In Death 14 - Reunion in Death

at seven a.m. quiet as a grave.
    He walked straight to his corner office, with its eagle-perch view of uptown Manhattan. His desk was a perfect rectangular island topped only by his data and communication center, his sterling pen set, a fresh blotter bordered in burgundy leather, and a silver-framed photo of his wife, the third image to grace that same frame in the past twenty-four years.
    He set his briefcase on the blotter, opened it, and removed his memo book and the disc files he'd taken home with him the night before.
    While commuter trams streamed the sky at his back, Henry closed the briefcase, set it on the shelf beside his desk for easy access.
    A faint sound had him glancing up, and frowning in puzzlement at the neatly dressed brunette in his doorway.
    "And who might you be?"
    "I beg your pardon, Mr. Mouton. I'm Janet Drake, the new temp. I heard you come in. I didn't realize anyone would be in this early."
    Julianna folded her hands at her waist and offered a shy smile. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
    "You're in early yourself, Miss Drake."
    "Yes, sir. It's my first day. I wanted to familiarize myself with the office and organize my cube. I hope that's all right."
    "Initiative is appreciated around here." Attractive, Henry thought, well-spoken, eager. "Would you be hoping for a permanent slot here, Miss Drake?"
    She worked up a faint flush. "I'd be thrilled to be offered a permanent position with your firm, sir. If my work warrants it."
    He nodded. "Carry on, then."
    "Yes, sir." She stepped back, stopped. "Could I bring you a cup of coffee? I just programmed fresh."
    He let out a grunt as he slid a file disc into his desk unit. "Light, no sugar. Thank you."
    In her practical pumps, Julianna clipped back to the staff break room. There was plenty of time. Her careful research told her that the head of the firm arrived in the offices at least thirty minutes, often a full hour before anyone else. But there was always a chance some eager-beaver law clerk or drone, some maintenance droid could come in and interrupt things.
    She preferred getting the job done and moving on while the day was young. She was sure Henry himself would applaud the efficiency.
    The idea tickled her so much she chuckled as she poisoned his coffee.
    "Could've worked out this way nine years ago, Henry," she murmured as she stirred in the cyanide. "But you didn't draw the short straw." She patted her short, dark hair. "Sort of a pity, really. I think you'd have enjoyed being married to me. For the short-term."
    She carried the thick, practical mug back into his office. His computer was already blathering about some legal precedent. Outside the glass wall a traffic copter whisked by as the morning commute heated up. Julianna set the coffee by his elbow, stepped back.
    "Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Mouton?"
    Obviously lost in thought, he picked up the coffee, sipped absently while he stared out at the traffic, listened to his notes.
    "No, I've everything I need, Miss..."
    "Drake," she said pleasantly, her gaze ice-cold as she watched him sip again. "Janet Drake."
    "Yes, well, good luck on your first day, Miss Drake. Just leave the door open when you go out."
    "Yes, sir."
    She stepped outside the office, and waited. She heard him begin to choke, that shocked, desperate attempt to draw air. Her face held a terrible beauty when she stepped back in to watch him die.
    She liked to watch, when the opportunity presented itself.
    His face was beet red, his eyes bulging. He'd knocked what was left of the coffee on the floor as he thrashed, and the brown seeped in to stain the stone gray carpet.
    He stared at her, the pain and fear alive in the room as he died.
    "Go down the wrong pipe?" she said cheerfully, and strolled over as he fell to the floor. "There's been a little change in routine today, Henry." She angled her head, her expression fascinated as his body convulsed. "You get to die."
    It was, Julianna thought, the most incredible sensation to witness death come, and know it marched in at the direction of your own hand.
    It was a wonder to her more people didn't try it.
    When it was finished, she blew him a sassy kiss, and sauntering out, closed the door behind her. A pity it was too early for the shops to be open, she thought as she picked up her handbag and strolled to the elevator. She felt like a nice splurge.
    ...
    Crouched over the body of Henry Mouton, Eve felt anger, frustration, and guilt. None of those emotions would