CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The snow was problematic for Archie. He’d been battling slick roads and snowbanks for a hundred miles and needed to get off the road. The first hotel he stopped at was full. The next two were dumps that he walked out of before even asking about rooms.

Finally, he decided it would be better to trudge through to Nashville, where he could find the perfect place to sleep, sleep in, and get a decent meal. Once he checked in, he pulled out the hair color he’d purchased at a drugstore in Lexington. Maybe changing his features would help deter others from recognizing him.

He read the instructions on the box twice and applied the dark brown hair color to his normally blonde hair. While the color was sitting, he ordered room service asking the staff to place it outside the door and knock, then leave.

Thirty minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and he opened it to find his meal outside. Pulling it inside, the timer went off for the hair color, so he left it on the table and got into the shower. When he was done, there was an absolute mess in the bathroom.

He wiped up the splattered color on the tile floor and tried to clean everything as best he could. Inside the drugstore bag, he placed the remnants of the color and the dirty towels, tying them off. Staring at himself in the mirror, he grinned, then burst out laughing.

“Looking good, Archie,” he muttered to himself.

By morning he hoped that the weather would clear, and he would be free to wander around Nashville, at least for a day or so. As he watched the news, he realized that his face was everywhere. Debating on shaving again, he decided against that since all the photos showed him with a clean-shaven face.

His major problem was that he was still no closer to finding Khloe. Leaning back on the pillows, he bit into the last of his dessert and smiled. He’d had a bottle of wine delivered that was nearly gone, so he was feeling like his old self.

“In other news tonight, the American Medical Association says that licensing requirements for states will be changed soon. Currently, all physicians must register in each state that they desire to practice…”

“Shit,” he muttered, sitting up. “That’s it. She’d have to register in the state she’s practicing.”

Archie was practically giddy as he brought up his laptop and searched the AMA website. He found Khloe Jones licensed to practice in Virginia, Maryland, and Louisiana. He knew that she was no longer in Virginia or Maryland. If she was, his father would have found her.

“Louisiana,” he grinned. “You went home, you little bitch. Where did she say she was from again?”

As hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember the city outside of New Orleans. The AMA site said that she was licensed at a number of hospitals and clinics, but they were all in the New Orleans area.

“Well, I have nothing but time,” he mused. “I’ll find you. When I do, you and I are going to have a long chat about loyalty.”

He was shocked when his new cell phone rang. The only person who had that number was his mother.

“Hello.”

“Archie. Archie, I need you to come home,” she said in a panicked voice.

“Mother, you know I can’t come home. If I do, I’ll be arrested. Is this some sort of trap?”

“Archie, they won’t give your father bail. He’s been moved to a maximum-security federal prison, and there are new charges against him. I can’t even speak to him, and his own firm won’t even represent him.”

“Damn,” he uttered beneath his breath. “I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t help you. If I come back, they’ll arrest me, and then you’ll have no one.”

“Archie, I have no one now!” she screeched.

“Listen to me. You’ve always wanted to spend time in the South of France. Rent a villa or something and go. Take whatever cash you have on hand and leave the country as quickly as you can. Don’t tell anyone, not even the staff. Just go!”

“I-I don’t know how,” she whimpered.

“Jesus, Mother! You’re a grown woman with a college degree. Surely, you’re not that damn helpless. Find someone who can help you book the ticket. Use one of the fake IDs Father had made for us. How much cash do you have on hand?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a few million? He stashed in all the different safes around the house. I’ll have to count it.”

“Don’t count it, Mother. Contact Frank Bullock. He’s a private pilot that Dad would use for business trips to Europe. Tell him you need to get out of the country fast, and he’ll get you there.”

“What about you?” she asked, sniffling.

“I have something I need to get done. When I’ve done it, I’ll meet you in Europe, and we’ll spend some time traveling together. Does that sound good?”

“Oh, yes! That sounds wonderful,” she said, suddenly feeling lighter. “I’ll call Frank now and start packing. I knew you would know what to do. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon, Mom.”

He hung up the phone, staring at the television as his face flashed across the screen once again. Picking up the small hand-held mirror, he looked at his face, then back at the screen. Smiling, he set the mirror down.

“No one will ever know.”