After a somewhat fitful night, Perry Mason rose early, dressed and headed to Clay's Grille for breakfast. Instead of perusing the morning paper, as was his usual habit, he kept a careful eye on the comings and goings through the Brentwood Building lobby. He couldn't help watching the crowds for Della, even though he knew she wouldn't be among the office workers spilling through the lobby this morning.

Remembering how Della finally relaxed, leaned against his shoulder, on the short drive to her apartment the night before made him smile. 'Poor kid,' he thought. 'She completely wore herself out worrying about the situation.' He was very glad she had trusted him enough to finally tell him what was going on. Mindful of that trust, he'd shepherded her to the lobby door when they arrived at her building and only permitted himself the luxury of a short simple kiss before she went inside. As much as he would've loved savoring her lips all night long, he knew she needed rest.

Mason finished his second cup of coffee. He tossed a couple of bills on the table and headed for the elevators. When he got upstairs, he unlocked the door to his private office and stepped inside. He breathed deeply, hoping for a whiff of her perfume. Nothing. He tossed his hat in the general direction of the bust of Blackstone and missed his target.

As soon as he heard Gertie arrive to open the reception area, he told her he was going down to Drake's Detective Agency.

"I need you to run down some information for me and I want it handled very quietly," Perry Mason said once he was settled in the client chair across the desk from Paul Drake.

"Shoot," Drake said. The detective's long, lean frame seemed to be folded into the desk chair, which was tilted back as far as it would go.

"I need you to get in touch with your affiliate in Chicago. I want them to check out the business dealings of a bank president in Aurora, Illinois," Mason began. "I'm especially interested in the terms of the estate which he inherited from his father and any sort of shady or shaky business dealings he's had. I want to know who holds the purse strings. Anything you can pick up on the man's personality or background would be gravy."

Drake nodded and made a few quick notes. "It would help to have the guy's name," he said dryly.

"Street. Park Street."

Paul stopped writing and looked up at Mason from underneath raised eyebrows. "Street?"

"Yes. He's Della's brother." Mason met his friend's gaze with steely-eyed determination. "And I want this kept quiet – no one, especially Street himself, can know we're poking around into the background."

"What are you playing at Perry?"

"I don't know what the game is yet Paul. But I have a feeling it's a not very friendly game of pool and Della is right behind the eight ball." Mason stood and headed towards the door. He paused with a hand on the knob. "How long will it take you to get this information?"

Drake shrugged. "With it being hush-hush it's going to take longer. A couple of days. Three at the most."

"Make it less." With that Mason slipped out of the door and headed back to his own office.

***********************************

Two days passed without further word from Della. Perry spent long days in court, arguing pre-trial motions in his lawsuit. The Judge appeared sympathetic and the defendant's lawyers were pompous, arrogant, and predictable. Mason was never one to count his chickens early, but so far things looked very promising for his client, Ed Morgan. And the looks he received from the Marquessi brothers anytime he glanced in their direction during the hearings confirmed that he was making them nervous.

The morning of the third day after Della's departure found Mason at his office early. He'd spent another restless night, which he tried hard to blame on the remains of the adrenaline surge from the previous two days in court. No hearings were scheduled today. He got to the office early and shuffled through the stack of mail that had accumulated on his desk.

At nine o'clock Perry told his receptionist he would be at Drake's Detective Agency if she needed him. A few minutes later, he was pacing holes in Paul Drake's rug while the lanky detective sprawled in an office chair behind the paper-strewn desk.

"This stuff is dynamite, Perry. You're not going to believe it," Paul said.

"Spill it," the lawyer commanded, not breaking stride.

Paul flipped open a notebook and proceeded to go through his report. "Horace J. Street was the founder and president of the Aurora National Bank and Savings Company. He was married to one Honoria Wentworth Street and they had one son, Park. Upon the death of Honoria – and, as far as we know, not before – Street began to cultivate a relationship with Irene Gentry, his head teller. They married 13 months later. Della was their child."

"I know all that Paul. Her parents split up and she lived in Los Angeles for a while until her mother died," Perry said impatiently.

Paul raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He flipped over to the next page. "Ok. You knew the father died a couple of years after the mother?" Mason nodded. Paul continued, "Horace Street's will gave Park the executorship of the estate, which by this time was extremely large. Varied business and banking interests, and a horse farm. He also had guardianship over his little sister. But Della had an equal share in the estate, which reverted to her partial control on her 21st birthday; full control upon marriage." Mason nodded impatiently again.

"Ok, here's where we get to the interesting part. My man happened to wrangle this out of a records clerk who'd been around the community for a long, long time. It was common knowledge in town that Park Street was furious with the terms of his father's estate. He didn't make a secret of the fact that he considered the marriage to Della's mother to be in the worst possible taste and he never had any use for his sister. She was foisted into his care, costing him time and money, as well as entangling a full fifty percent of the estate he considered should rightfully be wholly his.

"Rumor had it that he kept Della cooped up in the family mansion as much as possible. He may have even knocked her around a bit. There was a hint of a scandal with a high school basketball coach who called into question some bruises she'd seen on Della. After that, Park Street pulled his sister out of school and had her educated by private tutor."

Mason had stopped his pacing and stared belligerently at Drake. "Nothing was ever investigated, much less proved, and no charges were ever filed. He's a pillar of the community," Drake continued.

"He's a son of a bitch!" Mason's voice matched his belligerent gaze.

"Don't kill the messenger," Paul said. "There's more. Less than a year later, Della hopped a bus back to LA. None of the folks back in Illinois really know what happened to her. Just that she didn't come back. However, court-house records show that she never appeared in probate court after her 21st birthday. That would have been the natural time for her to contest the terms of the will. Even though she was of age, Park Street had control of Della's stock shares and assets. She maintains control over her principal but he can run the companies as he sees fit, unless there is action with her principal, then she has to approve it."

"Now, we haven't fully been able to get the financial picture on Park Street, but what I have found out is pretty fishy. He's losing money fast. I haven't been able to follow that trail very far, but I think he's covering gambling debts and bad investments. He needs Della's shares to shore up a loan he's trying to get through another bank. It looks to me like he owes money to the mob."

Mason raised his eyebrows and let out a long whistle.

"Yeah," Paul replied and flipped his notebook shut. "Oh, and one other thing. Della apparently has never made a will with regards to her fortune. I guess that's because if she dies, everything goes to Park, as per terms of the father's estate. Unless she's married. If she gets married, the old man wrote it up so that the shares revert to her full control and she can leave everything to whomever she pleases. How's that for screwy?"

Perry Mason leaned over Paul's desk, resting his weight on his fists. "If Della dies, the way things stand now, her brother automatically inherits?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

"Yeah," Paul said. Realization dawned in his eyes. "Damn, Perry! He needs money – you don't think…?"

Perry was already halfway out the door. "Call your operatives. Have them put Della under surveillance. Make sure nothing happens to her. I'm going to get her on the phone and find out what's going on." Back in his office, Perry Mason hovered impatiently over Gertie's shoulder as she worked to find a number where he could reach Della Street. When she finally made the connection with the local operator, he ducked back into his office to take the call.

"I have the Street residence on the line Mr. Mason," the receptionist said when he picked up the receiver.

"That's fine, Gertie. Just put the call through."

Mason heard the crackle of the long distance connection. "Hello? Street residence? To whom am I speaking?"

"This is Mrs. Anderson, the housekeeper." The voice was almost rough. Mason wasn't sure if it was really a characteristic of the speaker or more so of the poor connection.

"I wish to speak to Miss Della Street. Is she there please?"

"Who is calling?" the voice inquired shortly.

"Perry Mason. I'm Miss Street's employer," he replied.

"Miss Street is not here."

"When do you expect her back?" Mason inquired, impatience building.

"I don't. She's not here. Hasn't been here. Don't know where she is." And with that, the line went dead. Mason held the buzzing receiver away from his ear and stared at it incredulously for a long moment.

Mason clicked the intercom. "Gertie – get me Paul Drake on the line right away. While I'm talking to him, I need you to call the airport and charter a plane to Aurora, Illinois. I want to leave within the hour. Understood?"

"Y-yes sir, Mr. Mason." Gertie sounded worried, but Mason didn't have time to explain.

Within moments Paul's voice sounded on the wire. "There's a problem," Mason told him. "I just spoke to Park Street's housekeeper. She claims Della's not there, hasn't been there and they have no idea where she is."

"What?! What do you want me to do?"

"Get your men on the job. Have them watch the house. I'm going to be on a charter flight to Illinois as soon as I can get to the airport." Mason paused. "Tell them not to make contact just yet, but to get the lay of the land and keep an eye out for Della."

"Will do," Paul said. "What do you think has happened?"

"I have no idea – maybe nothing. I could be leading with my chin on this one, but I have a very bad feeling about it." With that, he hung up the phone. Minutes later his car was speeding towards the airport.

*********************************

Mason's arrival at the small country airstrip did not go unnoticed. The chartered plane was almost too big to land on the short runway, but the pilot managed the feat after being promised a big bonus if he didn't divert to a larger airport somewhere else.

The mechanic on duty at the local air service agreed to drive Mason directly to the Street farm. The town had a lone taxi, but the driver was laid up with a broken leg and had suspended the service. It was twenty minute drive into town and out into the rolling farmland on the other side where the Street property was located. The pastoral scenery rolled past the windows unappreciated as Mason pulled deep drags from one cigarette after another.

Finally, the truck pulled up at the end of a long curving drive that wound through an immaculate lawn up to a three story wood frame house with a large, columned entry reminiscent of a southern plantation house.

"You want me to wait on ya?" the mechanic inquired.

"No. I'll be a while. Thanks for the ride." Mason flipped him a ten dollar bill as he exited the truck. He could see a dark sedan parked under a tree a few hundred yards up the road. It appeared to be empty.

As soon as the mechanic's truck had rounded a bend and was out of sight, Mason jogged over to the sedan. As he got closer, he could see the top of a man's head peeking up over the dashboard. The man was evidently slumped as low in the seat as possible, hoping to avoid detection.

Mason walked up to the driver's side door as the man straightened in the seat. He leaned against the door and asked "You one of Drake's detectives?"

"Who's asking?" The detective eyed the attorney suspiciously.

"Perry Mason. I'm the one paying for this gig."

"You got I.D.?"

Mason fished out his wallet and handed the man his driving license. After studying it for a moment, the detective gave it back and shook hands with the lawyer.

"Name's Dunlap. I apologize for the set up, but there's no real way to hide the car out here. Drake said we're supposed to be on the lookout for some dame – a good-looking brunette, late twenties, short hair, nice figure, about 5'7."

Mason bristled slightly at the term 'dame', but let it pass. "Yes. Della Street. Any luck?"

"Well, Drake said to watch for her – like she'd be arriving. But I think she's already here. I've seen a woman who matches that description on the grounds already. She should still be here. No one's left since I got here, other than the owner, Park Street." The detective stifled a yawn and stretched his legs out under the steering column as far as he could.

"She's here? You're sure?" Mason asked, eyeing the sprawling grounds across the road.

"I'm not sure – haven't seen a picture – but she sure matches the description."

"Alright. I'm going in," Mason said. "Stay on duty. If you see her again, keep her in sight." Dunlap nodded his agreement and Mason headed up the road, back towards the house.

His assault on the doorbell was answered by a tall, angular woman of indeterminate age. She was certainly over 40, probably over 50, but she had the hard leathered features of a worker. Their unchanging nature had probably resulted in her looking much older when she was a young woman, but had the benefit of hiding her true age the older she got. When she spoke, Mason realized this was Mrs. Anderson, the housekeeper who answered his earlier phone call.

"I am here for Miss Street," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"She's not here," the woman replied.

"I'm not going to waste time arguing with you. You can either let me in to see her or I'll bust down this door and find her myself. Got it?" Mason didn't raise his voice, but the tone and the glint of steel in his gaze caused the housekeeper to hesitate. She regarded him indecisively for a moment. Mason reached out and took the doorknob in his hand.

"Alright. Mr. Park told me not to tell anyone who called on the telephone that she was here." She smiled somewhat sourly. "He didn't say what to do with people who showed up on the doorstep. You'll find Miss Della down at the stables, no doubt messing about with someone else's business." She motioned in the direction of the huge horse barn set back away from the house. "Mr. Park has told her to keep her place, but she never listens." Mrs. Anderson's voice trailed off as she was already stepping away from the entry and swinging the door shut as she spoke.

Mason took off in the direction of the stables, his long legs making quick work of the distance. The big doors on both ends of the barn were open, allowing the breeze to cool the building and keep the flies at bay. Mason stood just inside one of the big doors for a moment, listening and letting his eyes adjust to the shadows inside. He could hear the soft snuffling noises of horses in their stalls and the scrape of a shovel against the wooden floor.

He followed the sound of the shovel, careful not to make any noise himself. The sound came from a stall on his left, about half-way down the side of the building. Just as he neared the stall door, he heard a familiar voice.

"Leave me alone, Midnight," Della Street laughed. A horse made a soft nuzzling sound. "I can't clean this mess if you're going to be uncooperative."

Relief poured over Mason at the sound of her laughter. She was all right.

The half-door on the stall opened, and Della's trim figure slipped through. Her attention was still on the horse and she didn't see the lawyer standing in the shadows. She started violently when he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Perry!" she exclaimed, dropping the shovel. "What in the world are you doing here?"

"Making sure you're ok." He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tightly against his chest. "You are, aren't you?"

Della allowed herself to be held for just a moment before pushing away from him and taking a step back. "Of course! I'm fine! What is this all about?"

Mason looked at her more closely and saw his normally well-tailored secretary clad in oversized work pants and a man's work shirt, the tail of which was knotted at her waist and the overly long sleeves rolled up above her elbows. As she went about her tasks, the shirt had worked its way up her torso, leaving an enticing strip of skin visible just above her waistline. She took a deep breath, which drew his gaze to the open collar of the work shirt. Even though she had buttoned all but the top two buttons, the shirt was big enough that the open collar afforded him a tantalizing view. By sheer force of will, he drug his eyes back up to her face.

"Nice shirt," he said, his voice and posture nonchalant as he leaned against the side of the stable door. Della laughed and ran her hands through her hair, divesting it of several stray pieces of straw.

Mason smiled down at her, taking note of her flushed skin and the way the perspiration plastered a couple of brown curls to the side of her face. Her skin glowed from exertion and her eyes twinkled up at him. 'I wonder if this is what her face looks like when she makes love?' he thought before clearing his throat and taking a step back, mentally biting his tongue.

"I'm quite alright, Perry Mason. I've been renewing some old acquaintances," she said as she reached out and patted the neck of the horse whose head was now stretched over the stall door as he tried to nuzzle Della. The big animal seemed to be sizing up the lawyer. "But what in the world are you doing here? What happened to Mexico?" she asked.

"Mexico?" He was genuinely puzzled.

"Of course."

"I don't know what you're talking about Della!"

"I got your telegram right after I arrived. You said you had to take your client to Mexico to avoid trouble. I assumed the Marquessi gang had threatened Mr. Morgan. You said you were going to be there and out of contact for a while. What happened?"

"I never sent any such telegram. And I've been in Los Angeles, worrying when there was no word from you. I tried to call, but your housekeeper told me you weren't here. She said they hadn't seen you."

Della's eyebrows arched in surprise. She started to speak, then checked herself. She held up a hand to silence any question from Mason and indicated he was to follow her. "The walls sometimes have ears," she said. They made their way out into the bright sunshine and into the kitchen garden located behind the house. As she walked in front of him, Della tugged at the bottom of her shirt. "I must look an absolute mess," she said, glancing back over her shoulder.

"I must say, I've never seen you look quite so…earthy," he told her with a grin. Her silky laughter floated back over her shoulder towards him.

"Let's sit in the shade," she said, indicating an apple tree in the corner of the garden. Mason followed her and dropped to the ground next to her so he could lean back against the tree trunk. He loosened his tie and glanced back towards the road, but they were out of sight of the detective on duty.

"The walls have ears around here," Della said. "If you didn't send me the telegram, then Park is obviously behind it."

"I agree. He wants to keep you isolated here, it appears. What was the business transaction he needed you to approve?"

"I don't know the particulars yet. I'm supposed to go to dinner with him this evening – dinner with a couple of his so-called investors who are coming down from Chicago. I'd planned on developing a headache and spending the evening in my room instead. The housekeeper and head groom are the only two servants who sleep in. I thought I'd wait until they'd gone to bed, then search Park's study to see what I could find."

Perry gave her a sidelong glance. "You're becoming rather criminally minded, Miss Street. Wherever did you get such ideas?" he asked.

"From a slick west coast attorney," was her laughing reply. "You've taught me well, Mr. Mason."

Perry grinned as he reached down and pulled a handful of grass. He let the blades trickle through his fingers and fall back to the ground. "Your brother is desperate Della. I had Paul do some checking. He needs your money to pay off the mob." He turned his eyes towards her, squinting a bit into the sun. "I think there is something pretty sinister going on here."

She sighed and dropped her gaze from his. "I know. I didn't know about his mob problems, but I suspected it was something like that. It's obvious that he's trying to manipulate me into a corner. Anderson," she gestured towards the house, "is keeping an eye on me and no doubt reporting back to Park. Anderson and Mickey Jones, the head groom, have both worked for the family for years," she said. "They are completely loyal to Park. I'm considered the interloper, the unwanted child who robbed him of half his fortune." Della looked back at Perry. "So, I decided a long time ago I didn't need any of them or the money. I knew I'd be much happier surviving on my own."

"I think you're in danger here, Della," Mason said seriously. "Let's get you out of here and then we can file papers to have a full accounting made of the estate."

"That would take at least a month, Chief. I appreciate your concern, but I want to find out what I can here, first. Park is a smart man. He'll hide the majority of his sins, given half a chance."

"He needs your money, Della," Mason said. He reached out and brushed the back of his hand across her cheekbone. "I don't want him to hurt you in order to get it."

Della regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "Paul Drake has evidently been busy," she finally said. Mason nodded in response, his hand resting on her shoulder. "I'm not a child any longer, Perry. I can take care of myself."

Mason's eyes studied her face, marveling at the determination he saw in her eyes and the set of her jaw. He leaned closer, eyes drawn to her lush mouth. Then her lips moved.

"Anderson is watching," she stated matter-of-factly.

"I'd hate to disappoint her," Mason murmured, his eyes still caressing her lips.

"Mmm-hmm," was Della's reply as she took hold of the back of his neck and pulled him down to her. This kiss lasted for interminable minutes as each gave and took from the other. Mason circled her waist with his arm, and pulled her closer to him. His fingers slid across the silky skin of her stomach that her shirt had revealed. He felt her body flex at his touch. Her responsiveness stirred a deep seated longing and he had to fight to hold himself back. Ravishing Della against the cool grass, in full view of the house and at least one servant, was not an option, but it was fast becoming a necessity.

Finally, Della pulled away, needing air and no doubt sensing a need to separate from him. She smiled up at him and he knew that she knew full well the effect she had on him.

"Just for the record," the lawyer said, "I want it noted that I asked you to marry me long before I knew you were a millionaire."

Della laughed and rolled away from him, coming to rest stretched out on her stomach, facing towards the house. "Glad to hear it," she said, her gaze traveling the windows along the back of the house. "The people who know I'm rich don't seem to have much in the way of fond feelings for me."

"Their loss," Mason said. He unfolded his long frame and got to his feet with a quick grace that seemed somehow surprising in such a large man. He held his hand out to Della. "Why don't you go inside and get cleaned up. I'll go talk to the men Drake has watching the place and we'll meet up again in half an hour or so to decide what to do next."

"You have detectives here?" Della's surprise faded into a smile. "I should have known."

Mason didn't let go of her hand as he allowed her to lead him into the house. Mrs. Anderson met them at the door. Della performed a perfunctory introduction then told Mason she'd meet him downstairs in the library as soon as she'd showered and changed. Mason nodded and said, making sure the housekeeper heard him, that he was going out to take a walk around the grounds.

Della made her way quickly up the sweeping staircase, headed for her small suite on the second floor. It was the same suite of rooms she'd occupied there since moving out of the nursery as a young child. Unlike her apartment back home in Los Angeles, these rooms were almost Spartan in appearance. There was very little in the way of personal items in them.

The shower spray washed away the last traces of dirt and straw clinging to her body. Once finished, Della turned off the water and reached for the towel hanging on a hook just outside the shower door. She toweled her skin briskly as she hummed softly to herself.

Then it hit her. She stopped the motions of her hands and the hum turned into a frustrated groan. She froze for just a moment, then grabbed for her robe and slippers. She was still belting the robe when she flung open her bedroom door and slipped out into the hallway, headed for the stairs.

Successfully avoiding Anderson and the downstairs maid who was dusting the entryway, Della made her way to her brother's study and noiselessly turned the door handle. She opened it just wide enough to slip inside. Perry Mason was bent low over the open desk drawer and didn't flinch until he heard the click of the latch as Della closed the door behind her.

"I should've known!" she exclaimed, slightly breathless. Mason looked at her rather sheepishly.

"Sorry, Della, but I thought it would be better for me to do this than you. If I get caught, they'll just throw me out. You've got enough trouble already without someone catching you doing a little light house-breaking."

She glared at him. "I've told you I can handle this. I don't need –" she broke off at the look on his face. "Oh, I give up," she sighed. Mason's contrite expression turned into a mischievous grin. "What have you found?"

"A whole lot of nothing," he said, serious once more. "The records he keeps here are superficial at best. There is nothing provocative in them, other than the slow draining of capital from your shared holdings. He's evidently too smart to put anything illegal on paper. It's going to take some major audit work to make any headway with this."

"Damn," Della sighed and slumped into one of the leather arm chairs in front of the desk. "What are we gong to do now? I don't think I've got time to wait for a thorough audit. Park will have squirreled away what he can and sunk the rest by then. It's not that I would be in any worse shape if that happened, but there are a lot of people in this town who count on that bank and the factory and other businesses for their livelihood. Park would toss them all to the wolves."

Mason walked around to the front of the desk and leaned against it as she spoke. He crossed his arms over his chest and contemplated the floor for a moment. There was silence as he appeared to be lost in thought and she toyed with the belt of her robe, using it to draw patterns on her thigh.

The sound of a long, drawn out, sigh brought her eyes up to his face. He was gripping the edge of the desk and grinning down at her. "I can't think."

"You've got to think!" she exclaimed. "I'm all out of ideas."

"If you believe I, or any other red-blooded male, can form any sort of coherent train of thought with you sitting there, obviously naked under that robe," he gestured towards the neck of the robe which she had failed to notice was gaping open, "still wet from the shower, skin still pink from the hot water," he leaned closer to her with each word, "smelling so deliciously of strawberries and sunlight," he moved closer still as she tilted her face up to meet him, "then you, Miss Street, are operating under some very flawed assumptions." He reached out and tapped the end of her nose with his finger.

Della caught his hand in her own. Her voice was more sultry than usual when she spoke. "Perry," was all she managed to say before they both started at the sound of footsteps in the hall outside the door. Mason jerked his arm free and crossed the floor in two silent steps, managing to turn the lock on the door just as the handle rattled. Neither moved, nor even breathed, until the handle stilled and footsteps could be heard making their way back down the hall.

Mason breathed a sigh of relief and Della hissed through clenched teeth, "Anderson, no doubt. Wondering where we are."

"Then let's be somewhere else," he replied and threw the door open and stepped out into the hall as if he had every right to be in the room. He found the hallway deserted and gestured for Della to join him. She took his hand and led him up the stairs back to her own suite. Once inside, Mason began to pace the floor as Della gathered clothing and closed herself in the bathroom to dress. When she emerged half an hour later, fully clothed and coiffed, she found the lawyer standing in the middle of the room, head down, hands deep in his pockets.

Della crossed the room and opened the jewelry box on top of the dresser. She selected a simple pair of gold hoops and glanced at Mason in the mirror as she put them in her ears. He was staring at her.

"Well?" she asked.

"I have an idea," he said slowly.

She paused, hands still at her ear lobe, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, she finished fastening the earrings, then turned to face him. She raised her eyebrows in question.

He smiled ruefully. "I don't want to tell you. You're going to hate it."

"I'm going to hate you if you keep me waiting."

Mason sighed. "The easiest way to keep your brother and the mob from trying to kill you for the money is for you to get married."

"Married," she repeatedly flatly. He nodded.

"I'd forgotten about that clause," she said slowly. "But …I don't see how…"

Mason spread his hands. "There's no waiting period in this state, Della. All we have to do is get to the courthouse before 5:00 P.M."

"No, Perry. No." She shook her head as she turned away from him and tried to busy herself with something on top of the dresser. Mason stepped up behind her and put his hands on her upper arms, squeezing gently.

"I'm not trying to push you, Della, I swear," he said softly.

"But Perry, we can't. We can't get married. It would change everything. I can't marry you," Della pleaded with him, catching his eyes in the mirror.

"I know. You always tell me you want to share my life. It never made sense before, but now I'm beginning to understand. Just hear me out. What I'm suggesting is a marriage in name only. A legal formality. We'd go through a ceremony and get a license so as to negate your father's will. We make sure that Park knows that, if something happened to you, your money would come to me, not him. You'll handle things here, then we'll go back to Los Angeles and you'll make a will disposing of your assets however you see fit. That's all. Then, we get divorced. We can't get an annulment because that would leave some question as to the status of your assets under your father's will. But as soon as this is settled, we'll file the paperwork for a quick, no-fault divorce." He met her gaze in the mirror, his eyes communicating honesty and openness. "Nothing has to change between us."

Della looked down at her hands, which were spread on the surface of the dresser. She thought for a moment, then turned so that she was facing her employer. "Name only? Promise?"

He nodded and let a smile break through his serious expression. "I never thought I'd have to make such concessions to get a woman to marry me," he said.

Della almost smiled. "Well, it will be worth it to see the look on Park's face when we spring this on him." Della pulled away from Perry and began to do some pacing of her own. "We can't go to the courthouse here. Too many people know me and are friends with Park."

"We'll go somewhere a couple of counties away," Mason said.

Della glanced at the clock beside her bed. "It's almost five o'clock now. We'd never make it in time."

"Nuts," he said, grabbing her by the elbow. "You are much too quick to discount the power of love, my dear. Grab your purse, we're going places."