Jason Cooper caught Della's arm and gave her his most charming smile. "Please, Miss Street. Don't you think you have a duty to your employer to hear what I've got to say? I promise it won't take long."

Della sighed. "Fine - spill it, but make it quick." She didn't remove her coat, but motioned him to a seat.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

The medics arrived and took over CPR. Paul, stepping back out of the way, rubbed his bloody hands down the front of his shirt and watched as they worked to stabilize the lawyer's vital signs.

A patrol car arrived and the officers got a quick sketch of the situation from the detective. They put out a radio call for backup. Within minutes an unmarked car screeched to a halt in front of the fireplug on the corner.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

"You're not telling me anything new, Mr. Cooper and I'm really not interested." Della got to her feet and crossed the room to open the door. "I've spent too much time listening to you already."

Cooper rose and followed her, pausing in the doorway. "Promise me you'll at least tell Mr. Mason I was here? I want him to know I'm trying to extend an olive branch."

"I'll tell him. You can be certain of that." Della closed the door, forcing him to step out into the hallway.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

"Drake! What in hell happened?" Lt. Tragg yelled as he exited his vehicle.

Looking dazed and unable to tear his eyes from the sight of the medical personnel working on his friend, Paul Drake spoke to the detective. "I don't know what happened. We were just walking along and I heard a noise - not even really a shot - and I turned around and... Somebody shot Perry."

"Did you see who did it?"

"No. I think the shots were coming from that building across the street - probably one of the upper floors." Drake gestured vaguely towards the office building opposite the Brent Building. Tragg nodded a reply and noted that a second car of patrol officers had arrived. He dispatched them to make a preliminary search of the area.

"Who knew you'd be here now?" Tragg asked.

"I've no idea. We were on our way back to meet Della." Paul's voice was tight with worry. "Oh God – Della! She'll be here any minute. She can't see this!" The detective ran his hands through his hair, giving in to frustration.

The ambulance drivers had loaded their patient on a gurney and were preparing to put him into the back of the vehicle. "I've got to tell Della - she's probably still at home," Paul said.

Tragg grabbed his arm, holding him in place. "You're in no condition to drive, Paul. You ride along in the ambulance and I'll go get Della." Drake shot him a grateful glance and then climbed into the vehicle carrying his friend to the hospital.

Tragg caught the eye of the medic who closed rear doors. He raised an eyebrow in question. The medic shook his head almost imperceptibly. Tragg ran a hand over his face, swore, and raced for his car.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Tragg knocked forcefully on the door of apartment 313. Almost immediately he heard footsteps inside. The door swung in and Della looked at the man in the doorway. "Lieutenant! What in the world…?"

Tragg didn't wait for an invitation before crossing the threshold. He took hold of the door and closed it behind him. "Miss Street -" he began.

"I don't have time for this Lieutenant," she broke in. "I'm already running behind." She picked up her keys and reached for the doorknob. "Unless you're here with a warrant, I'm leaving. You can walk me downstairs."

Tragg shook his head. He dropped his hand to cover hers on the knob. "Della...," he said, his voice softer than normal. Reaching up, he slowly removed his hat.

Something about that somber movement triggered a reaction in Della. Her eyes widened slightly as she read the emotion apparent in the lines of his face. "What is going on?"

"It's Mason. He and Paul Drake were on their way back to your office. Someone fired on them and Mason…" He glanced down at his feet, unable to meet the questions in her warm brown eyes. His hand still covered hers.

"Please," she said in a broken whisper. "Please tell me he's alright." His hand tightened over hers.

"It doesn't look good. They got him right in the chest. I don't think… I am so goddamn sorry, Della." He met her eyes now. She blinked and the color drained from her face.

"Where?" she asked.

He pulled the door open. "I'll take you."

Tragg turned on the siren and drove like a madman across town to the hospital. When he could spare a glance, he could see the tears on Della's face, but she wasn't sobbing. She sat stiff and straight, staring out the windshield. He'd handed her a handkerchief on the way downstairs in the elevator. Now she twisted it between her hands, turning and pulling at the material, as if pouring all the emotion she was working to suppress into her fingers.

Della had the car door open even before the car came to a stop. Tragg caught up to her as she entered the emergency room. They were greeted by a cacophony of chaos. Tragg slipped his arm around Della's shoulders and steered her through the crowd to the reception area. He released his hold on her, flashed his badge and inquired of Mason's status. His official demeanor brought a quick response and they were directed to a surgery waiting room on the second floor.

The waiting room provided quiet relief from the mass of people downstairs. At the sound of the door, Paul Drake looked up from his seat. Della released Tragg's arm, which she'd held tightly on the way up, and ran to Paul. Paul stood and caught her in a tight embrace.

"How is he?" she whispered.

Paul didn't answer right away, but clung tightly to Della.

"Paul?" she whispered again.

"He's in surgery," the lanky detective managed. He released his hold and parted from her enough to look down into her face. "It doesn't look good, Beautiful. It doesn't look good…" He swallowed hard.

Della drew in a ragged breath and nodded her head. As she pulled back she noticed the red smears on Paul's white shirt. "Oh God," she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. Her fingers clutched the shirt. Paul closed his hand over hers. When Della looked up at him, the tears on his face mirrored those on her own.

Her hand brushed his wet cheek. "He's going to live, Paul. He has to."

Drake nodded, and drew in a deep breath. "I'm going for some coffee. You want anything? Tragg?" He looked at the detective and included him in the request.

The Lieutenant shook his head. Della caught Tragg's eye and the sympathy and understanding that she read in his gaze was almost more than she could take. She gave him a half-hearted smile. "Thanks for being here, Lieutenant."

He nodded in response. "Arthur. Just Arthur, tonight."

"Arthur," she agreed. She looked around the room as if desperate to know what to do next.

"You two might as well sit down," Paul said over his shoulder as he left the waiting room. "There's no telling how long we'll be here."

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

"Mason family?" the doctor asked, looking at the three people huddled together in a corner of the otherwise deserted waiting room.

"I guess that's us," Paul answered, getting to his feet.

Della stood slowly, searching the doctor's face for clues. The two detectives moved close on either side of her.

"Are you Mrs. Mason?" the doctor asked.

Della started to answer, but Paul interrupted. "She's family. What's his condition, doctor?" He slipped his arm around Della's shoulders and she held her breath.

"It's critical at this point, but he's still fighting."

Della's body relaxed slightly and she drew in air.

"His injuries are serious," the doctor continued. "We've managed to make repairs, but it is still touch and go. If he makes it through the night, his chances will increase exponentially."

Tragg and Drake exchanged a worried glance over Della's head.

"If you want to see him, you should come with me now," the doctor continued. "He won't be awake, but..."

"Go, Della," Paul told her. "We'll wait out here." She nodded, took another deep breath, and followed the doctor through the door and out into the hallway.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPD

The intensive care ward was almost empty. Two elderly patients had beds nearest the hallway doors. Della Street followed the doctor to the opposite end of the long rectangular room to where Perry Mason lay.

"We're keeping him sedated. It helps his body concentrate on healing," the doctor explained. He checked the chart and the machinery that monitored his patient before withdrawing. "The nurse will give you 15 minutes," he murmured as he left.

Della didn't respond. She stood motionless at the foot of the bed, captivated by the rise and fall of the lawyer's bandaged chest. His breathing was deep and slow, no doubt being regulated by the tube that was stuck down his throat.

Della herself was afraid to breathe. She was afraid to move, to think, to feel. It was as if anything she did could shatter the scene before her and cause that rhythmic respiration to stop. Leaning on the railing at the foot of the bed, fingers gripping it so tightly that her knuckles went white under the strain, she simply watched him. Minutes passed unheeded and she started violently at the sound of the curtain surrounding the bed being pulled back.

A matronly nurse appeared and smiled her apology as she stepped around Della and replaced one of the bags on the IV stand. Della stepped back into the corner while the nurse completed her duties. The woman was leaving when her kindly eyes caught those of the worried woman. She hesitated before speaking.

"Your husband, dear?"

Della Street shook her head slowly.

"He's strong - a fighter," the nurse said. She glanced at her patient with a smile. "I think he's going to make it."

"I love him," Della said quietly. Her eyes finally moved from the figure stretched prone under the cotton blanket to meet those of the nurse. She wasn't sure why she said it, but she felt it imperative to say the words out loud.

"Tell him," the nurse urged. "He'll hear you. Tell him - but don't get his blood pressure up!" She grinned and Della managed a weak smile in return. "I'll give you a few minutes more," she continued and slipped out, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

"What's the story, Drake? I know Mason's got some enemies, but who's after him right now?" Tragg asked as he watched Paul Drake play with the dregs of coffee in his cup.

Drake looked up. "I've been trying to figure that out. It's got to be Jason Cooper. The James case goes to trial on Monday and he knows Perry is closing in on him. I guess Perry has him figured for the killer. He knows Perry is closing in on him for his crooked business deals and the Simpson murder. We'd been out to the Cooper house this afternoon. Perry really put the screws to him." Paul ran his hand around the back of his neck, trying to knead some of the tension out of the muscles there. "Cooper was a sniper in the army, Tragg. And after talking to Perry, he was mad enough to spit bullets."

Tragg shook his head. "I don't buy Cooper as Simpson's killer and besides, Cooper was at Della's apartment when this happened."

"What?"

"I saw him leaving just as I was arriving. I'm pretty sure he'd been in her apartment, but I didn't have the chance to ask her about it."

"No way," Drake said quietly. "If he was there, it was because he was trying to pull some sort of scheme. Della and Perry..." Paul hesitated. "She wouldn't willingly have anything to do with Cooper."

"I agree, but that doesn't change the fact that Cooper was not the shooter." Tragg sighed and glanced at the clock. "I'm going back to headquarters. I'll follow up on Cooper, just in case. Keep thinking – if Cooper didn't do this, who did?"

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Della finally stepped up to the side of the bed and took Mason's hand. She stared at the hand for a long moment. When she spoke her voice was a ragged whisper. "You are a son of a bitch, Perry Mason. Just when I thought it was safe to love you, you go and get yourself shot." She paused for breath and gripped his hand tighter. "Damn it, Perry, you can't die. Not now. Not when...when we finally have a chance to make this work." Standing quietly beside him, Della waited, willing him to do something, anything to indicate he could hear her. But there was nothing. In another few minutes the nurse coughed quietly from outside the curtain, then pulled it back.

"I'm sorry, dear, but I've got to run you out." She checked her watch. "You can come back in about an hour."

Della nodded and squeezed his hand once more before placing it gently at his side. After a last, lingering looks, she turned and followed the nurse back out to the hallway.