Witching Moon Read Online Free PDF

muzzy feeling was gone. He stood where he was, raised his hands, palms toward her. “Be careful with that thing,” he said.
    â€œWho are you? What are you doing here?” she asked.
    Had she been the one shooting at him last night? And now was he giving her a free second chance? Too bad he was pretty sure those old legends about werewolves weren’t true. You didn’t need to load your gun with silver bullets to bring down a member of the species. All you needed was nice hot, conventional lead.
    â€œWho are you?” she asked again, her voice going an octave higher. He heard raw nerves in that voice, which made the situation all the more dangerous. His mind was doing swift calculations now. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who was used to handling a gun, but that proved nothing, except that she could shoot him by accident.
    â€œTake it easy,” he advised. “You don’t want to get arrested for killing the head ranger at Nature’s Refuge.”
    â€œThe head ranger! Don’t give me that. The head ranger should be expecting me.”
    Expecting her? Who the hell was she? Some inspector the park’s owner, Austen Barnette, had sent and forgotten to mention to his minions? That wasn’t like the old coot. Or was there some information about this woman buried in a pile of junk mail?
    â€œI’m Adam Marshall,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “Whom should I be expecting?”
    Ignoring his question, she demanded, “Show me some identification.”
    He watched her eyes, gauging her level of jumpiness. Would she really pull the trigger, or would she hesitate a fraction of a second, giving him time to knock the weapon out of her hand?
    Some part of his brain was viewing the confrontation from a distance like a kind of strange out-of-body experience. “Okay, my wallet’s in my pocket. Don’t drill me when I pull it out,” he said, speaking calmly as he reached into his back pocket and extracted the wallet, then carefully opened it to his driver’s license, which he held up for her to see.
    She peered at the plastic-covered rectangle, then snapped, “That’s from Texas.”
    â€œYeah, right. I just took the job here four months ago.”
    â€œAnd you haven’t changed your license?”
    â€œI’ve been busy. If you’ve been in touch with Austen Barnette, you may recall that the previous head ranger was found shot dead in the park. So pardon me for being a little careful when I meet up with strangers out here.”
    She winced. After several second’s hesitation, she lowered the weapon, and he managed to fill his lungs with air for the first time since the gun had appeared out of her knapsack.
    â€œThanks,” he said, then asked, “So who are you?”
    â€œSara Weston.”
    The name was familiar, and he struggled to figure out the context. “The botanist,” he finally said. “Working on the drug project for Granville Pharmaceuticals.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œI was expecting a fifty-year-old woman with gray hair pulled back in a bun,” he said, feeling foolish as the words came out of his mouth.
    She made a face. “You don’t have to be an old bat to be interested in the medicinal uses of plants.”
    â€œI realize that.” He sighed. “But I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask you for some identification.”
    She nodded and hunkered down to reach in her pack. As he had done, she pulled out a wallet with her driver’s license—and also a letter from Barnette, giving her permission to take plant specimens from the park.
    â€œYou looking for a cure for cancer?” he asked.
    â€œI’m looking for plants that native Americans and herbal healers have used successfully. Like this Acorus calamus ,” she said, gesturing toward the plant she’d been about to dig up.
    â€œSweet flag,” he said.
    â€œYes.