Ronnie Masters | the MENTALIST (COMPLETE)

RED TIDE

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.