Chapter Twenty-Five– Devil’s Luck

 Here’s a polished, tightened version of your scene that keeps the pacing crisp and the tension mounting:

Ramona sat in the quiet of her condo, curtains drawn, the migraine dulled but not gone. She shuffled a deck of cards between her hands, fanning and snapping them back into a neat stack again and again.

Logic told her to stay home. She’d embarrassed herself the night before, drawing attention she couldn’t afford. Going back to the casino so soon was reckless.

But routine tugged at her. And superstition whispered louder. Century Casino had always been her lucky ground. She’d left that room more often ahead than behind. The felt and the lights steadied her in a way nothing else did.

The devil made me do it, she thought with a crooked smile. But it didn’t feel like a joke.

By dusk she was behind the wheel of her BMW, leather seat cool against her back, heading north on Highway 2 toward Edmonton. As the city lights rose on the horizon, she rehearsed her excuse.

At the casino door, she smoothed her hair and approached the manager’s station. “I wanted to apologize about last night,” she said, voice measured, contrite. “Rough day at work. Won’t happen again.”

The manager, a thickset man in a suit, studied her a moment, then nodded. “Keep it calm, and you’re welcome.”

She smiled faintly. Minutes later, she was seated at her preferred table, chips stacked neatly in front of her. Her lucky table. The cards slid across the felt. Her shoulders loosened. Whatever storm was gathering outside, in here the rhythm of the game would steady her again.

Across the city, Janet and Lorne sat in a narrow office at Edmonton Police headquarters, a space heater buzzing at their feet, the air tinged with burnt coffee.

Staff Sergeant Dineen leaned forward across his desk, thick hands folded. “You’re telling me you have a line on your Unknown.”

Janet nodded, throat dry. “We think so. Century Casino. Woman, red hair, mid-forties, plump build. Thrown out last night for making a scene. We believe it was her. Her name’s Ramona Elizabeth Rossi.”

Dineen’s brow furrowed. “That’s not proof. No current photo.”

“It’s a start,” Lorne said firmly. “If she’s scamming seniors at the scale we think, tonight could be our best shot. Call it instinct.”

The sergeant drummed his fingers on the desk. He’d been in fraud long enough to know instincts, when paired with patterns, could be gold. Finally, he stood.

“I’ll put two detectives on it. You’ll go with them—but you stay out of the way. This is still police business.”

Janet’s pulse quickened as the plan formed: two detectives would blend in as casual players. Dineen would sit in the surveillance booth with security. Janet and Lorne would wait outside for the signal.

The sergeant looked them both in the eye. “If she’s there, tonight’s the night. One wrong move, and she vanishes. Understood?”

“We understand,” Lorne said.

Janet’s notebook sat closed in her lap. For the first time since this began, the weight had shifted. It wasn’t just a story anymore. It was a hunt.

Night fell hard over Edmonton.

Ramona sat beneath the bright lights of her lucky table, cards sliding toward her, chips clicking between her fingers. The migraine lingered, but the rhythm of the game steadied her heartbeat.

Outside, Janet, Lorne, and two detectives climbed into an unmarked sedan. The Century Casino sign glowed against the frozen night.

The stakes had never been higher.