the MENTALIST
"The case records show that Carla Masters had a unique relationship with Arlov. He used her to either steal or secure purchase of various renaissance art pieces, but I can't tell what she would have brokered in return from him." Agent Pike returned the moment Cho left the kitchen.
Ronnie leaned on her elbows. "He has a lot of money and manpower behind him. She would use his men as security when she was getting a little too high profile for comfort." Anxiety wormed its way up her stomach to nest in her chest and throat.
Shirali Arlov, one of her mother's oldest associates, had been in either the background or foreground of many of Ronnie's worst memories. His men were soulless thugs and he himself was little better.
"So he was involved in the trafficking?" Pike's eyebrows rose, like he couldn't believe that the art thief he'd been tracking for months was also in the business of selling human beings.
Breathing deeply to quell the choke hold of her memories, Ronnie shook her head. That was one concern she could put to rest. "No. If he had anything going for him, it's that he found Carla's trade barbaric. He knew she trafficked, and he'd use what access she had to get her to steal from some of her marks, but he only dealt with her personally. He always asked that she keep her business to the side when they had to work together."
"So it was Carla's personal endeavors that he helped with." Pike guessed.
"He helped her with money and connections. Carla's trade was costly and staying under the radar to do it meant having relationships. He helped her stay invisible." Ronnie could think of a number of meetings between them. He'd introduce Carla to diplomats and businessmen, other well-to-do crime lords and drug runners.
He'd always been resourceful.
He'd never been kind.
"I believe something similar probably happened with Harry Lashley." Pike passed Ronnie an image of the Moro. The background features were in calming earth tones, sky and pasture, rolling hills, a distant structure, far off horsemen. The spotlight of the painting, however, was a seated woman in a gown of emerald green. "The painting was stolen and hasn't appeared yet for any ransom, which tells me it was procured by someone who either wanted it for himself, or had a private buyer in mind. Arlov is just the man for this painting, and I don't believe it's a coincidence that he's been in town for exactly three days."
"Arlov wouldn't have pulled this off himself. Someone stole it for him." Ronnie set the image down and leaned back. "He's a Russian oil baron and top dog monster. He doesn't do his own dirty work. He's probably partying right now." She could just picture him in his hillside California home, overlooking the vineyards out his window with a dozen gorgeous women milling around him.
Pike passed her another image. "This is the Primavera; or, the Allegory of Spring."
The snapshot of the painting showed nine characters in a dark wooded area, all displayed in energetic positions, depicted full of color. Ronnie had never seen it before.
"Four months ago, a man stole the Primavera from a private art collection where he worked. Three days later I found it in the east wing of Arlov's mansion. He'd sponsored the theft and paid for the painting from the comfort of his private jet. I believe he's done the same thing here." Pike loosened his tie and took the image back, slipping it into his briefcase.
"You got into Arlov's mansion?" Impressed, Ronnie gave him another once over.
Slender, broad shoulders, strong hands, quiet disposition. She could see him doing infiltration work, but she wouldn't have guessed that he would be that brave in Russia.
Pike's lips curled in a humble smile. "Not quite. I got close enough to one of his housekeepers to fix a camera to her person. I got photographic evidence, but he still has the painting. Priceless piece of renaissance art."
"And you can't get it because of the diplomatic immunity." Ronnie guessed.
Her FBI counterpart lifted his hands in a helpless shrug. "State department won't let me touch him. But I'm guessing you know where his current hideout is."
Silence ticked past.
He looked so devious, like victory was so close he could taste it. The playful twinkle in his dark eyes was aimed right at her with the intention of sucking her into his manhunt adventure.
She had a vision of him sweeping her into his plans, his fanciful aspirations of recovering dozens of infamous and invaluable paintings.
She also saw herself out on the streets, out of a job because she openly defied the Secretary of State.
"I think it's time we take a quick break, how about you?"
the MENTALIST
"For you, my dear!" Jane intercepted her on her way out of the building in search of fresh air. His bright, beaming smile stopped her in her tracks, as did the cluster of bouquets in his arms. Sprays of sunflowers and zinnias in one hand, baskets of strawberries in the other, he looked like he'd fallen out of Mr. McGreggor's garden.
Stock-still, Ronnie gaped as he pushed a bouquet and a basket of fruit in her hands. "What—Jane what is this? Why are you giving me this?"
Just then, Van Pelt came out of the elevator, expression severely tight, a huge art portfolio in her grasp. She stalked past them without a word.
Jane popped a strawberry in his mouth and practically glowed. He threw a newly empty arm around Ronnie's shoulders and balanced the other bouquet and basket in his other. "They're for you! Grace and I went to this lovely little farm town to track one of Caid's larger deposits, and, what do you know, they're right in the middle of a farmer's market. I brought fruit and flowers for you and Lisbon." He lightly shook the other bouquet. "Think she'll like them?"
Flowers for Lisbon.
She wasn't the slightest bit surprised. "That's very sweet, Jane, thanks. Nothing for Grace?"
He squeezed her arm with a self-pleased grin. "I bought her lunch. She didn't want flowers. Still a little sour at me, I think." He led Ronnie into the bullpen despite her pleas to be released.
"Sour? Why sour?" Rigsby looked up from his computer as Van Pelt slammed the portfolio case down on the round table.
"No reason." She turned on her heel and stormed to the kitchen, completely ignoring the appearance of Pike.
"Oh, we put on a little ruse for an art forger. Seems she didn't quite enjoy being my fiancé." Jane gave an innocent little shrug and another sweet smile.
"Fiancé?" Rigsby demanded. "Why were you her fiancé?"
The sound of the refrigerator slamming preluded Van Pelt's return. "Why else? So he could offend me and the forger and snoop while we didn't miss him." She peeled the top off of a yogurt drink and downed the entire thing in one swallow. "I told you not to do that."
Cho appeared at Ronnie's elbow, eyes pinned to the colorful gifts in her hands. "Where did you get that?" His eyes flashed suspiciously to the FBI agent.
"You spoke with an art forger?" Pike asked, announcing his presence.
Jane flitted to the table and proudly tapped the art case. "The forger who created the insurance duplicates of the Moro. Lovely work, wonderful artist. He's very good. We've got a half sketch of Grace if anybody wants to see."
"No." She snapped, and yanked the paper out of his hands. Her eyes were practically on fire with rage.
"Jane gave them to me," Ronnie lifted the sunflowers and zinnias to her nose and breathed in the sweetest, freshest scent of sun-warmed flowers. It was almost as good as getting some air outside.
Cho's expression scrunched in confusion.
"Thought they might brighten up your drab hotel room." Jane explained with a dismissive wave. "And besides, every pretty girl deserves pretty flowers. Right, Grace? I tried to get you some."
"Bite me, Jane." Van Pelt threw herself down in her desk chair, grinding her teeth. "I hate it when you embarrass me."
Jane pressed an earnest hand to his heart. "I am sorry, Grace. If it helps, it really was quite lovely to be your fiancé for five minutes."
Rigsby bristled. "What does that mean?"
Ronnie completely forgot her anxiety at the sight of Rigsby's raving jealousy.
Beside her, Pike couldn't help but chuckle. "Your team is really great."
She sniffed her flowers again. "They're the best."
Cho plunked himself down at his desk. He dumped six Advil into his hand and tossed them back without a chaser.
the MENTALIST
"Ronnie, dear."
She jumped at the sound of Jane's voice, nearly burning herself on the edge of the slow cooker.
On cases where the team stayed late at the office, it wasn't uncommon to throw some ingredients in the slow cooker and eat at their desks instead of buying out constantly.
Lisbon felt it saved money and contributed to their combined mental health as a group of relationship-broke individuals who never had time to have home cooked meals.
"What's up?" Ronnie dumped a can of tomato sauce into the mixture. "Burritos for dinner. Ready in a couple hours." She licked a bit of sauce off her finger, dumped the trash in the garbage, and washed her hands.
When she turned to face Jane, he was appraising her from head to toe with a gleaming smile.
"Stop looking at me like that, you look like a predator." Her hands itched to clasp around her weapon and put the fear of God in him, but she also knew that Jane was the last person to unironically take advantage of a woman.
Jane shook himself and glided forward to take her hand. "Ronnie. Dear Ronnie."
Suspicion put her on edge. Her eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"
The smile he gave her did nothing to reassure.
the MENTALIST
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." Cho deadpanned. He crossed his arms over his chest.
Nearby, Pike seemed to have other ideas. "Actually, I'm pretty sure it would work. It's exactly the kind of reason that I came here in the first place."
Jane threw his hands up in victory, gesturing gratefully to Pike.
Also listening in on the ill conceived plan, Rigsby gave a shrug. "Sounds workable to me. It can't be too dangerous if none of us are allowed to touch each other."
"Yeah, because nobody is allowed to touch each other." Cho shot back.
"He means legally, Cho." Jane interrupted. "And yes, Arlov has diplomatic immunity and we're not allowed to approach him as officers, which is why this plan is going to work." His head swiveled to look at Ronnie again. "What do you say, Ronnie? You have all the leverage."
Uncomfortable for what must have been the hundredth time that day, the young woman felt her hands clench at her sides. "I don't know, Jane. I'm not really the type for this." She wasn't the type to put on a pretty dress and play the beautiful woman. That was Van Pelt's role.
"No, you're not." Cho agreed bluntly. "And you're crazy if you plan on agreeing to going in unarmed."
Jane stepped in excitedly. "Pike will be armed. He's going in as her bodyguard, which gives him the perfect excuse to be by her side at every step. You'll come in later, Cho, to get the real painting."
Pike nodded, sliding one hand into his pocket. "She wouldn't be in danger, even if some kind of fight broke out."
Ronnie appreciated their concern, though part of her genuinely longed to physically and violently brawl with Arlov and his men.
"Yeah, no offense, but who are you?" Cho demanded, turning on Pike. "We don't know you. I'll go in as the bodyguard."
"He has to verify the authenticity of the painting, Cho." Ronnie shot back. "What's wrong with you?"
Pike touched her arm with a gentle finger before retracting his hand. "It's alright, Masters, he's got a right to be concerned. I know there have been rumors circulating about Carla having people inside law enforcement. I can assure you my only interest is the art."
Dissatisfied, Cho had him pinned with a flat stare ever since he began speaking.
Ronnie waved him off. She turned to Jane. "I'll do it."
the MENTALIST
The woman in the mirror was a stranger.
Ronnie couldn't believe she was looking at herself.
She couldn't believe she was looking at herself and believing the cover — beautiful woman in a black dress.
Her tall, muscular frame stood wrapped in a tight black turtleneck dress. The gown hugged the pale slopes of her throat, curling over the strong mounds of her shoulders. The long sleeves came to an angle over the top of her hand and looped around her middle finger, lengthening the appearance of her arms and making her thick triceps appear strong and dignified rather than chunky and brutish.
The black fabric ran over the curves of her chest, the gentle slant of her waist, over the thick slopes of her hips and thighs, creating a length to her figure that was not afforded by most two piece suits that she wore to work. A slit started on one side at mid thigh, allowing one muscular leg to slide in and out of the dress as she moved.
She looked Amazonian.
After spending so long thinking she'd look like a man stuffed into a dress, Ronnie examined the way the structure of the garment highlighted the curves of her chest and ass rather than her biceps, and realized that the woman in the mirror before her was nothing short of feminine.
Glowing with her own appraisal, Ronnie slipped into some heels that made her dress floor length instead of draping over it, and donned some delicate silver jewelry.
"Knock knock," Van Pelt's voice called.
Ronnie opened the door and let her in, putting some finishing touches on the smokey makeup that she'd applied.
"Oh. Wow." Van Pelt stopped short at the sight of the woman in her bathroom. "Ronnie, you look incredible."
Ears tingeing red with a pleased blush, Ronnie chuckled nervously. "It's not so bad, right?"
Grace stepped into the bathroom and plugged in the hair straightener. "No, it's great. Honestly, it looks better on you than it does on me."
Shaking her head dismissively, Ronnie straightened an edge of her lipstick. "Not at all. Thanks for letting me borrow it."
"Of course. Sit down, let me do your hair."
the MENTALIST
Rigsby whistled, and then caught the fist that swung at his gut in response.
"What? You look amazing." He sat down on Van Pelt's couch and pointed to the kitchen. "They're in there."
Jane, Cho, and Pike stood around the table in Van Pelt's kitchen, hammering out the finer details of the plan once more as Ronnie and Grace entered.
Jane turned first. "Ronnie. Look at you; I'm almost intimidated." He gave her a fond smile, his eyes flashing suddenly to Cho.
But it was Pike who approached her, looking her up and down with an awed smile while Cho stood behind him watching, his expression never changing.
"You look amazing," Pike complimented. "This is perfect." He wore a black suit, with tactical boots instead of dress shoes. "We'll pull this off perfectly, what did I tell you?"
Ronnie accepted his compliments graciously and then couldn't help but look to Cho to see what he thought. Her partner, her friend, her closest companion, surely he must have some thoughts on the first dress he'd ever seen her wear.
Cho's eyes traced every angle of her, his mouth tightly pinched. When he saw her watching, he turned to Jane. "This won't work. If she walks in like that, Arlov won't buy it for a second."
Jane threw his hands up. "What are you talking about? She's perfect."
Shoulders tightening, Cho hooked a thumb back at his partner. "Unless she worked as an escort for her mother, Arlov will never buy the disguise. Look at her, she looks like the bodyguard. It's never going to work."
Well, that hurt way more than Ronnie expected it to.
When Pike glanced at her, startled, he saw the way her eyebrows settled lowly over her sharply painted eyes and the hardness in her mouth at the words of her teammate.
The FBI agent put a comforting hand on her arm and felt her muscles clench at his touch. "No, really, I think this is perfect. She looks amazing—" he tried, only to be silenced by Cho's annoyed stare.
Jane waved his hands. "Yes, I agree. Ronnie is flawless for this part and she looks perfect. Let's get going, shall we? Cho?" He gestured for the team to make their way to the door, which they did, one by one, until it was just himself and Ronnie.
She forced her muscles to relax, jaw working angrily. Cho's words had shaken her confidence. Fighting not to be embarrassed, she turned to the mentalist. "Is he right? Do I look like a hooker?"
Jane's expression softened and he took her gently by the arms. "Sweetheart, you look beautiful. You look like a badass. Be confident and Arlov will be putty in your hands."
She sucked in a calming dress. "He's mad about having to be sidelined, right?"
Shrugging one shoulder mysteriously, Jane shrugged. "That, and other things. Cho is on your side, alright? Don't worry too much about it." Jane pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek and then brushed his thumb over the skin to blend the makeup back to perfection. "Go out there and be the boss. Just remember— 'she is beautiful' is our signal. We'll be listening in."
"Pike has the fake?"
"But of course. Shall we go?"
the MENTALIST
"Veronica Masters for Mr. Arlov, please."
The guard on the other side of the door looked her over darkly and then examined Pike, who stood behind her with his hands clasped before him. "Who's he?"
"My security. Please tell Mr. Arlov I'm here." Ronnie returned snidely, pulling her shoulders back to lengthen her spine.
Be the boss. Be the boss. Ignore the memories.
Seconds later the door opened, admitting them entrance.
The guard's eyes coasted over her leg when it came out of her dress to step over the threshold. "This way," he ordered gruffly, turning on his heel and marching through the house.
Music boomed from every direction and feminine peals of laughter sounded from nearly every room. Women, gorgeous and scantily clad, draped themselves over every surface and floated through each room, entertaining dozens of Arlov's men.
Ronnie glided after the guard without a single glance to her surroundings. Pike followed sturdily after her, casting his gaze in all directions, his hand pressed firmly to the front of his jacket.
The man who greeted them sent Ronnie's heart to her toes.
Shirali Arlov stood from his chair at her entrance, his creeping gaze sweeping up and down her form. His eyes rested momentarily on the more feminine curves of her body before flicking back to her face.
She could remember his slithering voice in her ear, his warm hands on her skin, his harsh strikes to her face in the reminiscence of her mind.
"Veronica Masters," his Russian accent met her ears like she'd stepped back in time. "Look how you've grown up. You're all woman now."
Ronnie forced confidence to ebb from every pore. "Arlov." She extended an elegant hand and wondered if he would take it.
He did, and dropped moist lips to graze her knuckles. "My, my, you are stunning." He observed her once more. "Your mother has created quite the powerful force in you, hasn't she?"
Ronnie took her hand back, a condescending smile curling her lips. "My mother is out of the picture. I'm hoping that won't be a problem."
Arlov gestured for her to sit. "What do you have in mind?" His eyes traced her face hungrily. "I must say, I never expected you to grace my doorway."
Dismissing his offer, Ronnie took in the room. "Let's walk, shall we? This conversation would be better suited to a more private venue."
There was no hesitation. Arlov gestured to a hallway and stood aside for her to pass in front of him. "Please, after you. You may leave your guard, there are plenty of refreshments and women to keep him occupied as we speak."
Ronnie met his eyes unflinchingly. "He stays with me."
Only then did Arlov pause. He studied Pike for a long second, who stood under his gaze unwaveringly. At last, the Russian turned and put a hand to Ronnie's lower back. "You know, it was not so long ago that you were in his place, following your mother's every step. I envied her security detail being someone so young and...strong."
Checking to see that Pike was following them down the hall, Ronnie lifted her chin. "Then you'll understand how seriously we Masters take our matters of security."
Arlov's hand drifted lower ever so slightly, but he didn't seem to notice her stiffening under his touch. "I'm assuming you've come to propose a partnership."
He took them to the end of one hall and down another, until the booming music faded to a distant drone.
Ronnie launched into a false business proposition, weaving in details from her mother's old deals and names that they knew mutually, until she'd caught Arlov up in the details of a scheme that Jane and Pike had invented over Van Pelt's kitchen table.
Soon enough she had him wrapped around her finger, promising she could procure for him a valuable 14th century original in return for some of his financing and connections.
Arlov's eyes sparkled with greed. "You know I've just come into possession of one of my favorites."
Privately triumphant, Ronnie narrowed his eyes. "Do we have a deal, Arlov?"
At her disinterest, Arlov pushed a door open, and there it was. Hung on a wall, in the spotlight of a projector lamp, the Moro stood before them in all her glory.
"Would you like to see?" Arlov boasted. "It's the finest piece of my collection."
"And I can broaden your collection. Do we have a deal or shall I take my business elsewhere?" Ronnie demanded flatly.
Arlov nodded for her to enter the room. "Come and see it. It really is a thing of beauty."
Ronnie fixed him with an irritated stare, and then finally stepped into the room after him. As she approached the painting, Arlov's hand swept over her rear for the smallest instant before gesturing to the painting like he'd done nothing.
Behind them, Pike stood against a wall silently.
Ronnie could barely hear as Arlov launched into a diatribe on the intricacies of the painting, her heart racing with nerves. He leaned in close to her, arm falling over her waist again.
She smoothly stepped out of his grasp, peering closer at the painting before uttering the words she'd been dying to say. "She is beautiful."
A fire alarm shrieked through the mansion.
Jerking to attention, Arlov bolted to the hallway, watching his guests fall into chaos. He urged Ronnie to wait while he investigated, and then dashed from the room.
As soon as he was gone, Pike moved forward, drawing a rolled up parchment from his jacket. "Boy, that guy is just as slimy as I thought." He muttered.
Watching the door, Ronnie waited for Cho's appearance and prayed that Arlov wouldn't beat him back. "Yeah this is actually my nicest encounter with him."
As he swapped the real painting with the fake one, Pike glanced back at her. "Seriously? Because there was some rather uninvited touching happening."
The ghost sensation of Arlov's hand on her ass didn't even compare to the vile memory of his touch in the past. "Seriously. This was nice and tame."
Pike sauntered back, having successfully collected the real Moro. "That's highly disturbing."
Arlov was coming back. Ronnie ducked back into the room as he came surging down the hall.
Carefully sliding the genuine article into his jacket, Pike pulled Ronnie away from the door, his hands on her arms. "If he looks closely at the painting he'll see it's fake right away," he had to put his lips to her ear to be heard over the blaring fire alarm.
"Will he look at it right now?" She wondered, hearing footsteps pound closer.
"He will if he has any suspicion of you whatsoever." Pike's hand moved to her waist. "I'm going to kiss you." His other hand curled around the nape of her neck, eyes flicking over her lips before settling back on hers. "Don't kick me."
His words settled in too late for her to react to them.
Pike lowered his face and tugged her closer, sliding his warm mouth over hers.
Her breath caught and all she could feel was his hands on her waist and in her hair, her own hands clenched in his jacket.
The FBI agent chased her lips as she swayed in surprise, and then she was completely caught in his abruptly intense kiss.
The door burst open and Ronnie turned her head sharply to find Arlov staring with rage in his eyes. "Get out." He seethed.
Cho was right behind him. Dressed as one of Arlov's men, ready to play the part of clearing out the partygoers.
He did not look happy.
The fire alarm barely drowned Arlov's words.
"Think about my offer." Ronnie strode past him, pulling Pike after her.
There was a crash as Arlov shoved a chair in anger behind them.
Pike gave Cho the real painting, and then grabbed Ronnie's hand. "Can you run in those?" He raised his eyebrows at her stilettos.
Cho scoffed and took off without them.
end of episode thirteen