Della and Paul stayed at the hospital until late into the night. Paul was in constant phone contact with his office, getting up dates and directing his men as they made their own efforts, parallel to those of the police, to find Mason's attacker.
For her part, Della wore a path to the coffee maker. She took a steno pad from her purse and opened it to a blank page, which she filled, over the course of an hour, with doodles and patterns. The finished product was dark and heavy, a mirror of her emotions.
She and Paul were able to see Mason, briefly, two more times. Then the duty nurse advised them that no further visitation would be allowed until after 8:00 in the morning. After making sure the nurse's station had both their names and numbers, Paul convinced Della to go home.
"I know you won't sleep – hell, I won't either. But we can at least go home, get cleaned up, and spend the rest of the night sitting in better chairs," he said.
Still uncertain, Della glanced back to the closed doors of the intensive care unit. Paul slipped his arm around her shoulders. "He's made it this far, Beautiful. There is no reason for him to give up now," he said softly.
Della nodded, not trusting her voice, and allowed him to lead her out to the elevators and down to the lobby where they rang for a taxi.
PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD
The night dragged on for days.
Della tried to go to bed, but every muscle, every nerve, screamed for action. In the early hours of the morning, her body finally took over from her mind and she fell into a fitful slumber on her living room sofa. Awake at dawn, she chanced a call to the nurses' station. The woman on duty assured Della that there had been no change during the night.
Paul's knock sounded at her door a few minutes later. Della let him into the apartment, noting the dark circles under his eyes.
"Morning," he mumbled, stepping inside. He all but fell onto the sofa.
"Same to you," she said, sitting down next to him.
He studied her profile for a moment before speaking. "I didn't think you'd mind a visitor at this ungodly hour. I figured you slept about as much as I did."
She nodded in response.
"You certainly look better than I do, though," he sighed, rubbing a hand over a recently shaved chin.
"I don't know about that," she replied. "I called the hospital. There's been no change. We can see him again in another couple of hours."
Paul barely acknowledged this. Instead he gave a heavy sigh and leaned forward, elbows on knees, head and hands hanging low.
Della got to her feet. "Let me make you some breakfast. You never ate anything last night."
"You don't have to," he said. "I'm not really hungry."
"You need to eat. And it will give me something to do."
He glanced up at her, a look of understanding passing between them. Paul stood and followed her into the kitchen. He leaned on the counter as Della assembled the ingredients for an omelet.
"This is nice," he said. "Lots of light and counter space."
"You sound like a real estate agent," she chuckled.
"Yeah." He gave her a half-hearted smile. "I've been reading a lot of listings. Looking for a bigger place."
"Really? Giving up your bachelor pad? I thought that place would fall down around your ears before you left it."
Bacon sizzled in the pan. Paul looked somewhat sheepish. "I, uh, was thinking about giving up on the bachelor part of it."
Della dropped the spatula and whirled to look at him. "Really? Oh, Paul!" A smile brightened her face for the first time that morning.
"It's your fault, you know," he told her, his laconic grin lighting his tired face.
"How so? I don't remember introducing you to anyone." Her expression was puzzled.
"No, but watching you and Perry is enough to make a man feel downright domestic. He's a lucky man to have found someone like you to care about him."
Wordlessly, Della crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her friend, hugging him tightly. He returned the embrace with equal fierceness. "I'm the lucky one, Paul," she whispered at last.
When Della released him and leaned back against the counter, the smell of burning bacon wafted up to them from the stove. "Oh, damn!" she exclaimed, quickly flipping the strips out of the pan as she wiped errant tears from the corners of her eyes.
Paul laughed softly and quickly rubbed a hand over his eyes while she was distracted. Within minutes they were sitting down to eat. Breakfast was a quiet affair, and both watched the clock as they ate.
PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD
Della stood from the chair she'd positioned next to Perry's bed and moved to the window. She stared sightlessly at the view beyond. She'd been in the room for nearly four hours now. Waiting was exhausting. Perry was there, but not there. The rise and fall of his chest was no longer regulated by a machine, but that was the only real change from the night before.
The doctor had been in and assured her that he was materially better. The anesthesia no longer kept him asleep and separate from her. Now it was his body that maintained the unconscious state, allowing him to use his strength to recover.
Recover? Looking back over her shoulder towards the bed, she could hardly allow herself to believe it. His skin was dull and grey. His eyes, hidden behind heavy lids, held no life. His hands were limp and lifeless, not registering her touch when she held them. But still he breathed. There was hope.
Paul had stayed for almost an hour before leaving in search of action. He couldn't handle the waiting. He opted instead to go out on the streets, looking for clues, hoping for revenge.
Her job was harder.
Della turned away from the window and took up her post at bedside once more. She tried to speak to Perry, to call him back with her voice. But carrying on a one-sided conversation was difficult. She took up the newspaper Paul left behind and began to read it aloud. She skipped the front page story.
Prominent Attorney Attacked – Police Hunt for Would-be Killer.
She read aloud for a while, then returned to the window. The day was sunny and hot, it appeared from the seventh floor window. A good day for the beach. Something about the vibrant sun outside made the hospital room inside seem even more like a prison. The pale fluorescence indoors seemed almost noxious compared to the light from beyond the plate glass window.
As she contemplated the horizon, eyes drawn to the façade of the Brent Building in the distance, the door to the room opened. She could see Paul reflected in the window. As she turned to greet him, Lt. Tragg followed him into the room.
Both men appeared exhausted.
Paul nodded a greeting. "Any change?"
Della shook her head. "What about you? Any leads?"
"I've got men digging into everyone's background. We're investigating, Cooper, his father-in-law, some of the major stockholders, Blanton, Cooper's wife," Paul told her, weariness evident in his voice. "I've even got men checking out Millicent James. Something about her has always seemed off to me."
"She's in love with Perry," Della observed wryly. "Maybe she decided if she can't have him, no one can." She rolled her eyes.
Tragg chuckled. "Run into that a lot, do you?"
Della smiled at him. "You'd be surprised how many women there are out there who believe once they've paid for his services, then they've paid for all of his services."
The Lieutenant shook his head. "Why can't I have that problem?"
"You put women in jail," Drake said. "Perry gets them out. They are much more appreciative of the latter, I can assure you."
Tragg chuckled quietly. "You've got a point at that. While Drake's men are working on motive, we're covering means and opportunity," Tragg said.
"And?" Della asked when he paused.
"And, so far, not a lot," Tragg sighed. "We know the shot came from the roof of the building across the street. It's a four story building and most of the upper floor offices are unoccupied, which is why no one heard the shot. The roof access is kept locked," he continued, "but all the tenants have keys. There are three offices that have been rented in the last 30 days. We're concentrating on checking out those companies for any connection to Mason. They seem the most likely to have been involved."
"That makes sense," Della acknowledged thoughtfully. Something he said triggered her memory, but her tired mind refused to make a connection.
The men continued talking, but Della wasn't really paying attention. She moved back to the chair at Perry's bedside and seemed lost in though. They quieted when a nurse came to change the IV bag.
Once the door closed behind her, Tragg put his hat back on his head. "I'm going back to work."
"Good luck, Tragg. I'll keep you posted if any of my men turn up anything of interest," Paul said.
"I'll do the same." Tragg reached out to shake hands with the private detective. Then he turned to Della. He started to speak but she interrupted him.
"Susan Cooper!" she exclaimed. "That's it!"
"What do you mean?" the policeman asked.
"She runs a charity. I can't remember the name of it," she said, her voice rising with her excitement. "But they just rented office space in one of the buildings across the street from our office!"
"Cooper's wife? Surely not," Tragg said hesitantly. "Whoever pulled the trigger knew what they were doing. That was no lucky shot," he said, gesturing toward the hospital bed. "I can't see a society dame like that being able to -."
"Don't be so chivalrous," Della interrupted. "She could do it, Arthur. The charity is having a shooting event at the Cooper estate to raise money. Mr. and Mrs. Cooper are hosting and participating." Tragg still looked dubious. "I saw the invitation myself, Lieutenant! Susan Cooper can handle a gun."
Tragg stared at her for a moment, then nodded and headed for the door. "I'll let you know what I find out."
Once Tragg left, Paul and Della returned their attention to the figure on the bed. "Still no change." Paul observed.
"I have been trying to convince myself that his color has improved, but…"
Paul gave her a weak smile. "Look, why don't you go get something to eat. I'll stay here with Sleeping Beauty."
"I'm not hungry," she said.
"Well, at least go stare at a different set of walls for a while," he insisted.
At length Della agreed and headed down to the cafeteria. Paul took up her position next to the bed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and addressed the patient.
"Alright, listen up, Perry. You have slept long enough. It's time to get back to the land of the living. You are killing Della. She's worried sick about you. She hasn't slept and won't eat." He settled back in the chair. "I sent her down to get something from the cafeteria, but I guarantee you she's just sitting in a corner, nursing a cup of really bad coffee. You keep this up, and she'll be in a hospital, herself!"
Paul stared at his unresponsive audience. Perry's breathing was unchanged, but the closer Paul studied him, the more he was convinced that Della was right. Perry's color was less gray than before.
"You may not have considered this, Perry, but with you out of the running, I've got a clear path to the girl. I'm thinking it's time for me to settle down. Been looking for a new place, even. Della would be perfect for me." He grinned and warmed to his theme.
"Just think about it, Perry – it'll be great! I'll comfort her while she's grieving. We'll spend all our time together, probably talking about you. But eventually, she'll see me as more than just a friend. I'll be there for her, patiently waiting, and then, as soon as she's ready – wham! I move in, fast as lightening, and sweep her off her feet!" He glanced at the door, as if worried Della might return and catch him in the midst of his facetious musings.
"Yeah, it will take her a while to get over you, but when she does, I'll be there. So, don't worry old man. I will be more than happy to take care of her." Paul chuckled to himself. "Yeah. That's my plan. Hell, I figure it will only take her fifty or sixty years to get over you. And then she'll be mine – all mine!"
With that, Paul stretched his feet out in front of him and slouched further into the chair. He closed his eyes. "I'm going to take a nap, Perry. Holler if you wake up."
A croak, not even really a word, came from the vicinity of the bed. Instantly Paul was upright again. "What? Was that you, Perry?"
The lawyer's eyes were still closed, but his head moved slightly in the merest hint of a nod.
"Perry!" Paul yelled. "What did you say?"
"Never," the strained voice repeated.
"Never what?" Paul asked, sounding confused.
"Never…get over…me." Perry opened his eyes and blinked several times, trying to focus. Finally his vision cleared and he managed a weak smile. "Della."
Finally catching his meaning, the detective let out a whoop of laughter. "Don't I know it! But you can't blame a man for trying. Damn, it's good to hear your voice, Perry. How do you feel?"
"Bad," Perry rasped, eyes closed again.
"I'm calling the nurse. We should get you checked out," Paul said as he reached across the bed to push the button to summon the nurse. "Della's going to kill me for making her leave right before you wake up. She's been here every moment that they would let her near you."
"W-who shot…?" Perry croaked, his voice weaker.
"Who shot you?" Paul asked. Perry managed a nod. "We don't know yet," Paul said. "But we've got some leads."
At that point, the nurse entered and began to check the patient. "The doctor will be here momentarily," she told Paul. "Perhaps you could wait outside for just a bit?"
Paul retired to the corridor and the doctor arrived. The detective was leaned against the wall, wondering if he could smoke in the hospital hallway, when the elevator at the end of the hall opened and deposited Della on the floor. Paul recognized her steps and turned in her direction.
"Paul!" she called when she saw him outside the room. She all but ran down the hall towards him. "What's wrong? Why are you out here? Is Perry-?"
Paul grinned at her. "Don't worry, doll. He's ok. He woke up! The doctor and nurse are in there now, doing an examination," he finished as she reached him.
"He's awake? Oh, Paul – thank God!" Paul swept her into a huge hug. When he finally released her, she eyed the door to Perry's room. "When can I – we see him?" she asked.
"As soon as they're done. I guess they've been in there about 10 minutes," Paul replied.
Just then the door opened and the doctor and nurse exited the room. The doctor came forward to talk to Paul and Della and the nurse carefully and quietly shut the door to the room and headed back to her station down the hall.
"How is he, doctor?" Della asked.
The doctor nodded. "He regained consciousness and responded well to my initial examination. He's extremely weak and still at risk for infection and other complications, but his incision looks good and his collapsed lung is almost fully reinflated. Right now he needs rest, most importantly."
Della gave a sigh of relief. Paul asked, "Can we see him?"
"Yes, of course," the doctor replied, "but he's sleeping again. As I said, he's very weak."
"We understand," Paul replied, noting the look of disappointment in Della's eyes. "Thank you for everything, doctor."
The doctor assured them he would be back that evening on rounds, then headed for the elevator. Della reached for the doorknob and looked over her shoulder at Paul. "Coming?" she asked.
He smiled and shook his head. "He's going to wake up again as soon as he knows you're here. Trust me on that, Beautiful. And I'd just as soon not be a third wheel."
"Oh, Paul, really! He'll want to see you, too."
"He's seen me." Paul grinned. "I'm going to find Tragg and see if he'll let me lend a hand."
Della rolled her eyes as she stepped inside the room. As she closed the door softly behind her, she leaned back against it briefly, unconsciously mimicking the way she often entered Perry's office.
Perry didn't look any different than he had when she left. Della crossed the room to his side. She smiled down at him and brushed her hand down the side of his face, then leaned in and kissed his cheek.
She stood and started to move away when she felt a tug on her wrist.
"Don't go."
"Perry!"
The lawyer managed a smile, but it finished a grimace. "I…good…to see you," he managed.
Gingerly, Della perched on the side of the bed. "It's good to see you, too," she whispered.
Mason squeezed her hand and looked into her eyes for a long moment. She met his gaze, then dropped her eyes as tears splashed down on their joined hands.
"Don't cry," he rasped, his voice a little stronger. Della looked up at him and smiled through the tears. "Don't go around getting yourself shot, if you don't want me to cry."
"Kiss me, instead."
He didn't have to tell her twice.
Even though she was careful and the kiss was all but platonic, Perry still gasped with pain when Della pulled away. "Oh! I'm sorry, Perry!" she exclaimed.
"It was worth it," he said, sinking deeper into the pillow, eyes closed.
Della touched his face once more. He appeared to be sleeping. She started to stand, but his hand, which still held hers, tightened and held her in place. For several minutes she sat silently at his side, hand clasped in his as she watched him breathe. At length he opened his eyes once more.
"You're beautiful," he said, his face relaxing into a smile. Della matched the smile. "How do you feel?"
"Feel like I've been shot in the chest," he replied, a frown creasing his features.
"Imagine that," Della said. "Do you need anything?"
He shook his head, briefly, before grimacing at the discomfort the movement caused.
Della's features darkened with concern. "I'm calling the nurse. They should give you some pain medicine." She reached for the call button.
"They did," Perry said. "It just hasn't started working yet." She appeared unconvinced. "I'm alright. I guess medicine must be working because I can at least talk, now."
"Good. So what do you want to talk about?" Della asked.
Perry frowned. "Who shot me?"
Della sighed. "I don't know. Tragg and Paul are both working on it. In fact, Paul left just now to go find out the latest. He was going to try to track down the Lieutenant. They are checking out Susan Cooper."
Perry raised an eyebrow. "Susan Cooper? That doesn't make sense."
"Why not? You think she couldn't have done it? Because she's a woman? That's ridiculous."
Perry tried to grin. "You get defensive of your sex at the oddest times, Miss Street. You want her to be the murderer just to prove some sort of equality with the lowlifes of the male version of the species?"
Della cocked her head to one side and considered his words. Then she matched his grin. "I suppose I can see your point. But we know she can handle a rifle. And her charity recently rented office space in the building across the street from the Brent. The shot could very easily have come from there. Tragg is checking on it."
"What about Cooper, himself?"
"Perfect alibi for the time of the shooting."
"I doubt it," Perry grumbled.
"He was with me," Della said. Perry's eyebrows shot up. "He showed up at my apartment, just as I was leaving to go and meet you. Wanted to talk. He was pretty obnoxious and refused to leave without being heard. I think he knew what was happening and had decided I would be a good alibi."
Perry reached for her hand once more. "And you're ok? He didn't hurt you?"
"I'm fine." Her face clouded. "I was fine, until Arthur showed up to tell me you'd been shot and you were going to die." She took a shuddering breath.
"You should know me better than that, Del." He caressed her fingers. "You promised to spend the weekend with me. I wasn't about to miss out on that. Although," he paused and looked around the room, "this wasn't exactly the weekend I had in mind."
Tears ran down the sides of her face, even as she laughed at his words. "I would never have forgiven you if you'd died on a damn street corner somewhere, without even having the decency to tell me goodbye."
Mason laughed, but stopped almost immediately. "Ow. Don't make me laugh," he said breathlessly. "Please."
"Fine. How about this instead?" She leaned forward and touched her lips to his once more, lingering, caressing, tasting. He was slightly short of breath when she pulled back. His eyes were still closed but a slow smile spread across his face.
"I like that better," he whispered. He opened one eye and looked up at her. "Now I have something to dream about," he said softly. "The pain medicine is definitely working. But I don't think I can stay awake."
"Then sleep," she said. She touched his face, hand cupped around the side, as her thumb slid across his lips. He kissed the pad of her finger and almost immediately his breathing deepened into a soft snore. Della smiled and rose carefully from her perch on the side of his bed. She stood watching him for long moment, before turning away.
She stepped into the small bathroom, closed the door behind her and leaned against the wall. Relief poured over her in waves and her shattered nerves couldn't take any more. Tears flooded her eyes and she let them flow freely, quietly.
He had come back to her. That was all that mattered.