Upon landing, Matt took Lauren directly to one of the plush hotels on the island. It had become clear to him in the course of the flight that she was suffering a delayed reaction to what had happened the day before. She’d been shaky and restless, unable to do more than pick at the meal that was served. She’d dozed off, then awakened with a start to a fit of uncontrollable trembling. He’d teased her, saying thathewas the one who was supposed to be nervous, but his fear of flying took a back seat to her upset. He’d known that what she needed most was a peaceful restorative night.
First thing the next day, though, they went to the clinic. Purposely, they didn’t call in advance. They knew that the boss’s men had been there, and they weren’t sure how they’d be received. Lauren was convinced that the doctor would not have willingly colluded with thugs, but Matt reserved his own judgment until their meeting.
Richard Bowen was in surgery. They insisted on waiting in the room just outside his office and caught him the minute he returned. Richard was surprised and pleased to see Lauren, doubly pleased to find her with Matt. After the brief introductions, he ushered them into his sanctuary. Neither Lauren nor Matt missed the subtle blanching of his face as she explained what had happened.
“They made it very clear that they’d seen your files,” Matt concluded for her when he sensed that Lauren wasn’t sure exactly how to confront the doctor. She obviously liked and trusted him, and she was loath to toss accusations his way. Matt had no such qualm. “Did you show anyone those files, or know that they’d been seen?”
To Lauren’s relief, Richard was not offended and deeply shared their concern. “My files are confidential. The only way I’d have shown them to anyone would have been if Lauren had specifically requested it.”
“Then how—” Lauren began, only to be interrupted.
“About a month ago there was a break-in here. My file cabinets were forced open and the files rifled. Records of hundreds of patients were left scattered all over the office. Nothing was taken that I could tell. Until now I’ve had no idea what the burglars were after.”
“And Susan Miles?” Matt prompted. “Have you treated a patient by that name?”
Richard widened his eyes for an exaggerated second. “Treated, no. Spoken with, yes. Oh, yes. She came by to see me last fall, maybe early winter. She wanted to discuss having some minor work done. It never got past the discussion stage, so I don’t have a file on her, but I’ll never forget her face. She was stunning. A real beauty.” He cast an apologetic glance at Lauren. “Yes, Lauren, you do look a lot like her now.”
“Did you do it intentionally?” Matt growled. It was obvious that Richard Bowen had been taken with Susan Miles’s looks. For him to try to form another woman in her image might have been conceivable, if infuriating and possibly unethical.
Richard chuckled. “I’m a plastic surgeon, not a miracle worker. It’s only in the movies that one face can be completely altered to look like another. No, in Lauren’s case, it was pure coincidence. The hair’s the same in texture and color, and the figure is complementary, now that Lauren’s put on weight. The eyes were alike all along. But, if I remember correctly, and I’m sure I do, Susan Miles wore much more makeup. As for the rest—the nose, the cheekbones, the jaw—they all just came together. You have to understand that in cases like Lauren’s, the end results are sometimes a mystery even to the doctor until everything’s done. Reconstructive work can go this way or that in the healing process.” He smiled ruefully at Lauren. “Yours went the way of Susan Miles.”
“From what you say, I should be happy about that,” Lauren mused, “but given all that’s happened …”
“There are differences,” Richard pointed out, “but mostly I think they come from within. The woman I spoke with had a harder edge to her. She was very much like so many of the others I treat, women whose inner tension does things to their faces that no amount of plastic surgery can correct.”
“Then she didn’t really need plastic surgery?” Lauren asked. She looked at Matt. “Maybe she was planning on disappearing even back then.”
Richard spoke before Matt could comment on that supposition. “There were a few things that could have been touched up, but basically they could have gone another five or ten years without attention. People would have thought her beautiful if she’d done nothing.”
“Did you tell her that?” Matt inquired. Richard gave him a wry, what-do-you-think look. “But she didn’t come back.”
“No. I never saw her again.”
Lauren sat forward. “We have to find her. We know she came from the L.A. area and had a boutique there. Did she say anything to you—drop any names—that might give us a clue?”
Richard sat back in his chair and frowned, trying to absorb all that Lauren had told him. “I don’t think so.”
“She was probably with a man,” Matt offered. “A very wealthy and powerful man.”
“Wealthy and powerful men are a dime a dozen on the islands. She did say that she was here on a pleasure trip and had heard about the clinic from a friend.”
“No name?” Matt asked.
Richard shook his head. “Fully one-third of my patients have been from the West Coast. They like coming here for the ambience, and for the distance. They can go on an extended vacation far from home, then return looking positively marvelous with no one the wiser.” His frown deepened, and he chafed one eyebrow with the knuckle of his forefinger. “I can picture her sitting here talking with me. I’m sure I asked her where she way staying—it’s standard small talk in a place like this—and I don’t think it was one of the large hotels, because I would have formed a mental image of her there. Maybe a smaller—no—” He hesitated, concentrating. “A boat. I think she mentioned something about the marina.”
Matt grunted. “There have to be dozens of marinas. She didn’t say which one?”
“If she did, I don’t remember.”
“Then it’ll be like finding a needle in a haystack, and we don’t even know which haystack to search.”
“How about other clinics on the islands?” Lauren asked.
“There are none I’d recommend, and I doubt a woman like that would go to a second-rate place.” Richard held up a hand. “No conceit intended.”
“None presumed,” Matt offered in his first show of faith. “Can you tell us anything else about her—how she wore her hair, any distinctive jewelry or style of dress?”
Richard closed his eyes as he called back the full image from his memory bank. “Her hair was pulled away from her face in a chic kind of knot. She was wearing gold jewelry-large hoops at the ears, a chain around her neck. She had several rings, maybe one with a stone, and she was wearing white silk slacks and a blouse. Oh, and high-heeled sandals. I noticed that because her toenails were polished to match her fingernails, and the pink was the same color as the sash around her waist.”
