The next time Ronnie saw Jane, he was leaving a rather strange message on a teenage boy's voicemail. He and Lisbon and Rigsby had just gotten back from visiting the late Rosemary's boyfriend, a philandering hippie photographer named Jeremy. According to Lisbon, aside from the creepy vibe they'd gotten from Jeremy, all they'd found was an art studio in a room that had once been the bedroom of Rosemary's son.

Since returning to the CBI, they'd been able to speak to the daughter, who showed up to the office. Her remorse was evident. Though inconsolable, Clara was able to give some insight on her mother and brother.

That was when Jane made his phone call. "Hello, Travis. You don't know me, but my name is Patrick Jane. I'm a friend. I know you're in a little trouble right now, and I want to offer you some peace of mind. But I don't know what peace of mind means to you. It's different for everyone. For instance, I like riding horses. But would horses make you happy? I don't know. Why wouldn't horses make you happy? Go round and round in your mind until you're sure, and go to that place where you know you are happy. Then give me a call. You have my number." Jane snapped the phone shut and turned on his heel, expression satisfied.

Arms crossed over her chest, Ronnie uttered a derisive scoff. "I've never seen you around a horse even once."

Jane clicked his fingers and pointed at the confused faces of Cho and Rigsby, ignoring Ronnie. "Quick. What images came into your head?"

THE MENTALIST

The smell of hot dogs and funnel cakes made Ronnie hungry and nauseas simultaneously. She stood with Cho and Rigsby, watching Jane stare at a carousel like some kind of predator.

"All I'm saying, you can't say there's no such thing as psychics just 'cause you've never met one." Rigsby was saying.

Cho didn't even look at him, scanning the rowdy, screaming crowd around them. "You're right. I've never seen a zebra. Doesn't mean they don't exist." Always on the alert, Cho stood next to Ronnie like a bodyguard, looking peeved about standing in a carnival.

Rigsby's jaw dropped comically. "You've never seen a zebra?"

"No."

"You've never been to a zoo?"

"You know, I don't get zoos. You pay money to look at animals. Why?"

Ronnie stifled a yawn. "My mom killed a guy in a zoo once. Dumped him off the gondola."

Rigsby's jaw fell open even wider somehow. Neither man could tell if she was joking or not, and neither desired to ask.

Ronnie shivered in the evening chill.

At that moment, Cho caught sight of Clara's brother and signalled to Jane. "I'll never doubt you again."

Jane took a moment to appear insulted. "You ever doubted me?"

THE MENTALIST

Ronnie's trial ended at long last. She walked out of the court house, away from the judge, the jurors, and all their piteous eyes. She walked away from the prosecuting attorney, a stoic man named Aaron Hotchner, who built such a strong case against Carla Masters that he would have been an ideal candidate for OJ's dream team.

Ronnie liked him.

He wore his expression like Cho did and spoke to her with a firmness that didn't berate her, but it didn't coddle her either. When it came time to leave, he silently packed his briefcase and met her eyes in a hooded glance. After a long, thoughtful moment, during which she read a profound empathy in his face, Aaron gave her a single nod.

Ronnie didn't return the gesture, but it sat warmly in her heart. She watched the prosecutor silently leave the room and internally wished she could have thanked him. He'd compiled so much evidence, gathered so many testimonies, presented his case so solidly--once Carla Masters was caught, she'd never set foot on free ground again.

Ronnie could have fallen at the man's feet for that.

Breathing her own free air for the first time in months, Ronnie wandered through the park outside the courthouse, only to find Cho following her. She tucked her hands in the pockets of the Little-House-On-The-Prairie-looking skirt that they'd put her in and stared down at her white keds. "What am I supposed to do now, flip burgers?" She questioned flatly, when Cho didn't say anything.

He had no response for that line of questioning. "I just came to say goodbye." And then, as a guilty afterthought, "And good luck."

Ronnie turned and face him head-on. He looked more casual than normal, in a pair of dark wash jeans and a deep blue long-sleeved button-down. She realized he hadn't been in the courthouse.

He'd come after, on his day off, to say goodbye.

"Why?" She uttered blankly.

Cho blinked, taken aback.

"Why did you get me out? You could have had me convicted, no problem." If she truly could have seen his soul, she would have found the truth for herself. As it was, all she could do was bore her gaze into his eyes until he answered her.

Understanding that she wouldn't be content to be written off, Cho separated the hard line of his lips long enough to reply, "Being forced to grow up raised by bad people doesn't make you a bad person. I'm not."

THE MENTALIST

Cho found Ronnie the next morning frowning with intense concentration at her computer screen. When she gave no acknowledgement of him standing in front of her, Cho took the opportunity to give her a once-over.

The old-soul blonde, only seven years his younger, wasn't quite the bulldog in his eyes that she was in the eyes of others around her. It was unfair, the amount of times she got heckled for her appearance by men and women who had no right making any judgments.

Ronnie glowed in Cho's eyes.

Strong, resilient, tenacious; he'd seen older women break under circumstances less arduous than Ronnie's. He admired her, not only as a reflection of himself, but as an example of perseverance despite being given every opportunity to wave the white flag.

She was a testament to trials overcome.

"What are you so angry at?" Cho wondered, finally breaking himself out of his reflection. Her only response was to bite her lip, a sign that she wasn't ready to answer yet.

Cho gave up his verbal attempt and crossed around to stand behind her. Her screen displayed a psychological profile of Carla Masters, filed by a David Rossi of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. "Find anything interesting?" Cho wondered, leaning in to make sense of some of the shorthand.

"Some," Ronnie muttered. "I know all of this about my mother; I just didn't realize she fell into a category." Her cursor had underlined the phrase 'psychopath; dominant.'

Cho leaned back once more. "FBI never made any headway?"

"No, they did. They almost caught her. Then she apparently killed one of the special agents and presumably abducted his two daughters. They haven't been heard from since, and the trail went cold." Ronnie swiveled her chair away from her workstation. "She trafficked those girls. No telling if they're still alive or not."

THE MENTALIST

A silver sedan, dripping and covered in mud and algae, began to surface from the reservoir that Jane's new psychic friend led them to.

Cho finished getting the report from the sergeant in charge and brought his information to Lisbon, Jane, and Ronnie. "The damage to the front end is consistent with a vehicle-versus-pedestrian collision. But get this--the VIN number matches Rosemary Tennant's own registration."

Lisbon blinked, surprised. "That's her car?"

"Yeah," Cho confirmed. "Two moving violations show that Travis used the vehicle all the time." Lisbon had Van Pelt narrow down the search parameters and figure out if Jeremy or Travis did the killing.

While Jane tried once more to get the ever-naive Kristina Frye arrested, Ronnie and Cho moved off to oversee the forensics on the vehicle.

Cho was all business, sleeves rolled up, forehead deeply furrowed, notebook ready to go.

Ronnie had other things on her mind. "Cho," She whispered, coming up behind him antsily. "How did she know?" It bugged her. All the signs--except actual, physical evidence--pointed to the allegedly psychic woman. The concerning amount of knowledge she possessed regarding the case could only suggest her involvement in the murder. It was the only thing that made sense to Ronnie.

"Kristina?" Cho clarified dumbly. "She just does the same thing Jane does. Except, you know, in a cardigan."

He almost made her laugh.

"I don't like her." Ronnie whispered instead. "And Jane's really hung up on her scheme."

Finally, Cho turned awya from the car to study Ronnie. "You don't like her." He repeated flatly.

The blonde shrugged. "Nobody who's ever acted that innocent has ever actually been innocent. I mean, look how much Jane's on her case." She gestured vaguely back to the consulting mentalist and the suspicious psychic woman.

Cho squinted. His piercing eyes searched her expression, pondering something. "This is about Jane?"

Ronnie shrugged again, eyes falling back on the car. "Yeah, I guess. He's just being really intense with her. I've never seen him like that before."

Cho turned his back on her again. "Maybe he likes her."

THE MENTALIST

While Lisbon and Cho interrogated Jeremy about the use of Rosemary's own car to kill her, Ronnie stood in the observation room with Jane, watching in silence.

In the brief moment of relative peace, Jane draped his arm over her shoulders. "What do you think, kiddo? Was it him?"

Ronnie took in a calculating breath, watching the way the victim's boyfriend smugly talked about all of his other clients. "I don't know," She admitted. "He's smarmy, but I don't think he's the type to mow Rosemary down in a car. That takes a lot of rage, and I don't really see that with this guy."

A small smile toyed at Jane's lips. "I don't think it was him, either." He faced her, ignoring the interrogation entirely. "So then what's on your mind?"

She glanced at him, confused.

"You've been preoccupied this whole case. Come on, kiddo, what's up?" He nudged her playfully.

She shook her head dismissively. "Kristina bothers me. She knows so much about the case and she acts so naively innocent. I don't like it."

Jane took in a hissing breath. "Yeah. She's quite the puzzle, isn't she? Don't worry, Ronnie, we'll figure out what she's got her hands in." He poked her side with his free hand, eliciting a breathy laugh from the younger woman.

In the meantime, the interrogation had ended and Cho stepped into the observation room. His gaze fell on them, Ronnie caringly held under Jane's arm, and his other hand poking at her ribs, gleeful smiles on both their faces. He took the scene in thoughtfully, storing the information away for future reference. Ronnie rarely looked so carefree with someone other than himself.

THE MENTALIST

Patrick Jane was crying. In an empty, dark interrogation room, perched on the corner of the table, a stream of tears tracking down his face.

Ronnie saw him through the window in shock. The next thing her eyes found was Kristina, leaving the very same interrogation room with a solemn, morose look on her face.

Rage bubbled up in Ronnie's chest. Upon the conclusion of the case, the team had returned to the CBI to pack up and go home. After assisting with the charging of Clara Tennant for murdering her own mother, Kristina was supposed to be long gone, out of their lives.

Instead, she was still lurking around. Instead, she was making Patrick Jane cry.

Ronnie reached her limit. "Frye," She greeted, her tone cold and hard as stone. "Your clearance in the building has expired. You want to tell me what you're doing?"

The mousy woman blinked innocently. "I was only trying to offer Mr. Jane some closure. I didn't mean--"

"Have a good night, Miss Frye." Ronnie gestured to the elevator.

"Of course, thank you." Kristina shuffled down the hallway and then stopped. "Only--" She faced Ronnie. "Before I go, you should know: I can see your mother when I look at you."

The words hit Ronnie like a slap.

Her shoulders stiffened, traps rising as though in preparation for body checking the woman before her.

"She's coming to find you."

[end of episode seven]