Chapter 7
Symbol
Throughout history, fire has had many meanings.
In Ancient Rome, fire was associated with the goddess Vesta and the eternal flame burning in her temple.
The Hindu God of Fire, Agni, symbolizes purity and energy.
In some African cultures, fire is used in rituals and ceremonies for purification and protection.
In Greek mythology, fire was stolen from the gods by Prometheus and given to humanity, symbolizing enlightenment, knowledge, and civilization.
The pattern is obvious. Fire is defiant. Fire protects. Fire purifies. Fire has meaning.
I reread the chemical composition findings and analysis of the match found at the latest crime scene.
When sparked, the flame burns blue. A novelty gift.
There are only two manufacturers in the United States that create and sell such matches.
One of them is in California. The other in Texas. None in New York.
“If you stare any harder at that piece of paper, doc, you’re gonna need glasses.”
My spine straightens as I look up at Kane. “I already wear contacts.”
He perks a brow. “Convenience or perception?”
I swallow. “What do you mean?”
He grins, perching on the edge of my desk, a brownie in hand. His sharp gaze slices across my face, and I can almost feel my skin stinging at the microscopic cuts he leaves in his wake.
I don’t know how he does it. Or if it’s even intentional. But whenever I spend time with this man, he marks me. It’s subtle—innocent, perhaps—but I feel it. Deep within, I feel it. He burns me. He lights me on fire.
“I had a friend growing up. She hated wearing glasses because kids used to make fun of her, so she started wearing contacts. No more bullying.” He cocks his head. “Did someone hurt your feelings, Safia? Or do you simply prefer the convenience of contacts?”
“What do you want, Kane?” I ask, refusing to give him privileged information. He doesn’t need to know about my oh-so-wonderful stint in boarding school. Children are cruel. That’s all I’ll say.
“You get the chem analysis back?” He glances down at the findings. “So, what does it say?”
I clear my throat and show him the findings.
“Hmm…” he hums. “And?”
I swallow, my mouth drying as he angles himself closer to me.
“The unsub is making a statement. Fire often signifies purity, but these matches were unlit. It could be because he doesn’t deem these victims to be worthy of cleansing.
Also, there are only two manufacturers that make this type of match.
I emailed you their contact information.
You should call them. Ask if they distribute in New York. ”
Kane nods as he brings the brownie to his lips. I watch, frozen in a sliver of debilitating time as he slowly sinks his teeth into the decadent dessert. His eyes shut for a moment, each movement of his jaw controlled and deliberate.
His eyelids snap open, and his darkened gaze meets mine.
“I’ll get right on that.”
“Any…” I gather my composure. “Any updates on the financials?”
He smirks. “Eighteen years is a long way to go back. Zoey’s almost halfway. We’ll have our data soon.” He glances to the top right corner of my desk, expression tightening as he narrows in on a wrapped gift. “For me? You shouldn’t have.”
“It’s for Amir. His birthday party is tonight.”
He casts me a devilish smile. “A party, huh? Let me guess, it’s at some exclusive club and he bought the entire venue out.”
I purse my lips. At least I’m not the only one in the family that’s predictable.
“Perhaps.”
He grins. “So, where is it? The W? Maxine’s? Tilt?”
I fight the urge to scowl at him. “The W.”
Pride oozes from his pores. “How unoriginal.”
I can’t bring myself to agree with him even though I do.
Amir and his friends seem to recycle the same old spots over and over again.
I thought that by the time Amir reached his mid-thirties, nightclubs wouldn’t be as exciting, but here we are.
Different year, same MO. At least the venue is a normal club, not his usual house of horny horrors.
“I’m only dropping by for a minute,” I say. “Clubs aren’t really my scene.”
He casts me a curious look. “And what is your scene, Safia? A library?”
I glower at him. “I—”
“You should go, doc. Have some fun.” He hops off my desk. “I feel like if anyone needs to let loose, it’s you.”
I cross my arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He walks away without giving me an answer, chuckling under his breath.
Deep, thumping bass blasts through the speakers, rattling my jaw as the bouncer checks my name off the guestlist.
I pull down the hem of my black faux leather mini dress, inwardly cringing.
It’s too short. Far too short. But other than this dress—if I can even call it that—and a red lace nighty I bought on a whim, there is nothing in my closet that remotely comes close to club attire.
I hope no one asks where I bought this dress.
I’d have to disclose that I wore it as a Halloween costume in college years ago.
Cat Woman. I blame my roommate at the time.
She used to drag me to all the frat parties. She’s a district attorney now.
Wincing, I squeeze through the swarms of Upper East siders, maneuvering to the VIP alcoves.
Amir’s gift digs into my hip as I forcefully push people out of my way.
There must be three hundred guests here.
How the hell does Amir know this many people?
I spot an enthusiastic hand waving in the distance, and I fight against swaying bodies until I reach my destination.
Hopping down from the raised platform, Amir charges at me, grinning.
“Saffy! You made it!” He scoops me up into his arms, and I cringe.
Everyone on the throngs of the dance floor definitely just saw my ass.
“I for sure thought you’d bail.” He gives me two kisses on the cheek, taking a step back and giving me a once-over. “Damn. Who knew you had this in you?”
I roll my eyes. “Happy birthday, Amir.” I pass him the gift. “Be gentle with it. It’s fragile.”
His smile widens. “What is it?!”
I glance over his shoulder to people he deems worthy enough to hang out in the VIP section of a VIP party. Bottles of liquor and sparkling water litter the tables.
“Open it at home.”
“Okay!” Amir puts his arm over my shoulder and leads me up the two steps to the sectional sofas. I cast a forced smile to his entourage. “You remember Damon, Quin, and Emery, right?”
“Mhmm.” I give them a small wave. “Nice to see you all again.”
“Likewise,” Emery says, tight-lipped. She takes a small sip of her drink. “Nice dress. It’s very…cute.”
Bitch.
“Thanks.” And I leave it at that. I’m not one for prolonging fake pleasantries. I turn back to Amir. “I’m going to use the restroom. Order me a red wine?”
“On it!” Amir calls out as I sigh, temples pulsing as I dive back into the chaos of the club.
The club feels sticky, sweaty, and suffocating.
It’s too loud. Too dark. And people here are far too handsy.
The bathroom is packed with dozens of women.
Giggling, chatting, some doing copious amounts of drugs.
They don’t notice me. And I prefer it that way.
Being invisible has its perks. I don’t get asked to be in photos. I’m the one who usually takes them.
When I emerge from the bathroom, I plan my route back to Amir’s VIP table. The route of less groping.
Before I can take a step, I frown, tilting my head as a familiar brunette tosses a full martini in Amir’s face.
My eyes widen.
What the…
I fight through the crowds, stepping on toes as I make my way back to the alcoves.
“I think I’m in love,” Amir whispers, wiping gin off his face as I appear beside him, baffled.
“Was that Agent Gates?!” I ask.
“Oh…” Amir grins, following Gigi’s fuming frame as she storms off. “Agent, huh? Okay, makes sense.”
My brows scrunch up. “What is she doing here?”
Amir smirks, unwilling to lose Gigi in the crowd. “I asked my assistant to send an invite to your little task force. Figured they’d jump on the opportunity for free drinks. Government workers don’t get paid much, you know?”
I blink. “You invited the task force?”
“Relax…” Amir pats my shoulder, his attention stolen by my new colleague who is definitely not the type of woman he wants to mess with. “Have a drink, Saf. Enjoy the party. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t—”
And he’s gone. He never listens. Ever.
I suck in a sharp breath as a server approaches me with a tray of drinks. “White wine?”
My jaw locks. He never listens. “No, I wanted red.” The server’s face pales.
Maybe she’s new. I glance at the nine other cocktails on her tray.
It will take her longer to serve these drinks and process my order than it would for me to do it myself.
I sigh. “It’s fine. I’ll just go grab it at the bar. ”
“Are you sure—”
I place a twenty on her tray and smile. “I’m sure. You’re doing a great job.”
She pockets the cash, and I start toward the bar kiosk.
Before I can make it to the counter, a cold chill climbs up my spine, and I feel a hand on my shoulder.
I gasp, spinning around to find Patient X standing in front of me in a server's uniform.
My stomach drops.
Kaleb Cross. It's been months. I haven't seen him in months.
He looks different. He's trimmed his hair; it's more stylish now. His face is clean-cut, his eyes still the color of a cloudless sky. He stares at me with full-fledged admiration, with unfounded desire and love, and it makes me feel uneasy. Nervous. It’s okay. It’s fine.
Everything is fine. This man is ill. He just needs help.
I approach with caution. With a delicate hand. And a delicate tongue.
"Kaleb, what are you doing here?"
He replies semi-neurotically, laughing, "It's your brother's birthday, baby. I wouldn't miss it for the world. And I'm so sorry I haven't been around lately. I was... I was out of town on business. Just signed a huge deal. You’d be so proud of me."