Ronnie Masters | the MENTALIST (COMPLETE)

REDWOOD : pt I

The fantastic thing about being an assistant detective in a team which frequently engaged in hot pursuit was that there was really no point in Cho and Ronnie going running all that often. The less-than-fantastic part was that, when they did go running, they found themselves running in the unforgiving Sacramento heat.

Cho jogged beside her, form and breath carefully controlled. He looked like a comical secret service agent, running in a black t-shirt, black track pants, shiny aviators, and a black ball cap.

Ronnie admired his composure. She ran better than he did, but she couldn't stand running in sunglasses.

They jogged in silence for forty minutes and then alternated sprinting and jogging for the last twenty minutes.

When they came to a stop at their cars, parked behind Reggie's Gym, Ronnie fell against her car, huffing for breath, struggling to get her shaking hand into her pocket for her keys.

Cho poured water from his bottle over his face. "You heard anymore from your mom?" He asked, wiping his neck and arms down with a towel. He'd managed to get into his car faster than she did. When she didn't answer immediately, he turned to look at her and found her digging through the front seat of her own car.

Before he could repeat himself, Cho's phone beeped.

Ronnie scrambled around her floorboard for her blender bottle, resisting the urge to fall like a corpse over her car seat and pass out right there.

"Hey," Cho approached close behind her to make sure she could hear him, leaning against her open door. "Lisbon called while we were out. We've got another case. It's over in Redwood. You good to go get changed and head over?"

A second later, Ronnie pulled her upper half out of her car and leaned against the opposite side of the door frame. The sun glinted down brightly, forcing her to squint up at Cho. "Yeah, sounds good. And to answer your earlier question: no. I haven't seen nor heard from her. I just feel bad for the beat cops Minelli has sitting outside my apartment." Ronnie tipped back some water, waiting for her pulse to stop pounding into her ears.

Cho watched her carefully, watched her eyes close. "You're pale." He found it concerning that she didn't flush red as she always did after a run. Instead, her face was whiter than it had ever been, even when she wasn't exercising. "You feeling okay?"

She shrugged and wiped her mouth. "Haven't really been able to sleep. I'm alright, though. Just a little tense." She tossed the bottle into her car, itching for a shower. "You ready to go?"

Cho stepped away from her car, adjusting his hat. "Yeah. Meet you at CBI in forty minutes."

THE MENTALIST

Ronnie waved to the uniformed officers parked across the street from her apartment. They nodded back and one of them reached for his walkie, likely reporting to the others that she'd returned. Ronnie jogged up the steps, unlocked her door slowly entering her apartment with a hand on her hip where her concealed pistol was. Eyes tracking every shadow, clearing every corner, she assured herself that her apartment was empty before dropping her gym bag on her arm chair and heading for the shower.

Not for the first time, Ronnie considered boarding up her windows. It would be pointless, however, because if Carla Masters couldn't simply get in through the door or window, she'd merely blow the whole building up.

She showered as quickly as she could, paranoia about being vulnerable in her bathtub niggling in her mind. Ronnie had three suction-cup cubbies stuck on her shower wall: one for her shampoo and conditioner, one for her skin cleaners, and one for her compact 1911.