Chapter 8

Whether he did or not, Sir K went quiet for a second. “Whisper,” he mimicked loudly.

“Umm…whisper,” Brian said very softly.

“Whisper.” The bird mimicked him again, almost as softly.

“Good boy.” Brian scratched the top of Sir K’s head. The bird ruffled his feathers in pleasure, so Brian did it again once he’d put the bird on a tree branch.

“More,” Sir K said.

Brian rolled his eyes. “I could probably spend all afternoon doing this and you still wouldn’t be happy.” He did it one more time then left the solarium to the bird’s indignant squawking.

* * * *

Brian was sitting on the patio, deeply engrossed in his book when he thought he heard a sound coming through the open doors behind him. He was on his feet seconds later, tiptoeing into the house.

He made it to the living room doorway when he saw a man, his back to him as he walked toward the study.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house,” Brian said with as much bravado as he could muster.