavin’s personal security detail.

The driver’s door opened, and a large man in a dark raincoat stepped out.

He walked slowly toward our car, his boots splashing in the puddles.

He tapped on my window.

I rolled it down an inch.

“Mrs. Rourke,” the man said, his voice flat.

“Mr. Rourke has requested that you leave the property.”

“This is my house,” I said.

“I have a right to be here.”

“I have orders to trespass anyone who attempts to enter,” he said.

“Including you.”

Sarah leaned across the seat.

“We have a court-appointed receiver taking over the estate’s assets,” she said.

“You are interfering with a legal process.”

“I take my orders from the homeowner, ma’am,” the guard said.

He pointed toward the road.

“I need you to turn your vehicle around.”

My phone buzzed again in my hand.

It was a notification from our home security system.