Chapter Twenty-six-The Unmasking

 The unmarked sedan rolled into the Century Casino lot, headlights slicing through the winter dark. Inside, Dineen went over the plan one last time.


“You stay outside until I give the signal,” he said, locking eyes with Janet. “Two detectives will work the floor. I’ll be in the booth. No surprises. Got it?”


Janet nodded, though her pulse drummed in her ears.


Minutes later, they were inside. Dineen disappeared into surveillance. The detectives melted into the crowd. Janet and Lorne lingered by the entrance, the hum of slot machines and laughter swirling around them.


The poker rooms beckoned like a heartbeat. She’s in there. I know she is.


Janet took a step forward.


“Janet,” Lorne hissed, grabbing her arm. “Don’t. Stick to the plan.”


But impulse surged stronger than reason. She tore free and pushed into the crowd.


In the booth, Dineen’s head snapped to the monitor as her figure strode across the floor. His hand slammed the desk. “Goddammit. The reporter just went rogue.” He grabbed his radio. “Detectives, heads up. She’s coming your way.”


Janet shoved open the first poker room door. Nothing. The second—no sign of her.


Her breath came fast, heart pounding as she reached the third. She pushed the door open and froze.


There. At the far table. Red hair streaked with gray. Freckles under the bright lights. Chips stacked in neat columns.


It’s her.


Janet’s knees went weak, her hand trembling on the doorframe.


Across the room, Ramona looked up. Their eyes met—recognition flashing like a match struck in the dark.


“You nosy bitch!” Ramona roared, shooting to her feet. “I’m going to kill you!”


The table erupted as she lunged forward, shoving through players. Cards and chips scattered to the floor. She seized Janet by the hair, yanking hard, dragging her into the hallway, spitting obscenities.


Janet cried out, clawing at Ramona’s grip, the world spinning as pain ripped through her scalp.


The door burst open. Two detectives stormed in. One yanked Ramona back; the other forced her arms behind her. Chairs toppled, players shouted, chaos filling the room.


“Name. ID. Now,” a detective barked.


Ramona thrashed, face flushed with fury. “You’ll never prove a damn thing!”


The detective snapped the cuffs on and pulled a wallet from her bag.

Elizabeth Ramona.


His partner gave a sharp nod. “We’ve got her.”


They hauled her out of the room as the crowd closed in, whispering. Janet slumped against the wall, heart hammering, scalp burning where Ramona’s hands had torn through her hair.


Minutes later, Dineen stood over her in the hallway, jaw set, eyes like steel. “You nearly blew the entire operation,” he said, voice low and tight. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed—or tipped her off for good.”


Janet swallowed hard, still shaking, but met his stare. “I knew it was her.”


Dineen muttered an expletive. “Instinct doesn’t win cases. Discipline does. Next time you listen—or you’re out.”


Janet nodded weakly. But beneath the fear, a hard truth pulsed through her:


She’d been right.


Ramona Rossi wasn’t a ghost anymore.


She was real. And she was finally caught.


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