I wanted to storm in and tell Bryce to get the hell away from Scarlett.
I stayed where I was, out of sight in the hallway.
The whole point of giving Scarlett the catalog project was to see what she did with it. We weren't going to learn anything about her intentions if she stayed glued to my side. This way, she could move through the house thinking she was unobserved, and we could see what she was up to.
So far, the plan had been a waste of time. She'd accessed her email on the tablet Griffen gave her, but there was nothing of interest there. She'd checked her online shop, setting it on vacation mode, and replied to a few prospective clients. Not quite the criminal activity we were looking for.
After that, she'd pulled up her voicemail through her mobile provider's account, but there was nothing there, either. That done, she got to work cataloging the art she found as she worked her way through the house, room by room.
She'd made a few choice comments about the state of the house and the artwork she came across. Impolite but nothing my siblings and I hadn't said ourselves. Watching her on the tablet's hacked camera, my gut kept telling me that she was up to exactly what it looked like: searching for and evaluating the art in the house.
Except it was more than that. She entered every room with a spring in her step as if buoyed by fresh expectation. Every room left her deflated. Almost like she wasn't just searching for art to catalog. Like she was searching for a specific work of art. And not finding it. I'd have to have Griffen and Hawk check the footage and see if they had the same impression. If she was searching for something, what was it? And why?
She could have been simply looking for something worth stealing, but I doubted it. I didn't think this was about money. Not for Scarlett. She knew she wasn't sneaking some bauble past Hawk. Hours of watching her catalog art, and I was no closer to figuring out what she was up to. As much as I didn't want to leave her alone with Bryce, there was a chance he'd shake something loose.
The mostly empty guest room they were in was bright with the midday sun, leaving the hallway shadowed. I leaned against the wall opposite the open door, giving me a good view of Scarlett and Bryce. If they stared right at me they might see me, but between my dark shirt and jeans and the sunny room, I doubted it.
I was curious about Scarlett's reaction to Bryce. He was younger than me, and women seemed to think he was attractive. Okay, let's be real. I'm a guy, but I have eyes. Bryce looked like a young Greek god. What if Scarlett fell for his act? No way. She was too smart for that.
I scowled as I heard him call her a tasty little snack. Was he a moron? What made him think a woman like Scarlett was going to tolerate that kind of bullshit? I grinned to myself when she dismissed him, ignoring his taunt.
The grin faded when Bryce closed the distance between them. He lifted a finger, trailing it down her arm. Scarlett sidestepped, moving out of reach. My gut tightened at the unease she tried to hide. I was a dick for leaving her alone with a man who was making her uncomfortable. I did it anyway, waiting to see what happened next.
"Not interested," Scarlett said in an icy voice. "I'm here as a guest of Tenn's, helping catalog the family's art collection. Unless you can help with that, you're in my way."
"And where did Cousin Tenn find you? You don't look like any appraiser I've ever met."
"I doubt you've met enough art appraisers to make that kind of judgment. We come in all shapes and sizes."
"You know what I mean, honey." Bryce flipped his shaggy bangs off his forehead. They fell into a perfect swoop over his Sawyer blue eyes. Annoying fucker.
Scarlett's only response was to roll her own eyes. She barely spared him a glance before turning to study a painting on the wall. It badly needed cleaning but looked like an oil of some pastoral scene. The house was full of that kind of thing. It could be from a yard sale or a priceless work that belonged in a museum. Based on Scarlett's lack of excitement, I was betting it fell more on the yard sale end of the spectrum.
The room fell silent, the only sound the tap-tap-tap of Scarlett typing on the tablet screen as she made notes on the oil painting. She lifted the tablet and photographed the painting. Crossing the room until she was almost out of view, she stopped in front of a porcelain vase on a side table someone had shoved in the corner. Picking up the vase, she checked the bottom, snapped a photo, then moved back to take a second picture from the front.