Ronnie strode into CBI precisely on time, freshly showered after the gym and bearing five coffees and one hot tea. She distributed the drinks around the bullpen, saving one for herself before dumping the two cardboard drink carriers in the garbage.

Cho, who had seen her already at the gym, immediately popped the top off his coffee, staring down into it. A second later he looked up, expression unreadable, and said, "It's the right color."

Ronnie dropped into her desk chair, sipping at her own beverage. "I know how you take your coffee, Cho."

He put the lid back on. "Last time it was almost white."

She booted up her computer and shuffled through the mail that had been delivered to her desk. A few old evidence reports, some expense receipts, a couple of reminders that she had to go back for a bi-yearly check up, and one unmarked envelope. "Last time I let the barista do it." Ronnie muttered, dropping the rest of the mail on her desk and examining the blank envelope. "This time I did it myself."

Before Cho could respond, Lisbon swept into the room, a new case file in hand. She and van Pelt set immediately to pinning the crime scene photos, already rushing through a debrief. "Victim is Christine Tanner, 15, drowned, washed up on the beach in Santa Marta."

Ronnie shoved the envelope into her pocket, abandoning her desk to help Rigsby get the gear together. "Who's got the ultraviolet?"

Rigsby tossed it to her, asking, "So she drowned. Why us?"

"Coroner found a wound consistent with getting hit in the head with a surfboard or a shovel and water in her lungs, only it was ditchwater— No salt, a lot of bugs." Lisbon answered, locking up a case of equipment.

Ronnie shivered, disgusted.

"So the killer is clever, but not as clever as he thinks he is." Jane mused, holding his tea to his chest.

Cho finished his packing and stopped by Ronnie, where she stood against the table and watched Jane take van Pelt's wrist in his hand, lifting it to chest height.

"What, are they dancing?" Cho muttered under his breath.

"Strange reaction to murder." Ronnie agreed.

Van Pelt turned her focus from Jane's strange actions long enough to ask, "Santa Marta sheriff's not taking this one?" She didn't seem uncomfortable with Jane's proximity and contact, just confused by his movements.

"State beach, state case." Lisbon, ready to go, turned toward the door, only to catch sight of the scene before her. "All right, what are you doing?"

Ronnie leaned back until she half sat on the table, close enough that her shoulder rested lightly against Cho's.

Jane wouldn't be distracted from guiding van Pelt around the room in a weird, delicate dance. "Grace is mentally telling me where she hid the van keys. If I find them, I get to drive."

Rigsby stopped to watch, but his eyes remained enraptured on van Pelt's gentle, sweet expression.

Lisbon merely scoffed. "So now you're psychic?"

Jane kept his focused stare on van Pelt. "Oh, no, no, no. This is all science. Concentrate, Grace. Tell me with your mind only. Forward, backward, left, right."

"How is that science?" Cho demanded, but his skepticism didn't lessen his interest. He stared for a few more seconds and then decided, "He watched you hide the keys."

"From the men's room? That would be a trick."Jane extended his other hand out behind him, just missing smacking Ronnie in the face. He paused, holding his position for a moment, and then his face lit up like Christmas.

He left the bullpen, still visible through the glass, throwing calculated looks around the hallway.

The team watched in anticipation, pleasant surprise crossing van Pelt's face as Jane suddenly ducked under the feathery leaves of a potted fern, fishing something out of the planter. He straightened with a delighted grin blown across his face, keys in his hand. "Who's got shotgun?"

Lisbon's own face held a fond, almost adoring smile. "Can we go now?"

Shoulders shaking a little with silent laughter, Cho pushed off the table, grabbing a bag full of gear as the team made ready. The little grin pulling at his lips and eyes caught Ronnie's rapt attention. She rarely saw his expression like that, and it held her curious attention for so long that he grabbed her backpack off the table and tossed it at her. "You okay, Masters?"

THE MENTALIST

A vigil for Christine Tanner had gathered around the small corner of the beach where her body had been found. A group of teenagers were at the forefront, casting their grief into the sea.

Ronnie, Rigsby, Cho, and Jane approached the scene carefully, keeping their respectful distance as they waited for the vigil to disperse.

"You had the keys in your hand the whole time." Cho guessed, hands in his pants pockets.

On the other side of Jane, Rigsby laughed. "You've gotta let it go, man." He had his jacket wadded up in one hand, feet scrambling for purchase in the sand.

Dissatisfied, Cho pressed on: "Did you have the keys in your hand?"

His insistence upon learning the trick made Ronnie laugh. She pulled her own keys out of her pocket and shook them at Cho. "Wanna try it, Cho?"

He pushed her hand away, unappreciative of her mockery.

Back on topic, Jane sighed, peering off towards the ocean. "If I tell you how it's done, the magic circle will send a team of assassins to kill us all. It's the law."

"All the more reason to spill your dirty secrets." Ronnie responded, returning her keys to her pocket and feeling the folded envelope that she'd stuffed there earlier. Her fingertips traced the edges thoughtfully, wondering what it was. The curiosity pulled her mind away from the conversation until Rigsby pointed at the shoreline.

"Her body was discovered on this beach. Coast guard says that means she was put in the water anywhere within a mile north of here. Any further along the coast, the current would have taken her out to Mexico."

"How long was she in the water?" Jane questioned, watching two teenagers from the vigil walk up.

Rigsby lowered his voice. "We're still waiting on the coroner's report."

"Hey, excuse me." The first teenager, a medium height girl with short brown hair called out to them. "Are you guys cops?"

"CBI," Rigsby corrected.

"What's CBI?"

"California Bureau of Investigation."

Jane cut in, then, dispensing with the confusion. "Cops."

The girl turned to her friend in relief. "Cops." She repeated, like he hadn't heard. "So is it true what they're saying—somebody killed Chris?" Her eyes flashed to Ronnie before returning to Jane.

The consultant gazed down at her guardedly. "Yes, it is true. You were Christine's friend?"

Ronnie watched her reaction carefully.

The girl maintained a mild demeanor, not letting on to too much. "Yeah. We hang at the same breaks. I love Chris. What happened?"

"We don't know yet." Cho responded. "What's your name?"

"I'm Hope. That's Win."

Ronnie took out her notebook to record the questions and answers, fighting the wind to keep her pages flat.

"When was the last time you saw Christine?" Cho asked.

"Uh, three days ago. Sunset patrol. Epic northeast swell. Chris loved to go out at sunset. She would stay out till it was dark as dark."

Beside Hope, Win chuckled fondly.

"How did she seem lately— just, you know, any enemies or... stuff like that?" Jane wondered, glancing around at the people still lingering from the vigil.

Win looked confused and shook his head. "Uh, not—not around here. Everybody loved Chris."

"Was she dating anybody?"

Win scoffed "Dating?"

Frustrated with the impish behavior, Rigsby rolled his eyes. "Okay, was she hooking up with anybody in particular?"

"Danny Kurtik, mostly." Hope piped up, causing her friend to groan in disbelief.

"Jeez, Hope."

Ronnie observed this curiously.

"What?" Hope whined naively. "They were hookin' up."

"Danny would never hurt Chris." Win snapped.

Hope chided him condescendingly. "Duh, of course not. That's not what they were asking. They were asking who she was hooking up with, which would be Danny. It wasn't a big, dark secret."

Rigsby had Hope write down their names and information for future contact, while Jane stared wonderingly at Win. "Hey, If Chris was a color, what color would she be?"

Ronnie glanced at Cho, confused. He shrugged back, kicking his shoe through the sand a little.

"Uh, orange...or pink?"

Hope looked up bodily, hair whipping in the wind. "No, o-orange is right."

"If she were an animal, what kind of animal would she be?" Jane asked, focusing the question at Hope.

Ronnie put her notebook in her back pocket, and returned her hand to the envelope in her jacket. Beside her, Cho glanced from her to Rigsby to see if either of them were tracking with Jane better than he was.

"Uh, I don't know. A rabbit? How is this relevant?"

Jane responded to her nasally whine with a snide look. "Everything's relevant."

Ronnie turned away then, pulling the envelope out of her pocket and unfolding it, her back to Jane and the others. With cold hands, she peeled back the flap, careful not to rip the whole envelope to pieces.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cho turn around to figure out where she went, but her eyes were locked on the folded square of copy paper. Quickly pulling the ends apart and flattening it out as best as she could, her eyes landed on the brief script in the center of the page.

Her heart dropped like a rock, mouth dry as bones.

"The police can't protect you, Ronnie. See you soon.

- CM"

THE MENTALIST

Ronnie, Cho, and Rigsby got back in the car and headed back to CBI, leaving Jane on the beach according to his wishes. Cho took the wheel, with Ronnie in the back behind Rigsby, mind totally occupied.

"Lisbon and van Pelt are over talking to Christine's family." She heard Rigsby say to Cho.

The police can't protect you, Ronnie.

The note represented the first communication from Ronnie's mother in six years. The last time they'd spoken was during the altercation at the warehouse, and it had ended in the Carla Masters booking it and never showing her face again.

Ronnie had hoped she'd heard the last from her mother, that Carla had considered the event a trimming of the fat. She wanted to be forgotten and left behind forever.

If Carla came back for her and expected her to rejoin the old life that she'd had, she would shoot herself in a second before following along.

FLASHBACK

"How are you feeling? Are you comfortable?" A young Asian man sat before the girl at the table in the interview room, a file in hand. "Do you remember me? I'm Kimball Cho; I pulled you out of the warehouse where we found you."

Ronnie Masters sat in the cold chair, shoulders hunched inward, head dipped low to her chest.

She said nothing, just rubbed her fingers up and down the seams of her jeans, feeling the crusted blood under her fingernails.

"Ronnie Masters," Cho tried again. "You've been implicated in collusion with your mother's criminal activity. You're not a minor anymore, which means you're facing charges that'll have you tried as an adult."

The battered girl shrugged. "I don't care. I told you, I'm done."

Cho put the file down on the table, resting his arms over top of it. "Let's talk about that. What is your involvement with Carla Masters' criminal activity?"

Ronnie tilted her head back, her torn and ragged blonde hair falling away from her face. He could see the red and black bruising around her eyes and jaw, the cuts over her cheeks and eyebrows. "If you know what my mom has done, you know what I've done."

Cho leaned in, forcing himself to keep eye contact rather than finding all of the abrasions and cuts on her skin. "Have you ever killed anyone, Ronnie?"

"Yes." Her eyes welled with tears, hands shaking. She balled them into fists, guilt swimming thickly in her chest.

"Did you assist Carla Masters in child trafficking?"

"Yes."

"At what age did you become involved?" Cho asked, opening the file to mark her answer down.

"Six years old." Ronnie felt the tears drip down her cheeks, stinging as they reached the cuts on her face. She scrubbed them away, hands coming back with dirt and mud.

Cho's eyes lifted from the file in surprise. "Ronnie," he started, taking her in once more. She was strong; her narrow shoulders and her arms were noticeably muscled. Without being able to see beneath the table, he could see her muscular chest and abdomen and assumed her legs were much the same. Not the converted radical that law enforcement thought she was, Ronnie Masters appeared to be a hand crafted weapon, built from an impossibly young age.

"You were six." He repeated flatly, in disbelief. "Did your mother force you to kill against your will?"

Ronnie stared, confused. She shrugged a shoulder, clearing her throat. "Yeah? I guess—what difference does it make? I did it."

"Did your mother provide any incentive to make you kill and traffic for her?" Cho asked, slowly realizing that he had only seven years on her and she had never experienced any sort of childhood.

Ronnie's eyes filled with tears again. "You're looking at me, right?"

"I'm looking at you," he confirmed, eyes flashing around her face again before locking with her gaze once more.

She uttered an unamused laugh. "She has this bat..." she made a vague gesture to her torso, and then dropped her hand back to her lap.

Cho leaned back, heart aching for her. "Your mother beat you with a baseball bat to make you cooperate?"

Ronnie nodded bleakly.

"For the tape, Ronnie," he urged her gently.

"Yes. She'd beat me if I refused. She beat me if I questioned her." Ronnie shrugged again. "But I still did it. That's all that matters, right?"

Cho pushed a diagram of a human body towards her, labeled with numerous markings. "Do you know what this is?"

Ronnie leaned in, wincing at the pain it caused. "I'm...I'm not sure." Her eyes met his, waiting for help.

"This is a diagram of scar tissue covering your body. Listed here, you have four bullet scars, six knife scars, two areas that look to be from shrapnel from fragment grenades, and two third-degree burn scars. Is that correct?"

The twenty-year-old shrank back in her chair. "I think so."

Cho pulled the paper back. "How did you come to acquire all of these injuries?"

She was crying again, hands trying to keep up with the flow of tears as though she could hide them. "I'm the shield." Her voice carried softly, almost too softly to be heard.

Cho hesitated, dreading elaboration. "You're the shield?"

"I had to protect her." Ronnie stared down at her hands. "It was my job. That's why she made me get strong. So I could protect her."

"You jumped in front of bullets, knives, and grenades for your mother?"

"I'm the shield." She said again, refusing to meet his eyes. "It's my job."

PRESENT DAY

Cho's phone rang as they walked into the local sheriff's office. He answered and listened a few seconds. "Flipper?" He dropped into a seat in front of a computer. "Okay, got it, hold on." He dropped the phone, typing in a search field before grabbing it back up again. "There's a Darlene Pappas in youth authority lockup— Possession and resisting arrest. I'll get her in here."

Ronnie sank into the chair next to him, elbows up on the table. She peered over at his screen curiously, examining the mug shot.

"Jane?" Cho glanced awkwardly at Rigsby, feeling a little regret for ditching him. "He's still pursuing inquiries at the beach." Seconds later, he hung up the phone and looked into contacting the detention center. "Lisbon got us some names of Christine's friends."

Ronnie leaned back in her chair, staring at the tabletop thoughtfully.

Cho made the call to get Darlene escorted to an interview room where Lisbon could talk to her.

Rigsby unpacked his box of gear, setting up across from Cho.

The police can't protect you, Ronnie. See you soon.

Ronnie closed her eyes, heart racing. She couldn't go back to her past. She couldn't go back to her mother.

She'd die first.

THE MENTALIST

With little to do for the case thanks to Jane and Lisbon doing all the foot work, Ronnie draped herself over an arm chair in the work room that the office had set apart for them, watching Cho and Rigsby talk out the details of the case, surmising here and there with no real conclusions being drawn on the matter.

She remembered those first days with Cho. She remembered him finding her under that pile of bodies in the warehouse, and then waking up in a medical examination room.

Apart from the doctor, he'd been the first person she talked to.

He'd played his usual role, connecting with the suspect to elicit a confession from her, speaking softly and invitingly and picking up every thread she dropped until he had all the information he'd needed, just like she'd seen him do a million times since.

But then he'd pushed to get her a plea.

He'd chased her case in court until her charges were dropped within four months of being taken into custody. The moment she was back on the street, Ronnie had turned up again at CBI's door, pleading for inclusion. The idea of witness protection had been kicked around, but ultimately tabled for another time.

While Cho hadn't been thrilled about her following the team around like a lost puppy, he'd been on her side.

She'd been lost, without a family, without an identity, and Cho had come to take her in. It hadn't taken long for her to recognize an ally in him. While the rest of the team coddled and babied and made her sit back and watch from a distance, Cho kept her with him as much as possible. She went out on stakeouts, she went on witness and suspect interviews, she helped fill out paperwork until, eventually, her diligent consistency won her a spot on the team.

Cho had done that for her.

Lisbon walked in then, looking peeved. "Go ahead and get Darlene out of here. I'm done with her." She told Rigsby.

"Got a hit with those deputy interviews. Philip Handler, goes by "Flipper." Badass surfer— it's a long sheet, including time for assault on a woman a few years back." Cho reported, leaning over the paperwork he'd dug up.

"How bad?" Lisbon asked, eyes flashing over to Ronnie.

"Hundred stitches bad. Got an address." Rigsby responded, holding up a sheet.

Lisbon nodded dutifully, turning to head out the door before pausing. "Darlene said that Christine was in a sexual relationship with an older guy. Goes by Pops, listens to old 50s music. See what you can find." When Cho acknowledged her, she looked back to Rigsby. "Let's go."

As soon as they were gone, Cho finished making a note of Darlene's intel and then sat back in his chair, pinning Ronnie with a hard glare. "What's with you?"

She blinked back at him. "I don't know what you mean." Despite the circumstances, she shot him a playful smile. "What's with you, Cho?"

"You've been weird since we left the beach. What's going on?" He demanded, the blank tone of voice reassuring her better than any outward promise of protection.

Ronnie sighed, head falling back against the chair. "Nothing that can't wait until after this case." She muttered. "I'd rather not distract you with anything."

Cho didn't back down. "You're distracted. It's distracting me. What's going on, Masters?"

She heaved herself up to her feet, digging around in her pocket. "Whatever. You forfeit all rights to be annoyed at me for distracting you from here on out." She tossed the letter at him carelessly and pulled out a seat across from him.

Her partner unfolded the paper and read it. His expression stilled. He read it again.

Finally, when she couldn't take it anymore, he dropped the paper on the table and looked up at her earnestly. "When did you receive this?"

"It was on my desk this morning. It's probably an empty threat, Cho."

He pushed the letter back to her. "Turn this in so they can find out who left it. In the meantime...don't worry about it. She can't exactly take you back."

Ronnie nodded, unconvinced. "Right."

"Masters," Cho ducked his head to keep her gaze. "You're stronger than she ever was, remember? You're going to be okay."

THE MENTALIST

"Do you have a thing for youngsters in general, Dane? Or was it Christine in particular that appealed to you?" Cho sat before Dane Kurtik, the aforementioned 'Pops' with whom the late Christine had been involved.

Ronnie stood behind him, against a wall, arms crossed over her chest. The circumstances of the interview, though virtually dissimilar to her own experiences, struck her close to home.

Cho went on, playing the role. "That I can understand, because you know, you meet some 15-year-olds, they're just as smart and mature and articulate as any adult, right? They are adults, basically. Maybe Christine was one of them."

Kurtik's eyes flashed to Ronnie before he uttered an unbelieving laugh. "Are you serious? Do you actually obtain confessions with that gambit?"

The failed attempt didn't surprise Cho. "All the time."

"Amazing. People are stupid." Kurtik leaned forward, a clever smile marking his face. "Listen, I admire cops. I think you do a great job, and I'm happy to sit here and chat with you until my lawyer gets here. But I'm not gonna say anything you want to hear. So relax, huh?"

Cho stood from the table, collected his things, and headed out, with Ronnie following closely behind. Lisbon and Jane would do with that interview as they would. He had other worries at present. As much as it bothered him to put a murder investigation on the back burner, as far as he was concerned, Ronnie was still alive and anything he could do preemptively to keep her murder's case file out of his hands he would do.

Leading her into their work room, Cho turned to face her and perched himself on the edge of the table. "Did you report the note?"

Ronnie nodded, pushing her hair over her shoulder. "An hour ago. It will have reached Lisbon's desk right now."

Her partner crossed his arms over her chest, nodding. "So what are you gonna do?"

Ronnie hooked a thumb toward her laptop. "I'm gonna try to dig up some dirt on the scumbag you just talked to."

"No, I mean what are you gonna do about the note. Nobody gets alerted to an ambush and sits on their hands."

"It's not an ambush, Cho, she announced herself." Ronnie pulled out a chair and sat facing him, pulling her knees to her chest. "But I suppose I'll just be vigilant. Who knows who she's got working for her now. It could be anybody showing up at my door and wringing my neck."

"You think she wants you dead?"

Ronnie shrugged cluelessly. "She either wants me dead or she misses her weapon. And I've gotten better at my job since she saw me last." She ran a hand down her arm subconsciously, feeling one of the bullet scars just above her elbow.

"You're not a weapon, and it's not your job. Listen to me, Masters." Cho hooked the leg of her chair with his foot and pulled her closer, leaning in with his elbows on his knees. "Your mother is one of the most resourceful and elusive bad guys on the list. She's not a joke, you know this. She's got unlimited resources. What did that note tell you?"

Ronnie felt chastened, shoulders pinning back to her chair. "That you can't protect me."

Cho pointed a finger at her. "No. It said with certainty that the police can't protect you. What does that tell you?"

Realization dawned on Ronnie like a bat to the knees. "You think she has an in with the CBI?"

Cho shrugged, like that wasn't the most terrifying thing he could have proposed, and reached forward to drop his hand on her shoulder. "You narrow your field of trust, you keep your head on a swivel, and you stay out of sticky situations. Promise me."

She nodded, feeling the warmth of his big hand sink through her muscles.

"Promise me, Masters." Cho's eyes pierced into hers, communicating his deadly sincerity.

"I promise, Cho." Ronnie murmured, trapped under his stare. "You know I wouldn't go with her."

Cho leaned back, drawing his arms back across his chest. "Yeah. I do. I also know you'd let yourself be killed before you ever got dragged back into that life." He got up off the table and reached for his laptop. "That's an unacceptable solution."

end of episode three