The first time he raped her was in the first floor bathroom, late at night.
She worked nights more often than not; something he’d learned while he’d stalked her. The office building was small and unimportant, home to half a dozen minor firms, each employing a handful of staff. The sole security guard who monitored the cameras spent more time checking his Facebook than he did the feeds.
She was late in, late out: one of those evening crowd people who came in after 9 a.m. and didn’t clock out until six or seven. Sometimes – rarely — she’d stay until well after dark. Seven, though, was her usual time; seven-thirty, by the time she got to her car.
He relied on that, and waited. Getting access to the building had been ridiculously easy. His kind were stealth hunters and ambush predators, and learned young how to slip in unseen. Her office was tempting, but brought a higher chance of discovery; windows were always a risk. He’d already memorized the headcount and faces of the people in her company, and already knew that every single one of them had already left for home.
Eventually, she left too… and detoured into the restroom before reaching the elevators. He’d smirked as he watched her disappear inside, and his decision to follow was instant. The elevators had cameras, but the bathrooms were safe.