Epilogue

"This is lovely. But..." Carly sipped her whiskey sample and gave the young man serving her a brilliant smile. "Do you have anything stronger?" she whispered.

"Um... I don't know. No, no, I don't think so," he told her.

She leaned back. She watched. An older man came out just to look around the room.

They'd had this one piece of unfinished business to tend to—and even facing charges that rather desperately needed mitigation, there was one piece of information that Stanley Morton and Lily Connoly had refused to give them.

The identity of the person supplying their "killer" whiskey.

And so, before taking off for the beaches of Italy, they'd decided to do a few whiskey tastings—something that could take a long, long time in a country renowned for its exports of the liquor, but they had taken the divide-and-conquer approach.

Luke was across the room from her—while "Burke and Hare" and their minions were now safely incarcerated, they were still approaching all aspects of the case with teamwork.

She rose, hurrying after the older man who had looked around the room. He had to be the proprietor. "May I speak with you?" she asked him.

"Of course, lass. I hope you're enjoying the distillery tour!"

"I am," Carly assured him. "But... I'd like to know if you don't have anything stronger?"

He frowned, looking at her, indicating that she take her chair at her table again while he joined her, leaning close to ask suspiciously, "Why are you here, lass, and asking about whiskey?"

She arched a brow at him. He knew, and there was something about his attitude that was both suspicious—and regretful.

"I've heard there's something out there in the Scottish whiskey world that is super-charged," she told him. She quickly pondered a lie. "All right, I'm terrified of flying! I was hoping I could get something incredibly strong that I could slip into a tiny container to have when I made my way through the airport and that would...well, knock me right out for the trip across the pond!"

He sat back, closing his eyes. Then he leaned forward. "All right. We have created such a special batch, but just for the family. And," he added, "just for that reason. Me daughter, Rebecca, she's terrified of getting into an airplane and... But we had a few bottles stolen from the distillery and... I have decided there will be no more."

"Stolen?"

He nodded gravely. "Strange! Just those bottles gone, no sign of a break-in, but—"

Carly saw the young man who had first been helping her watching them—and then he suddenly disappeared into the back.

"I think I know your thief!" she murmured. She stood to follow him; Luke was already doing so.

He had, in fact, caught up with the young man just outside. And there were tears in his eyes.

"They told me it was for private consumption!" he cried. "That they couldn't sleep, that they were desperate, they'd tried pills, they'd tried everything on the market, and they paid me enough for my school bill and... Oh, God! Then I heard that victims of our new Burke and Hare were extremely intoxicated and..."

He broke down in hysterical sobs.

Carly looked at Luke. She was glad she wasn't going to be part of the legal system that moved against the young man.

And she was equally glad that finally the pieces had all fallen into place. The young man had done something very wrong and yet she couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

It was one thing to steal a few bottles of whiskey.

Quite another to realize they had been used in heinous crimes.

But for them...

It was time for MacDuff and Campbell to take over.

And for the two of them and Della and Mason to have a little bit of coveted time off!

Liguria, Italy. Breathtaking mountains, an exquisite beach. The charm of the Italian people who did their best attempt at signing when Carly's not-quite mastery of the language failed her.

They had an amazing time. Of course, as much as they needed what Della liked to call their "chill" period between cases, and as much as she loved lying on the beautiful beach, she was fascinated by the area as well. Balzi Rossi offered them an incredible day wandering through prehistoric sites. Having enjoyed that trip, they went on to Grotte di Toirano, with its ancient "footprints" and stunning rock formations. Of course, Italy was famous for so much more, but then again, there were those idyllic days on the beach.

They'd all opted for a lazy day after visiting numerous magnificent castles and cathedrals. And lying next to Luke, Carly let her fingers run through the sand, marveling that there was so much beauty to be seen in the world.

"Missing Scotland?" Luke asked her.

She smiled. "I will love Scotland as long as I live," Carly told him. "I will never forget trips with my grandparents. I will never forget Keith. But I must admit, I think the beach is a little better here!"

He laughed. "We'll get back. We have great friends there now—and one day, it will be nice to go and see them when we're not looking for a conspiracy of killers."

"Ah, good point! That will be nice!" Carly told him.

"Daniel will be joining us. I don't know all the machinations they're doing to make him part of an American extension of the Krewe, but—" Luke broke off, grinned at her, and said, "I'm glad. Daniel is great. A great asset for us. And, I think he'll get to feel sane working with us."

She grinned in turn, still running her fingers through the slightly cool and damp sand, loving the feel of it between her fingers along with the golden touch of the sun on her skin.

"Daniel is great," she agreed. And she couldn't help herself. She tossed a little sand on Luke's bare chest.

"Hey!"

"Look at you, you're all sandy. Ready for a dip to clean up a bit?" she teased.

"You want to see sandy?" he threatened.

She burst into laughter, lay back and closed her eyes, waiting.

But no sand touched her. She opened her eyes to see that Mason had left his blanket on the beach and was standing over them.

"Sorry, guys, we'll be leaving tonight."

Carly jolted up and Luke did the same, helping her rise to her feet as he did so.

"What's happened?" Luke asked.

"Well, I'm glad Della and I had some time to brush up on our French. We'll be heading to Paris tonight."

"Paris, what—" Carly began.

"There you go. That's the thing about a vacation," Mason said. "We don't watch the news—because we don't want to. Except, I don't think there's much on the news about this yet."

"About what?" Luke persisted, frowning.

"Jackson got a call from an old friend of his, a French detective, Gervais LeBlanc. There's a vampire or some such creature loose in Paris, so it seems."

"What?" Carly and Luke looked at one another. "But you put Stephan Dante away about a year ago. You mean—"

"I mean that LeBlanc is afraid there will be a vampire panic when certain aspects of murder cases become public. Visitors to Paris have now been found in the nearby wine region of Reims—dead, and completely drained of blood. Young women. They know of two victims. Because they've been discovered out in the fields...they don't know how many more there are. No fang marks on these victims. But they are...bled dry. Razor slashes on veins and arteries..."

"That's not a vampire," Carly said thoughtfully. "That's someone who wants copious amounts of blood. Ritual? A cult. A single person doing this?"

"Jackson has sent a Krewe member, a young woman named Jeannette LaFarge, out to speak with Gervais LeBlanc—she has just come off an undercover assignment investigating a cult, bringing it all to a conclusion. We're to meet her there and Daniel will join us, too." He offered them a smile. "Hey, we've had almost two weeks of vacation. That's almost—normal."

"True," Carly said. She looked regretfully at the beautiful sandy beach. "And...what's not to like about Paris?"

"Except for a killer needing buckets full of blood," Luke mused. "Not in vampire mode, not displaying bodies, just disposing of them as if they were used-up, empty receptacles..."

"Exactly. So, time to head back, pack up and go to Paris," Mason said. He walked back to his blanket where Della was already picking up their beach goods.

"Back at it," Carly said, looking at Luke.

He took a minute to smile. "And that's all right. It's what we do. And do you know what is now best about our work to stop murderers and hopefully save lives?"

"What's that?" she asked.

"We do it together," he said quietly.

And she had to smile in return. Because it was true. They were the Blackbird division of the Krewe of Hunters, and that was lucky. They could use their most unusual talents for good.

And he was right.

They could do it together, and that was amazing.

"All right—I'll grab the towels. You grab the picnic basket!"

Paris. City of lights, city of love, city of fashion or Capital de la Mode.

And now...

City of blood.