Chapter Twenty-Three – The Blind Hunt

 The hotel coffee shop was almost empty when Janet slid into the booth across from Lorne. Her notebook lay open, but for once, not a word filled its pages. She stirred her coffee absently, eyes shadowed from too many sleepless nights.

Lorne leaned in. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” she muttered. “I feel it.”

He ignored the jab. “We know her name. Ramona Elizabeth Rossi. We know she gambles. That’s a start.”

Janet snapped the notebook shut. “But not enough. She could be calling herself anything now. Married name, alias, some half-baked variation. And we’ve got no adult photo—just a blurry picture of a freckled red-haired kid.”

“Yeah,” Lorne admitted. “We’re chasing a ghost.”

They sat in silence, the hiss of the espresso machine filling the space. Janet finally broke it. “So how do we catch a ghost?”

Lorne drummed his fingers on the table. “Couple of options. One, I’ve got an old contact—floor manager at Century Casino. He owes me for a story I buried. He can’t hand us records, but he might confirm if anyone named Rossi’s in their system.”

Janet raised an eyebrow. “That’s something.”

“Two,” he continued, “we go old-school. Surveillance. Mid-forties, red hair, ordinary build, poker regular. Dealers and cage staff will recognize her face even if the name’s different.”

Janet smirked without humor. “So we hang out in smoky poker rooms staring at every forty-something redhead and hope lightning strikes.”

“Pretty much.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms. “And if she’s using a different name? If she’s as smart at covering tracks in casinos as she is everywhere else?”

Lorne shrugged. “Then we hand it to the cops. FINTRAC makes casinos report anything over ten grand. We give Dineen the Rossi lead, and he runs it through the back door. Could take weeks, though.”

Janet stared into the dark surface of her coffee. For once, this wasn’t about a headline. This was personal. If they didn’t pin Rossi down soon, there might be nothing left to salvage.

“Fine,” she said at last. “Dual-track. You talk to your contact. I’ll stake out the casinos. Somebody’s bound to notice her. Dealers, staff… someone. And when they do—”

“—we pounce,” Lorne finished.

Janet zipped her notebook into her bag. A gust of wind cut through as they stepped out onto the street. Edmonton’s towers loomed gray against the pale sky, traffic hissing over frozen pavement.

They drove in silence, both lost in thought, until the neon glow of the Grand Villa Casino came into view. Its sign pulsed against the winter dusk like a heartbeat.

Janet’s pulse quickened as they walked inside. Warm air wrapped around them, thick with perfume, cigarettes, and the clang of slot machines. Dealers barked bets. Chips clicked like a rhythm in the poker room.

She scanned the tables. Dozens of players hunched over green felt, faces lit by low lamps. Somewhere in this crowd might be Ramona Rossi—or someone who knew her.

Janet swallowed hard.

The hunt had begun.