"Morning everybody," Lisbon swept into the room with a breeze that smelled faintly of rose-hips.

A dash of rouge on her cheeks and lips caught Ronnie's eye.

Casting a surveying glance around the CBI bullpen to ensure her team was wholly present, the delicately statured supervisory agent lifted her cellphone indicatively. "I just got a call from Minelli, new case just came in. Victim's a junior vice president of some fancy company in town. Jane, Cho, you're with me. Masters, you're going to stay and meet with an FBI liaison who's coming in later to consult. Evidently there was a pretty pricey painting involved in the incident, and the fed is some kind of an art expert."

Distractedly, Ronnie flashed a thumbs up and sipped from her coffee as Cho dragged himself from his chair, tugging his jacket from the back of his seat. He moved with barely a hitch in his stride as the injury that Ronnie had accidentally inflicted on him barely two weeks ago was finally beginning to heal.

He paused at Ronnie's elbow as Jane scooted past him and hurried after Lisbon. Dropping two fingertips to the scratched surface of her desk, Cho gave her black coffee a long hard look. "Have you eaten breakfast?"

The greasy counter of stale bagels and goopy oatmeal in the lobby of the hotel she'd been staying at flashed to mind. "Yeah, no, that continental breakfast is an affront to my palate."

Cho's eyes rolled and his lips pursed to a flat line. "Ronnie, we've talked about this."

Abruptly, Rigsby muttered something about needing to grab a yogurt and promptly fled the bullpen.

Leaning in from the hallway, Lisbon waved an impatient hand. "Cho, let's go."

Ronnie swatted her partner's hand away from her desk. "You're being paternal, Cho. I'll order lunch in a couple of hours."

His eyebrows lowered, dark irises darting back and forth between her eyes as though one of them would twitch and give away her lie. "Are you still punishing yourself?"

Jaw tensing, the blonde gestured to where Lisbon still stood waiting. "I fully plan on eating, Cho. You're gonna be doing Lisbon's personal errands if you keep keeping her waiting."

"Fine." Cho jerked on his jacket and leaned away from the woman's desk. "We'll be back soon." Posture stiff, he stalked out of the bullpen, right past Lisbon.

The boss hooked a thumb back towards Cho. "He okay?"

Ronnie lifted her coffee again. "Oh he's fine, I'm just on his nerves again."

"You must have a frequent flyer punch card by now." Lisbon combed her fingers through her hair and fluffed some of her ends in her reflection in the glass.

Chancing another sip at the scalding beverage, Ronnie shrugged one shoulder. "Only two more for a free coffee."

Lisbon took one last second to fold down her collar. "Please, Masters." She ran a smoothing hand down the front of her shirt. "We both know Cho buys you coffee every morning."

The insinuation in her tone might as well have been blasting through a megaphone. Ronnie found her cheeks heating at the suggestion, shocked by the innuendo in her superior's twinkling eyes.

"Not every morning," the words fell out like they tripped over each other. Her face flamed hotter.

Lisbon scoffed and practically swaggered away. "Van Pelt's not the only one in denial, I see."

As Ronnie hid her face in one hand, humiliated by the inappropriate suggestion of her boss, Van Pelt pranced into the bullpen with a rosy smile painted across her doll-like features.

"What am I in denial about?"

the MENTALIST

Roughly thirty minutes after half the team left to investigate the crime scene of the junior VP's apparent murder, Ronnie got paged from the CBI lobby.

Soon she found herself downstairs, shaking hands with a warm-mannered man who spoke with the slightest southern drawl.

"Ronnie Masters, I'm on Agent Lisbon's homicide unit." She couldn't help but notice the appealing transformation of his face when he smiled.

"Agent Masters, how do you do. Such a pleasure to meet you, I'm Marcus Pike—FBI Art Squad, Austin, Texas HQ." He carried a briefcase that perfectly matched his dark blue suit and tie.

Someone could create an infographic of the standard issue FBI agent with his photograph alone.

Suited stiff or not, Ronnie appreciated the way he held eye contact with her as he spoke rather than taking in her brutish figure and remarking upon it rudely as many men (and women) in her profession were wont to do.

"What brings you to sunny Sacramento, Agent Pike?" Ronnie observed his CBI guest pass and gestured for him to follow her to the elevator.

Politely allowing her to enter first, Agent Pike shuffled through some amusing facial expressions. "A recipe for disaster, actually; one of the ingredients for which being the reason I requested you as my liaising agent, as it happens."

The elevator began its slow ascent through the building as Agent Pike went on. "The case your team is currently working not only regards the unfortunate case of Mr. Harry Lashley's untimely death—"

"Murder."

"Of course, very tragically so—but it also regards the Carlotta Moro."

Ronnie raised one eyebrow, still waiting for the part where he told her why he'd requested her specifically. She knew nothing about art—art generally confused her senses rather than stimulating them. "I'm assuming that's the painting that was involved in the murder."

Agent Pike pointed a rewarding finger to her. "Exactly. It's an Italian renaissance piece. Very rare, one of the only known works of one Sienese Master. Owned by various high profile individuals, trickled down through the market, and was recently purchased by your victim's boss, A. P. Caid for fifty million dollars."

"Fifty million dollars for a Siamese painting?" Ronnie still didn't get the connection.

The elevator doors dinged open and she led the way to the kitchen.

Pike matched her stride, laughing softly under his breath. "Sienese Master. A very talented 14th century artist. The Moro was stolen from Caid's office during the event of Lashley's murder."

Ronnie put on a pot of coffee and gestured for Pike to take a seat at the table. "I'm under the impression that art gets stolen all the time. What makes this California incident a federal one?"

The latches of Pike's briefcase thudded loudly as he unlocked it and withdrew a slim laptop. "That's where you come in."

"I definitely have nothing to do with a fifty million dollar art heist."

"I had no intention of suggesting otherwise, Agent Masters." Pike's smile shifted to a smirking half grin, and then spun the laptop to face her. "I've heard you had some experiences with this fella, though."

Ronnie's gut clenched.

The picture of the glowering, hardened blond man on the screen brought back dozens of memories of trade deals and meetings between him and her mother.

"Arlov." The name dropped from her tongue like a lead weight.

Pike watched her expression tighten. "I understand your mother had extensive history with him. I'm assuming you were present for some of it."

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she forced her eyes away from the face in the picture. "Not for a long time, but yes. He and she were long time associates, if you can call them that."

Pike took his laptop back with gentle movements. "I had no intention of bringing back bad memories or making this difficult for you, Agent Masters. I was only hoping you could help me gain some insight. Arlov is quite the connoisseur of renaissance art and I've been chasing his unconventional curating methods for months. When I heard that my case would be intersecting with yours this morning, I jumped at the chance to meet you."

Ronnie's mouth was dry. "To meet me."

Pike's eyes widened fractionally at her reaction. "I've been trying to slow this guy's roll for months. He's finally here in LA, but he's got a diplomatic passport. You can't touch him and I can't touch him. But you used to have connections. Relationships. I'm hoping I can pick your brain a little."

Standing, Ronnie went to the coffee maker and poured him a cup. "I'm happy to do what I can, but my mother only trusted me with so much."

Pike accepted the mug with the warmest smile. "Very glad to be working with you, Agent Masters."

An hour later, Jane popped into the kitchen and placed a styrofoam container down before Ronnie. "I overheard you say you haven't eaten yet so I brought you eggs from Garrity's. That head of security's a hound dog for sure, but he knows how to find good eggs."

the MENTALIST

"Masters," Cho strode in half an hour after Jane dropped off breakfast, heading straight for the coffee.

Lisbon's taunts from earlier came to mind at the appearance of the surly CBI agent. Ronnie watched him cross the kitchen curiously. "Hey. Pike, this is Agent Cho. Cho, Agent Pike, FBI."

Cho extended a polite hand in greeting, which Pike shook readily.

"Yeah, Lisbon said someone from Art Squad would be helping cover the art angle. Good to meet you." Cho glanced over the document spread on the table.

Pike smoothed his tie down as he took his seat again, shrugging humbly. "I've been telling Agent Masters that you're all helping me far more than I'm helping you. Your investigation into Harry Lashley's murder is going well, I hope?"

Cho leaned against the counter, eyes flashing to Ronnie before nodding mildly. "We're looking into the company owner right now. Caid was also Lashley's father in law. Jane and Lisbon have gone to talk to the victim's wife."

He gave a brief recount of their experience at Caid's office, detailing Jane's prediction that the murder had been unplanned and possibly an accident, and that the head of security had been where he shouldn't have been and interfered with the crime scene.

While Pike had been enraptured with the details, particularly those regarding the disappeared painting, Ronnie had been leaning over the table with her face in her hands, all but bored.

Thoughts of her mother's endless reach filled her head and left room for nothing else.

"Did you eat?" Cho's voice pierced the distracting veil of her thoughts.

Gesturing to the styrofoam on the counter, she nodded with a small smile. "Jane brought me eggs."

Cho watched her quietly for a long second, and then set down his cup. "Agent Pike, do you mind if I borrow Masters for a quick word?"

Pike stood amiably without further prompting. "Of course. I'll check in with the Art Squad. Back in a bit."

He left the kitchen absolutely silent in his absence. His laptop still sat wide open and humming on the table, no concern for operational integrity or professional privacy.

Ronnie couldn't understand not being plagued by mind numbing paranoia in their line of work.

Her attention slid to Cho, who was watching the FBI agent's retreating figure.

"You're borrowing me?"

"He seems nice." Cho responded evasively.

"He's very nice. What's up, Cho?"

"Jane brought you eggs?"

"Yes, Cho, he's the office Santa Clause. What is up with you?"

Cho crossed his arms over his chest, wincing slightly at the tug of his stitches. "I know you're still punishing yourself, Masters."

Guilt knotted in her chest. "I shot you, Cho, why shouldn't I feel bad about that?"

"It was a matter of psychological conditioning, not something you should blame yourself for." He held her gaze for a long moment before looking at the gash on her arm from her mother's knife.

"I'm none too thrilled that she still has that hold on me, and I'm even less thrilled that she was successful in getting me to shoot you. Cho, she told me to shoot you and I did. How does that make me a reformed, law enforcing citizen?" Her paper takeout coffee cup crumpled in her hand.

"Healing takes time. I still trust you."

Ronnie scoffed. "You shouldn't. I can't even trust myself at the moment. Don't play the fool."

"Ronnie, it wasn't your fault —"

"Marcus and I need to get back to work, Cho. Why don't you go take Rigsby for a walk?"