"Can I ask you a personal question?" Grace peered across the table at Ronnie through auburn eyelashes and tipped back a swig of her beer.
Ronnie let her elbows rest on the bar and tapped her short nails against the lowball glass of club soda. Drinking sixteen ounces of sugar and carbohydrates only to feel it sit like a rot in her gut and send her crashing into a heavy night's sleep hadn't been an appetizing thought, so she'd ordered non-alcoholic.
If that's what Grace was asking about, she didn't know if she felt comfortable admitting that she wasn't drinking because she needed to stay alert and clear-headed.
Her eyes flashed to Cho, who had his own beer but had barely touched it. His eyebrows climbed at her glance, but all he did was roll his sleeves up past his elbows.
Ronnie liked when he did that.
Finally, unable to see herself getting away with pretending Grace hadn't said anything, the muscular blonde nodded nonchalantly. "Shoot."
The newer agent seems to be having trouble getting the words out delicately. "We've all heard stories about your mom," Grace paused, and shot her eyes over to Cho to make sure he's not warning her off of continuing.
But he was only listening in silence, so she went on. "But I've never heard anything about your dad."
Ronnie sipped her soda, not breaking eye contact with the redhead. "I do have one. My mother wasn't the Virgin Mary."
Cho snorted into his beer and finally took a drink, though Ronnie would soon notice that it was the first and the last time that night that he drank any of it.
A blush rose in Grace's cheeks and she laughed softly, shaking her head and playing with the label on her bottle. "No, I mean..." her big, sincere eyes bore into Ronnie's. "Is he like her? Did you have a relationship with him?"
Ronnie felt Cho's stare burning into the side of her face as he waited for her answer.
They both seemed to expect her to be overcome by some sea of emotion at the mention of her parents, and she grasped for some kind of feeling within herself, but as she considered what she knew of her dad she felt only blankness. "Who can say?"
Grace frowned in confusion, but a dreading realization seemed to seep in around the edges. "What do you mean?"
"Carla has spent a hundred nights with a hundred different guys. My dad could be anyone from a cop to a trafficker. I doubt that even she knows which misadventure I was born of."
the MENTALIST
She hated her apartment.
She hated going back to her apartment.
She hated sleeping in it.
Ronnie could barely remember how she felt when, so few years ago, she'd found the tiny space in the nice part of town, with halls that didn't smell like cigarette smoke and a parking lot that didn't smell like human waste. She couldn't believe her luck to find a place so nice that she could actually afford.
All of the pride and accomplishment for renting and paying for her own personal living space had disappeared the moment Carla announced her presence in it.
No longer was she gaining independence by having her own home; instead she felt like a mouse that had taken up residence in its own trap, just waiting for the spring to fly.
After leaving the bar and parting ways with Cho and Van Pelt, Ronnie straddled her bike and spent the entire 15-minute drive home to psych herself into actually going inside and going to bed.
Upon arriving, she first checked with the cops stationed outside to let them know she was going up and that she hoped they both knew she appreciated their work in case she died in her sleep.
They thought she was hilarious.
She went upstairs and let herself into her flat. After checking to make sure she was undoubtedly alone, the first thing she did was turn on the tv to give herself something to listen to beyond the wild pounding of her own heart.
With an old episode of "Murder, She Wrote" playing in the background, Ronnie made herself a quick dinner of lemon pepper chicken and rice before sitting herself at her breakfast bar to eat.
She checked her phone, seeing a text from Cho.
"If you're all good for the night, I'm headed to bed."
He'd been nothing short of mothering since the break in a few nights before. Any time she had to be in her apartment alone, he let her know without a doubt that he was on call for her.
She typed back a quick "Goodnight Cho" and went back to her dinner. With the dramatic music playing from the tv in the background, Ronnie settled into her seat and tried to focus on her food.
Her phone dinged again. It was a text from Jane.
"Everything going okay?"
She appreciated the check-in. "All good thanks."
If Cho was mother, Jane was father. They weren't much of a squad but they definitely tag-teamed being concerned about her.
Ronnie turned her phone over but didn't turn off her notification sounds.
"Honey,"
The slithering voice sounded close to her ear.
Bolting up, Ronnie spun to face her mother, ignoring the way her fork and plate got shoved off the counter. Heart pounding wildly, she found herself face to face with the absolute bane of her existence.
The woman smiled through chipped teeth. "It's time to come home."
Ronnie instantly reached for both her personal weapon and her handcuffs. "I am home, and you're trespassing."
Carla stepped back with a thrilled smile. "Veronica, please. You don't belong on this side of the law. They have so many rules—so many little slaps on the wrist. Even before I started dipping out of your paycheck, it was a pathetically low amount."
Ronnie's brain exploded. "You've been doing what?"
Carla blinked, actually surprised. "You're telling me you don't compare your deposit to your actual pay stub? I pull half of your check bimonthly, baby. Gotta buy my cigarettes, you know."
Ronnie could have cried. No wonder Cho seemed surprised by how much she struggled financially. "I'll be suing you for all of that back plus interest."
Carla spread her hands unapologetically. "You have to arrest me and charge me for that, actually."
Ronnie yanked out her handcuffs. "No problem."
Carla moved back again, laughing that time. "Honey come on. Don't you remember how it was? No less than five thousand for every job? No consequences for backing a man out of your space however you wanted to? Calling your own shots? Wasn't that so much better than this? I mean, you pay rent and let people spit in your face."
Ronnie screwed up her face in confusion. "When did I ever take home a dime? Or call my own shots?"
Her mother laughed, almost looking embarrassed. "Baby, you're being dramatic. You always had food. You always had freedom. You always had clothes."
"Wow, when you put it like that—"
"I need you, Veronica. My right hand, my strength, my—"
"Your shield? Your battering ram? Your lure? If I had the promise of freedom without consequences, the first thing I would do is rid myself of you." Ronnie surged forward, pressing her mother into the counter with a quick movement, pulling her hands around behind her back.
"I have always loved you, Veronica." Carla wasn't concerned by the handcuffs moving her way. She slipped one wrist free from Ronnie's grasp and drew a knife from her belt, slashing it into her daughter's arm. "Everything I did, I did for your personal growth."
Reeling back, Ronnie held her bleeding arm in one hand, gasping. "My personal growth?"
The knife turned in Carla's hand, secured in an underhand grip, glinting in the light of the kitchen. "I want you to come with me, Veronica. But if I can't have you —no one can."
The moment she launched herself at her daughter, Ronnie's front door flew open, slamming into the wall.
Cho came barreling into the room, colliding with Carla before she could reach Ronnie. They both hit the ground with a crash that would definitely have awoken the neighbors.
"Ronnie, cuffs!" He called from where he had her mother pinned to the carpet.
By the time Ronnie had tossed the cuffs to him, Carla had jabbed him in the side with the knife, loosening his hold. She wrestled with him until she could get to her knees, but against Cho's strength she wasn't gaining much ground.
She managed to slice him shallowly across the face before he knocked the knife from her grasp and had both of her wrists in his hands.
"Veronica, shoot him!" Carla snapped.
The gunshot exploded before Ronnie realized it was from the gun in her hands. Her brain seemed to flip, muscle memory from hearing Carla's voice giving way to absolute horror as she realized what she'd done.
Cho grunted and fell to the side. His gaze turned to Ronnie as she dropped the gun in shock.
"Police Department show me your hands!"
The protection units from downstairs had caught up. The two officers surged into the room, taking Carla immediately into custody.
She didn't resist.
By the smug look on her face, she knew she'd already won.