Hello everybody!

So, I am hurrying to get this up between classes, so I will keep it brief.

This chapter is dedicated to anyone (and everyone) who wished that Olivia would just tell the boys who she was looking for - without tricks.

A special thanks to my betas, The Wild Whovian and Andamogirl, for their extensive responses to this chapter.

Enjoy ...


Chapter 11

Jim sat across the chess board from Olivia with the strange feeling that he was getting hustled. He had started the game when she asked him to teach her how to play, but something told him that she already knew the game – very, very well. At least they weren't playing for money.

"How does the horse move again?" she asked innocently.

"The knight moves in the shape of an L," he explained … for the third time. "Two spaces in one direction and one space in the other."

"Oh … so I could use it to take your queen?"

Yup, she'd played before.

"Give it up, James," Artie advised from his place at the desk. "She's just toying with you."

"I suppose you could do better?"

His partner gave him a smile, but didn't rise to the bait. He had probably already lost to the little darling while they were on the riverboat – not that he would ever admit to it if he did.

Jim turned back to the chess board in a feeble attempt to save his bishop. No luck. The game lasted several more minutes as it became clear that Olivia's goal was not to capture his king but every other piece on the board. An interesting tactic, but quite effective. Once his king was the only piece he had left, the game wasn't even worth playing.

"I did say she was toying with you," Artie commented, returning his pen to the stand on the desk. "Miss Olivia is more cunning than she lets on."

"I noticed," Jim grumbled, rising from his chair and declining the offer of another game. "So who really taught you how to play?"

"Actually, it was Father," she admitted.

"Figures," Artie muttered, stowing his papers.

"If it make you feel any better, he can't beat me either. He's too direct."

"Direct?" Jim asked, pouring himself a drink.

"He always has to go at something as big as he can so it makes a grand statement." Olivia rolled her eyes. "As for me, I sneak in the back door and quietly remove any option but the one I want. Subtly is key."

Jim smiled, thinking how much that sounded like Artie's approach to things. He, however, was more inclined to the direct approach, though not quite as flashy as the way Olivia described Scranton. Still, it was good to know his usual method of operation. If he liked grand statements, there was no telling what he wanted that dynamite for. However, there were a few other questions he would like to get answers for and only one person who could provide them.

"Were you planning to ride that riverboat all the way to New Orleans?"

"Of course I was, Mr. West. That's where Papa is."

"I thought he was in Chicago," Artie challenged.

"Well, he might be in New Orleans," Olivia countered. "He's a pirate after all."

Jim shared a look with his partner, wondering how long she planned to be leading them around in circles. They shared a silent nod of agreement and moved toward the table. It was high time they got to the bottom of this supposed man-hunt.

"Who is your father, really?" Artie asked.

"And we want the truth this time," Jim added.

"I just told you," she insisted, keeping her eyes on the chess board. "He's a pirate in New Orleans."

"And yesterday he was a British spy," Jim stated.

"Don't forget, he was also a lord and a doctor," his partner chimed in. "Anything else you would like to add? Perhaps he is the crown prince of Spain as well?"

"Denmark, actually," Olivia replied, a smile playing at her lips. "And it's all true."

Artie let out a quiet laugh and shook his head, clearly having figured something out, but Jim wasn't so sure. The girl claimed that her father was a doctor, pirate, spy, British noble, and the crown prince of Denmark. How did that even – oh.

"He's an actor," the agent surmised.

"Best there ever was," Olivia said proudly. "Mama said he could do all of Hamlet single handed, if he could figure out how to duel himself."

"That would be quiet a sight to behold," Artie agreed. "So why did your mother leave him?"

"She didn't," Olivia replied, her smile fading. "When the war broke out, he joined the army. He was coming back, just … never made it. But he's not dead."

Jim shared a grim look with his partner. The war had been over for eight years; if her real father could have come back, he would have done so by now. The little girl was chasing a ghost. Artie knelt down beside her, placed a hand on her shoulder and opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

"Don't you say he's dead, because he's not. Father said he was dead; that's how he got Mama to marry him, but he's a liar. He lies about everything, so I know he lied about this too. Papa is alive!"

Artie just gave her speech a soft smile, claiming that he was just going to ask if she was hungry. While Jim knew better – and it was likely Olivia did too – the tactic worked and the wall she had thrown up started to crumbled. Promising to return with a feast, he headed to the galley. If only they had known the power of his cooking from day one, things might have been easier on all of them!

"I'm not making him up," Olivia whispered after a moment.

"What?"

"I do have a real father, and he's not Douglas Scranton."

"I never said you didn't," Jim said, taking a seat next to her. "I knew a lot of men in the war that left wives behind."

"Mama and Papa weren't married yet."

He knew a lot of stories like that too. Who knew how many babies were born to fathers they would never know, how many unwed mothers got themselves married in a hurry to hide their pregnancies? Douglas Scranton probably saw himself as doing a service to a fallen compatriot. However, if Olivia was right and Scranton did lie about her real father's death, then why didn't he ever come back?

"Do you know your real father's name?"

"No, just the name that Mama called him," she admitted, pulling a pouch out of her pocket. "It's what he signed his letter with, see?"

She unfolded the yellow pages to show him the last one and Jim caught his breath. That signature could only have been made by one man, someone had met during the war and knew very well. Excusing himself, he took the letter into the galley. His partner was peeling potatoes and looked up when he entered, frowning at what he saw.

"What's wrong?" he asked, setting down the food to wipe his hands on a towel. "It is Olivia?"

"Her father's alive, Artie," Jim said plainly, holding out the proof. "It's you."


Anyone see that coming?