Legally Dead (16 page)

Venturi peered out the front window, phone in hand, to make sure he wasn't in the driveway.

“How does she look? Is she all right? Did she ask about me?” He sounded like a lovesick teenager.

“She looks fine, was disappointed you weren't here. She's sad. Her tattoo has got to go. In fact, I'm thinking we need to change more than just her hair, clothes, and cosmetics. Remember Gordon, that plastic surgeon we met in Somalia? The one from Medecins sans Frontières? Doesn't he practice down here somewhere?”

“Boca, I think. Charging the rich and not-so-beautiful big bucks for facelifts, nose jobs, and tummy tucks,” Danny said. “A long way from Doctors without Borders in Africa, when he was sewing burn-and-bomb victims back together and operating on babies with birth defects.”

He sighed. “It'd be a damn shame to change a hair on that woman's head,” he lamented.

“In Boca? Think Gordon Howard will be glad to see us?”

“Why not?” Danny said. “We saved his life.”

“We took some blood from her today.”

“We?”

“Keri took the blood. It's in my refrigerator.”

“So Keri's in?”

“She happened to be here.”

“Is that good?” Danny didn't sound happy about it. “Sure we can trust her?”

“You tell me, you've known her longer. Afraid she'll tell your wife?”

“The reason Luz doesn't know much about what I do is to protect her and the kids. The less they know, the safer they are. And she has her hands full with the house, the little ones, and another one on the way. I don't want her to worry.”

“I agree. Glad to hear you to say that. Make sure you don't give her anything to worry about, Danny. I'm serious.”

Venturi picked Victoria up at the airport in the morning. Buoyant and happy to be home, she had lots of news. Sidney remained behind bars, her apartment was on the market, and two interested parties were preparing bids on the business.

Elated about the new project under way, she, the client, and Venturi quickly settled down to business in the war room. Something new had been added. One wall was dominated by a handsome full-color world map framed in leather, with color-coded pins and flags to mark specific locations.

Because Solange already spoke French, she considered both Geneva, Switzerland, and the Loire Valley in France's wine country. She had abandoned her early studies as an art major to pursue the law and was also a wine aficionado.

She soon focused on the French heartland with its sculpted flower gardens, scenic countryside, and le Clos Luce, the final home of Leonardo da Vinci, where many of his drawings and inventions remain on display, only an hour or so away from Paris by train.

“This is no vacation,” Victoria warned. “It's the rest of your life.”

“And what better place to spend it?” Solange countered. “I'm sure I can acclimate, and find a future there.”

Victoria pulled together crash courses in the region's dialect and its vineyards, wines, local laws, history, politics, customs, and cuisine.

Venturi and Danny arrived at the swank office of plastic surgeon Gordon Howard at the end of the business day.

En route to perform surgeries in a remote village, his Doctors Without Borders helicopter lost power and crashed. The pilot and nurse were killed. Howard climbed from the wreckage with minor injuries but was quickly captured and roughed up at gunpoint by heavily armed rebels. A local warlord held him for ransom.

Venturi and Danny, on recon in the area, heard of the doctor's plight and, upon learning he was American, decided on their own to rescue him.

Their nighttime raid deep into enemy territory escalated into a bullet-punctuated skirmish.

When they kicked in the door wearing camouflage and dark face paint, the frightened captive didn't know whose side they were on.

“We're Americans!” Danny said. “Let's go! Let's go!”

“How did you find me?” the astonished doctor asked.

“We happened to be in the neighborhood,” Mike said. “Keep your head down and do what we tell you.”

They exchanged gunfire with his captors, hurled hand grenades, and escaped into the night.

Now, years later, they browsed the well-appointed outer office of Dr. Gordon Howard.

“I'm sorry,” the receptionist said, her voice frosty. “The doctor is extremely busy and sees no one without an appointment. He's about to leave for the day.”

“Tell him that Danny and Mike, his friends from Somalia, are here,” Danny said.

She did so reluctantly.

Howard burst from his office. “I don't believe it! It's really you! How did you find me?”

“We happened to be in the neighborhood,” Venturi said.

The doctor hugged them both. “You don't know how often I think of you guys. I didn't know where you were, or if you were still alive.”

He sent the receptionist home, locked the outer doors, and ushered them into his private office.

The interior was even more opulent than his reception area.

“Far cry from a tent with no running water,” Danny said, taking in the ambience.

“The competition in Boca is huge,” Howard said, taking a seat behind his big desk. “Motorists can have botox injected at any traffic light. I've been lucky. Spent a couple years busting my butt, working long hours, and missing time with my family to build the practice. Then a mentor of mine gave me the best advice I ever got.

“He was a retired plastic surgeon. He told me to double my rates for every procedure. I was shocked, said I'd lose half my patients. ‘That's the idea,' he said. ‘Half will stay and you'll be working half as hard for the same money.'

“He said certain people only trust the best, and to them that means the most expensive.

“It was a big risk. But I took the chance, and he was right!” Howard beamed at them. “Can I buy you guys dinner? I'd love you to meet my family. My wife's heard me talk about you hundreds of times.”

“We'd like that, another time,” Venturi said. “But this is a work-related visit.”

“At least let me buy you a drink. There's a great little bar right around the corner.”

“We'd love a drink,” Danny said. “But not in public. We're under the radar.”

“We need a favor,” Venturi said.

“Anything.” The handsome, blue-eyed doctor unlocked a polished wooden cabinet and opened the door to a small, well-stocked bar.

He poured them each a whiskey, then raised his own glass. “To the Marines,
Semper Fi,
” he said emotionally.

“To Medecins sans Frontières,” Mike said.

“Who'da thought back then that we'd wind up here and now?” Howard studied them curiously. “What are you doing these days? Still with the Marines?”

“Once a Marine, always a Marine,” Danny said. “We just fight closer to home these days. That's what we need to talk to you about.” His leather chair creaked as he leaned forward intently.

“We have someone who needs to change her appearance.”

“Hey, your wives or girlfriends need anything done, bring 'em in, no charge, professional courtesy. My pleasure,” the doctor said.

“It's no wife or girlfriend—it's a woman whose life is at stake through no fault of her own. It's top secret, strictly confidential. No medical records, no witnesses.”

The doctor looked more serious.

“We realize it's a lot to ask,” Mike said. “If you say no, we understand. No hard feelings.”

“You broke rules to save my life,” Howard said. “Whatever you need from me,” he gestured, palms up, “you've got it. No questions asked.”

Mike described the patient as a woman in her late thirties, in good health. She needed a different look and a tattoo removed with as little scarring as possible.

“How many colors in the tattoo?” Howard asked.

Mike showed him a photo.

“No problem.” The doctor was relieved to see that the anklet was finely etched and not a thick black band. Black, he said, is the most difficult color to remove. “Laser technique leaves the least scarring. There's a different frequency for each color,” he explained, estimating that it would take three or four sessions.

“I'd have to see her before making suggestions on changing her face.”

Mike drove Solange to Boca Raton the following night.

Alone in the office, the doctor took digital photos, full face and profile, and displayed them on a computer screen.

“Excellent bone structure,” he said, “under a somewhat thin face. Chin and cheek implants would be best. You'd have no external scarring.”

“How do you insert implants without incisions?” Solange asked.

“Oh, there are incisions—inside your mouth. I'd insert cheek implants right above your eyeteeth. The sulcus is like a blind cul-de-sac. Soft tissue is dissected from the cheekbones, taking care not to damage the nerves. Silicone implants are cut to fit precisely into the pockets. The size of the pockets controls the implants and keeps them in place. The fit has to be perfect. We don't want them moving around.”

He tapped the computer keys, moved the cursor, and the face on the computer screen changed. Same eyes, same mouth. Different face.

“This would be the result.”

“That's how I'd look?” Solange's eyes widened as she studied the face.

The doctor nodded.

“I like those cheekbones. It's like the Linda Evans look.” Pleased, she glanced at Venturi. “What do you think?”

He agreed.

“What about breast implants?” she asked.

“There would be scarring and you might be left with a loss of sensitivity. If you want them, fine. But all you need for that change of appearance is Victoria's Secret, or any lingerie department.” He glanced at Venturi.

“Makes sense,” he said.

“You're right,” Solange said. “I'm comfortable with them now. The less surgery the better.”

“Normally we insert facial implants under general anesthesia, but to reduce the number of people involved we can do it here in the office under a local anesthetic.

“She could leave in four or five hours,” he told Venturi, “if you have a place for her to rest and recuperate.”

“We do,” he said. “How much downtime?”

“Four to six weeks, depending on bruising and swelling.”

“That long?” Mike frowned.

“That's to reach her permanent, optimum look. She could probably travel in ten days or so. Even if she still has swelling, her appearance will be different.”

“We need to wrap a few things up first,” Mike said.

“Just give me twenty-four hours' notice,” Howard said. He instructed Solange not to take aspirin or vitamin E prior to surgery, to minimize bruising, then asked, “Where's Danny tonight?”

He and Solange both looked at Venturi expectantly.

“He's tied up, working on other details, but sent his regards.”

Keri stockpiled more blood. She and Victoria both mentioned to Venturi that Solange repeatedly asked to see Danny.

She sailed every morning for two weeks, always renting the same boat, one she felt comfortable with.

Danny called late one afternoon, his voice tight.

“We have to do it tomorrow. It's a must,” he told Venturi, “or we lose a huge advantage.”

Solange balked. She was ready and eager, but refused to die without seeing Danny first.

“I won't go until I do,” she insisted.

Venturi hoped a phone chat would suffice but it wasn't enough for either of them.

Face time was arranged for ten o'clock at Venturi's.

Solange was radiant at the news.

Danny showed up early. “Where is she?”

“In the war room.” Safer, Venturi felt, than a room with a bed.

Danny closed the door behind him.

Venturi and Victoria talked in the kitchen. “Should we have gone out to dinner to give them a little privacy?” she asked.

“Absolutely not.”

“You're right, sweetheart. I wasn't thinking.”

They heard nothing for a long time after Danny closed the door. Eventually they heard voices, murmurs at first, then quarreling, then Solange weeping. More silence, then murmurs. Then quiet again. That was the worrisome part.

“My heart breaks for the woman,” Victoria said. “I'm truly sorry for all she's suffered. You can't blame her for her attitude. But between us, I'll be glad when she's gone.”

“So will I,” Venturi said truthfully.

“This is so complicated,” she said sadly. “I love Luz and their children.”