This one is pretty dark.

She knew there was someone following her. She had the sense that no matter where she was, there was someone close by, monitoring her movements.

Her clues came sporadically. A person half-seen ducking behind something. A brush too close. An odd sense of movement from someone. It didn't seem like it was one person, she was starting to think, but several.

As for the why, she had a few ideas. She did work for a major financial firm, and she could open doors that were unavailable to anyone but those in the know. She knew that there were some that would use those for means that were less than legal. Or, it could be her own wealth, which was not huge, but still enough to put her squarely in the upper class. It could be other things too. She didn't know or had any way of knowing why. She just knew she was and that was enough for her.

She finally got into her office and used her keycard to open a door to a narrow hallway, one used by security and high-end clients to avoid too much exposure. She went in and took a left turn, then went straight for a bit, then another left, bringing her out in another location of the first floor.

She smiled, and looked around. No one would think she'd have stayed on this floor, she thought. She smiled and went to take an elevator up to another floor, not her office, but one where she had a meeting today.

When it got to the fifteenth floor, the floor she had chosen, it was still her hand holding that briefcase, her feet in high-heeled ankle boots calmly walking, the swish of her expensive trousers with each step, but above the neck it wasn't her! Instead it was the head of a man, stitches joining his head to her former body.

He had gotten in on the third floor, and he noticed she hadn't noticed him at all. He had been here since before she set out from her luxury apartment. He had never seen her come in, and had not followed her one bit, merely waiting for her to use the same elevator at the same time she did every day. She seemed to think she had been followed, or at least that was what her frantic words seemed to suggest. How interesting.

As she started to go limp from the sedative, he remembered, just before he got the machine set up and it began it's work (which he then stashed along with what was left of him and her on a maintenance floor, a friend would handle that part) she asked him why.

He smiled at that and didn't answer. He didn't need to explain himself to her. He had gotten what he wanted, her sexy body. He didn't need to say a thing.