Free Witching Moon by REBECCA YORK

to be his employer.
    Barnette gave him a dismissive look.
    Adam knew that was his cue to leave. But he stayed where he was. “We should talk about Sara Weston,” he said.
    â€œWhat about her?” Barnette asked, his voice sharpening so that Adam wondered what he’d conveyed in his own tone.
    He wasn’t sure how he was going to answer until he heard himself saying, “Is she in danger—going into the swamp?”
    Barnette’s gaze turned inward. “I hope not,” he said. “It would look bad for us if something happened to Granville Pharmaceutical’s researcher.”
    â€œThen why did you allow her to come here—now?”
    â€œWhat do you mean—why now? Why not now?”
    â€œYou had a murder here less than half a year ago.”
    â€œI thought it would be all right. I thought with you here, we wouldn’t have any more incidents…” He let his voice trail off, then asked, “Are you questioning my decision?”
    â€œNo,” Adam lied.
    â€œIf she finds something important in the park, some plant that can cure diseases, then we’ll get some great publicity. That will bring more visitors here.”
    â€œAnd if she gets shot by the…people I saw last night, that’s going to drive the crowds away.”
    â€œI’m counting on you to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Barnette snapped. “You need extra help patrolling the refuge?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI didn’t think so. I know you work alone. I know you find clues that other people miss.”
    If I don’t get killed first, Adam thought. Aloud, he said, “I’ll do my best.”
    â€œKeep me informed on what you find out.”
    â€œYes, sir,” he answered, silently reminding himself that if Austen Barnette could pick and choose what he wanted to reveal, Adam Marshall could damn well do the same.
    The meeting had been far from satisfying. It was a relief to leave the old man’s private sanctuary and step into the sun again. He stood on the wide front porch, breathing in the fresh air, thinking about why he’d taken this job in the first place. He’d wanted to get out of Texas. He’d wanted a challenge. He’d liked the idea of being in charge of his own park. Now he felt like he’d made his decision with only part of the facts he’d needed.
    Across the lawn, he saw a man dressed in a plain white T-shirt and jeans working with a power saw, apparently replacing some of the wood siding on the wall of the detached garage. The guy raised his dark head and looked at him curiously. And he stared back, wondering if they had met.
    Something about the workman was familiar, but he didn’t know what. Maybe he’d seen him around town. He thought about walking closer. Maybe the guy was curious about the new head ranger out at the park. Maybe if they talked, he could get another perspective on working for Austen Barnette.
    But something about the workman’s posture kept him standing where he was.
    After a long moment, the man lowered his head and went back to the siding, and Adam walked down the steps and back to his SUV, thinking he needed a better source of information about the hidden history of Wayland, Georgia. And he needed something else as well—a gas mask, which he was going to order from the Internet as soon as he got the chance.

CHAPTER
SIX
    AMY RALSTON LOOKED up from her position behind the boat rental counter and watched her boss’s long-legged stride as he came down the mulched path to the dock.
    She was pretty sure that the sun shade over the window of the ticket booth hid her face, so she felt free to drink in the view of Adam Marshall. When he drew closer, she lowered her gaze and pretended to be sorting through receipts from recent customers.
    It was impossible not to react to the man. He was nothing like the last head ranger. Ken White had been old—in his fifties at least.