Dead Men's Dust

    'I'll give the owner a call and let him know. I'm sure he'll be grateful for your help,' she said.

    'It's nothing,' Cain reassured her, 'but there's nothing worse than a dead battery. And it's so easily avoided, too. I'd only hope that if I were ever so careless, someone would do the same for me.'

    'Me, too,' said the woman. 'I remember one time I was at the mall and I left my lights on. Had to call a tow truck and everything. It was so embarrassing.'

    'And costly, I bet?'

    'Oh, not too bad. It was more the inconvenience,' the woman said. She covered the memory of her discomfiture with a hand over her mouth. To some the act would look coy, but to Cain it was reminiscent of a self- conscious halitosis sufferer.

    'Pity I wasn't around that time,' Cain said. 'Could've saved you some trouble.'

    The woman's amused laughter was the tinkling of Christmas bells. Humble and caring guy strikes again. When she looked at him this time, it was with more interest. 'Are you a guest here, sir?'

    'No,' Cain said. 'I was just driving by and my phone rang. I don't have a hands-free kit, so I pulled over. Hope you don't mind me using one of your parking spots for a few minutes? I'd have been gone by now if I hadn't noticed the lights on the car I told you about.'

    'It's not a problem, sir. In fact, it's good of you to take the time

to come in and tell me. Thousands of people wouldn't have even bothered.'

    'That's true,' Cain said in agreement. But then again, he always did suspect that he was unique. 'Isn't it sad, though, that people have got to a point where they'll just walk on by without offering a hand?'

    'It is.' The woman nodded. 'Not many people I meet are as nice as you.'

    Ooh, the nice word. Cain thought she was nice, too. Unfortunately, he had wholly different reasons for his opinion. His estimation was based purely upon the judgment of the ossuary-building artist within him. Clark Kent's X-ray vision was no less penetrating than his scrutiny. She had a pleasing bone structure behind the rosy cheeks. A little plump, perhaps, so that he couldn't easily define the fine skeletal lines he adored. He glanced from her face to her hands. They were slim and long fingered, the nails polished to a sheen. Now there were treasures he would cherish. Slowly he traced each digit in turn with his eyes.

    She was aware of this examination. She stirred, ever so slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. Cain acted startled, offering her an abashed grin.

    'Sorry. You caught me staring,' he said. 'It's just that . . . well, uh, you have such beautiful hands.'

    'My hands?' The woman didn't know how to answer, but she was flattered. Unconsciously she gripped the sheaf of papers tightly in one hand while she held out the other and studied it. Cain leaned toward her.

    'I hope you don't think I'm giving you some sort of cheesy comeon,' he said. 'I'm simply speaking the truth. Your hands are lovely.'

    'Thanks,' she said. 'That's really sweet of you to say so.'

    The catch in her throat gave her an appealing huskiness. She coughed. Eyes darting toward the office as though checking for a disapproving supervisor. The unashamed impression she was portraying was frowned upon by the hotel management, either that or she genu inely was as naive as she appeared. She discretely slipped her hands below the counter. Her rosy cheeks had become twin candy apples.

    'Sorry if I'm embarrassing you,' Cain said. 'I don't mean to.'

    'No, it's okay. I'm not embarrassed.' Despite her words, her cheeks were growing even redder. She dropped her chin toward her chest, swayed in indecision, then laughed.

    Cain laughed with her.

    'Look,' he said. 'I have embarrassed you. I'm sorry. Please accept my apologies.'

    He put out a hand and the woman reached for it reflexively.

    They shook hands.

    'Apology accepted,' said the woman, still laughing.

    Cain was slow to release her hand. He allowed his fingers to trail along her palm, prolonging the sensation for as long as possible. One of his human frailties was a total lack of empathy, but what he lacked in compassion he more than made up for in sensory ability. He did not have the capacity to love a woman, but he did love to touch a woman.

    He would lodge the sensation in some far recess of his mind, a memory to summon for later. If he couldn't have her hands, he could have the sensory recall of their touch whenever he desired. And that thought was enough to sustain him for now. The primary need on his agenda was his reckoning with the thief. Afterward, if everything went well—as it most definitely would—he could come back at his leisure and take her hands as genuine trophies.

    Finally, he stepped back, gave a slight wave.

    'Well, I'd best get going,' he said. 'I've taken up too much of your time as it is.'

    'Honestly, sir, it was no problem.'

    'See you,' he said. 'And once again, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you.'

    'Yeah, see you,' the woman replied. She lifted her hand in reflex. Caught it in midwave. Then laughed and continued the gesture.

    Cain gave her his most self-effacing grin. His wink was full of promise.

    He walked back through the lobby. In the old Hollywood musicals, Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire would have made the walk a grand swagger, hands in pockets, whistling merrily before swooping around to catch her looking. Cain wasn't so flamboyant; at the exit he merely twisted at the shoulder. It was enough to confirm that, yes, she