Chapter 9
The thought of someone that ruthless going after Shalimar sent chills down Brennan's spine, but he couldn't allow himself to think about that right now. Priority Number One was to reach San Francisco before Damien Acosta, and to do that he needed information. Pushing back the emotions that could only distract him, he called upon the discipline of his martial arts training to focus his mind on the formulation of strategy, thinking in terms of necessary information and forming a sort of checklist in his head.
"All right – the first thing we need to do is find out what Acosta is flying. Jess, can you hack into the FAA?"
"I'd be better off starting with the security systems at Miami International Airport," the team's tech specialist replied. He left the copilot seat for the computer station opposite Lexa and immediately set his fingers working. "If I can spot him on video, I can get the plane, and from there his call sign. Then I can track him through the FAA."
Brennan sent a glance over his shoulder. "Lexa, once he has a location, do you think maybe your Dominion buddies can arrange a nice ambush?"
"They probably already have something in the works", she replied, "After all, they've got hackers, too – not as good as Jesse, of course…." She sent a quick smirk across the aisle and received a pleased grin in response. "…but no slouches, either. I'm sure they already know where he is and what he's flying, so I have to think that they're scrambling every airborne resource they can get their hands on. That's a lot of sky, though, so I don't think we can count on them finding him and taking him out."
"Well then, how about getting someone already on the ground in San Francisco to keep an eye on Shal until we get there?" Jesse asked.
Lexa shook her head.
"That's not a good idea," she said slowly. The Dominion, though aware of Acosta's flight plan, evidently hadn't made the connection to Shalimar's sudden family reunion. MacGruff had, but he hadn't reported it to the Council, tipping off Lexa instead. She could only guess at his motives, but in this case their objectives coincided. The best thing for everyone concerned was for Mutant X to get to Shalimar first, quickly and quietly. Asking the Dominion for a babysitter would not only defeat the purpose, it could have some very unpleasant consequences. She had seen it happen before. "If we told them what was going on, it's a whole lot more likely that they would try to take her into "protective custody." She pantomimed the quotation marks and let them draw their own conclusions about what that entailed. "I'd just as soon not give them any kind of an excuse. Besides, I told you that I think my contact is acting on his own in giving us this heads-up in the first place. I don't want to call attention to that."
She also didn't want to call attention to the possibility that they might already be too late. Someone as intelligent and foresighted as Damien Acosta probably already had operatives of his own on station. MacGruff had dropped a hint along those lines, mentioning in passing that there didn't seem to be any 'unusual activity', as he put it, in the vicinity, but something like that could change in a big hurry. That was why she insisted they leave for San Francisco immediately. The fact that Acosta accelerated his takeoff from Miami made her uneasy, and not just because of the head start it gave him. It could be that Acosta hadn't expected Shalimar to take his bait so quickly, and so needed to make some adjustments to whatever plan he had in place. On the other hand, he could have left early because Shalimar had already been taken. There was just no way to know until they either reached her by phone or got within comlink range.
Brennan acknowledged the wisdom of her thinking with a grim nod.
"Okay. I'm going to need weather reports between here and San Francisco, with regular updates, including anything you can get on local wind patterns."
"I'm on it."
For several minutes the only sound in the cabin of the Helix was the sound of tapping keys. Brennan envied them the tasks that kept them occupied. For him there was only the monitoring of the instruments and keeping them on course, activities he could practically do in his sleep. It left his mind far too much leeway to wander into other areas, things that would only distract him and keep him from thinking clearly…such as picturing a brainwashed Shalimar standing beside Acosta and preparing to square off against her former teammates. The telepath might even want to claim her in a more personal way by mentally coercing her into his bed. He wouldn't put it past the son of a bitch, and bile burned hot in his throat at the thought.
Stop it! Brennan clamped down on his wayward imagination with an iron will, trying to shut his mind to such destructive thoughts, forcing himself to concentrate on the job at hand. There was no sense in driving himself crazy by picturing a lot of scenarios that weren't even remotely possible. It was just his imagination, spurred on by his newly-admitted feelings for Shalimar, blowing things all out of proportion. Acosta had a big head start, but he was fairly confident that they could still beat him to San Francisco. The Double Helix was just about the fastest civilian ship in the air, easily capable of breaking Mach 1, something no executive jet he knew of could claim. The Helix had the added advantage of being small enough and maneuverable enough to land on a rooftop. Acosta would first have to fly into San Francisco International Airport, pick up a car or cab and drive into the city, and then spend more time trying to pinpoint her exact location. In contrast, they would be able to go right to Shalimar by tracking her comlink signal.
Brennan took a long, slow breath and exhaled the same way, trying to force himself to relax. He was getting himself worked up over nothing. Shalimar was fine; he would see that for himself when they reached their destination. In fact, she would most likely be ticked off when they descended on her, barging in on a very emotional reunion between her and her mother. It would look like he was being overprotective, just as when he drove her to the airport. Shalimar could take care of herself; no one knew better than he how formidable she was in a fight. Besides, she was with her mother in the upscale heart of one of the West Coast's largest cities. That wasn't exactly the optimum place for someone to try his hand at kidnapping.
Except… few things could spark terror in Shalimar, but an attack on her mind was one of them. Of all of them, only he could possibly understand what that was like. True, Jesse had briefly been a test subject at Genomex, but he had been out of it much of that time. As for Lexa, although her mind had been controlled through the implant that was once attached to her brain stem, when it was activated she had very little awareness of what she was being forced to do. Both of those situations were certainly very bad, but it wasn't like the brain-twisting Shalimar was subjected to at the psychotic hands of Gabriel Ashlocke, or the brutal plundering Brennan himself suffered from Mason Eckhart's pet telepath, a woman whose name he never even knew. They couldn't begin to comprehend the helplessness and horror of having your mind so ruthlessly invaded, of having your very thoughts stolen and corrupted; of knowing you were being mentally raped, feeling it, but being powerless to do anything about it. Brennan felt beads of sweat dampening his palms as they always did when that memory raised its ugly head, his gut twisting itself into knots. He still had nightmares about it sometimes, and suspected Shalimar did, too. It wasn't something they ever talked about.
And he'd burn to a crisp anyone who ever tried to put her through that again.
Hacking into the security systems at Miami International Airport wasn't tremendously difficult for someone with Jesse Kilmartin's skill and equipment. Within minutes he was scrolling through the digital footage, concentrating on the civilian areas of the tarmac as he searched for Damian Acosta. Every so often, though, he glanced up at the big elemental in front of him. They were all a little wired that someone as powerful as Damien Acosta could be stalking Shalimar, but it seemed to him as if there was something different about the way Brennan was reacting. It wasn't as if he was climbing the walls or anything; he was as tightly in control of himself as ever. There was just something about the set of his shoulders, an extra degree of tension there that was palpable. Were Brennan's feelings for Shalimar changing, becoming deeper, more…personal? Studying the big man's body language, Jesse was willing to bet that's what was going on. Whether or not Brennan realized what was happening, though, was another question. He made a mental note to observe him carefully when they got to Shalimar; test his theory, so to speak. If he was right, things could get interesting around Sanctuary when they all returned from San Francisco.
Movement on the computer monitor distracted him from that intriguing train of thought. A luggage trailer towed by a nondescript airport tractor had been meandering innocuously across the concrete. Now suddenly it was accelerating, heading at top speed toward a private jet parked off by itself. Jesse watched as a portion of one of the yellow canvas sides was pulled back by someone inside. Tiny puffs of white, hard to make out because of the grainy quality of the video, appeared and disappeared in quick succession. In the next breath something unseen, like a gust of wind, rocked the trailer, and the tractor driver abruptly stiffened and then collapsed, causing the vehicle to veer off drunkenly. It careened across the tarmac, narrowly missing two mechanics and another luggage trailer, stopping only when it crashed into a boundary fence.
What the hell? Jesse scrolled back to the moment he first saw the trailer, then brought in footage from the adjoining camera to view on a split screen and increased the magnification. With the wider view the addition gave he could see what he hadn't before. A black man with a shaved head, dressed in a well-tailored suit, had been walking toward the jet when the trailer suddenly veered at him. The man stopped, his head jerking sharply to his right. He saw the trailer flap being pulled back and his hand shot up, palm outward. There was the faintest shimmer near the man, probably some kind of reflection off the camera lens. Little flecks of something the image wasn't sharp enough to adequately identify appeared to bounce off an invisible barrier. The vehicle kept coming at its top speed, making an angled run that kept the side of the trailer facing him. The man gestured sharply. The shimmer seemed to flash across the tarmac, striking the charging vehicle. The trailer rocked briefly on its right-side wheels, and the canvas side snapped violently inward. The driver suddenly jerked rigidly upright for a second, then slumped over the wheel, turning it abruptly away. The man on the tarmac watched it for a few seconds until it crashed headlong into the boundary fence, then calmly straightened his suit jacket and proceeded in an unhurried, even nonchalant fashion to board the jet.
Stunned, Jesse sat back. That had to have been the Dominion's sniper team, because although the black man's back was more or less to the camera, there was no doubt as to his identity. Jesse recognized the use of telekinesis when he saw it, and though the casually lethal way it was employed appalled him, the speed and efficiency with which Damien Acosta dealt with the assassination attempt was impressive. The whole attack hadn't taken ten seconds from start to finish.
This was something they would have to be prepared for if at some point they did face off against the renegade mutant. This video could be very useful to study in order to figure out some sort of defensive strategy. Jesse downloaded it to show the others later, then backtracked to watch his quarry approach the waiting plane. He whistled silently at the sleek, powerful aircraft and zoomed in to catch its markings. Once he had it tagged, he started pulling data on it.
"I've got the plane," he announced presently, "It's a Gulfstream G650, which is their top-of-the-line luxury jet. It's a pretty hot number, too. According to their website, it's a twin engine job with a top speed of around 600 miles an hour, and a range of about 7000 miles, so he won't need to stop to refuel. It can also cruise at 51,000 feet, so it can get above pretty much any weather it comes across."
"It figures." The big elemental cursed silently. The Helix was still faster, but not by nearly the margin he was counting on. Beating their foe to San Francisco just became a whole lot harder. "Have you got a location on him?"
"I'm working on it."
"Speaking of weather," Lexa interjected, "Ours looks good so far. We've got clear skies for the next 700 miles or so. I'm watching a small low pressure system over the northern plains; we may be able to pick up a tail wind over Iowa on the back side of it."
"I sure as hell hope so," Brennan muttered under his breath.
It was beginning to look like they were going to need all the luck they could get.
"I'll have the chicken marsala," Shalimar said to the polished young waiter who stood beside their table, his pen and pad poised attentively, "And a side salad with the house dressing."
"And to drink?"
"Mineral water with a twist."
"Yes, ma'am."
He finished taking their order with a few quick strokes, gathered up their menus with crisp efficiency, and bustled off.
After leaving the attorney's office Olivia had insisted on taking her daughter to lunch. Shalimar hadn't so much agreed as didn't actively resist. Even during the cab ride she made only desultory conversation, her manner closed and distracted. Now here they were, ensconced in a booth at a posh downtown restaurant reeking with Old World charm and elegance, and Shalimar was taking no more notice than if they had gone to a local burger joint. Olivia watched as the younger woman fiddled with her silverware, making minute changes to the implements' placing with the tips of her fingers, and very likely not realizing she was doing it. It wasn't hard to guess what was on her daughter's mind.
"Your father's letter upset you, didn't it?"
Shalimar slowly raised her head to meet her mother's shrewd gaze.
"He said all the right things; how much he loved me, and how he wished things hadn't turned out the way they had, but….," She broke off, picking up the fine silk napkin and spreading it slowly on her lap, trying to organize her thoughts. How could she put into words the aching hope that had sprung in her heart when William Kensington presented her with the creamy sealed envelope, hope that her father might have at last come to realize that he was wrong to try to 'fix' her; only to have that hope dashed as she read the soft, conciliatory words that slashed through her like a knife? He hadn't meant them that way; she knew that, but his bitterness about her mutantcy, though not expressly stated, permeated every line. Now he was gone, and the chasm that kept them apart could never be breached. She shrugged, trying to pretend as though her heart hadn't been ripped in two.
"He kept talking about how he wanted us to be a 'normal' family again," she said dully. Olivia's chin tilted in puzzlement.
"What's wrong with that?"
Didn't even her mother understand? "I'm not 'normal'!" Shalimar flashed fiercely, "Not the way he meant. I never will be." She flicked a quick glance at a waitress passing by carrying her tray and lowered her tone. "But Dad couldn't see that. He never stopped trying to find a 'cure' for me, as if I had some disease. He could never understand that the mutant and his daughter are the same person. I am who I am, and I like who I am. My mutancy is a part of me, and I wouldn't trade it for anything."
She swallowed hard, her eyes beginning to glitter with unshed tears.
"All I ever wanted was for you and Dad to accept and love me for who I was."
"'Who you were' was constantly changing," Olivia gently reminded her, "We did love you. We just couldn't keep up. You're comfortable with you who are now, but at the time it was the complete opposite. None of us knew, least of all you, what was happening to you; just that it was chaotic and extreme and painful - for all of us. But through it all, you were our daughter." She reached across the table and squeezed the younger woman's hand, looking deeply into the brown eyes so like her own. "You still are."
"You say that, but don't know anything about me," her daughter shot back, "I can do things, things you can't even imagine. I can climb walls without a rope, rip steel doors off their hinges…."
"Leap tall buildings in a single bound?"
That stopped Shalimar short just as she was working up a good head of steam. She couldn't help but smile at her mother's dry comment.
"Well…small ones, anyway. The point is, he kept trying to fit me into this mold of what he thought his daughter should be. I'm not that person. I never was. I'm different. I have friends who are different also, who love and accept me as a person as well as a mutant. Together, we use our abilities behind the scenes to try to make the world a better place."
"I'm glad, Kitten." Olivia's smile was filled with sincerity, "And I'm very, very proud of you. You've managed to take all that grief and pain and turn it into something positive. You've become a strong, confident, beautiful woman." She sighed wistfully, her smile dimming just a bit with melancholy. "I just wish I could have been a part of it."
A shadow of that same sadness and regret brushed Shalimar's face as she thought about what might have been – things like proms and high school sweethearts, family road trips and holidays, and so very much more. "Me, too. We've both missed out on so much." And yet, there was also the flip side. If her life hadn't gone the way it had, Shalimar wouldn't be the woman her mother just described. She wouldn't have been found by Adam, who explained what was happening to her and taught her how to use her abilities; gave her a home, another father, and a life that allowed her to be who she truly was. She wouldn't have had Jesse as a brother and a confidant, or Emma as the sister and friend who understood her as no other.
And she would have never met Brennan.
"I think…..maybe…..that sometimes things have to happen just the way they happen," she said, surprising herself with the sudden insight. Seeing the major events in her life from new and different angles had helped put everything into perspective. There would always be regrets about the past, but somehow they didn't seem to matter as much anymore. She had her mother back, and was looking forward to exploring a new chapter in her life with the man she loved. Everything else paled to insignificance.
"We have a second chance now," Olivia said softly, echoing her daughter's thoughts, her eyes bright and moist, "We can't get back what was lost, but we can go forward. It won't happen all at once, but at least we've found each other again. For that, I feel…..blessed."
The waiter chose that moment to return with their order, giving each woman a needed distraction. Conversation fell silent as they both applied themselves to their meal, allowing them time to regain their composure. It wasn't until the dishes were being cleared away and dessert ordered that Olivia spoke again, but this time there was a glint of mischief lurking behind her placid expression.
"Now then, speaking of going forward, let's talk about more important things – like when I'm going to see my first grandchild."
Shalimar had been refreshing herself with a drink of water when her mother launched that little bombshell. It promptly when down the wrong way, making her explode in a fit of coughing and sputtering, just as the older woman planned. Large, stunned eyes rose up from behind her napkin.
"Grandchild?!" she squeaked when she could finally draw a breath.
"Well, yes," Olivia said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I'm not getting any younger, you know. I would very much like to see my only daughter settled down with a family of her own, particularly kids that I can spoil rotten and then give back to you to deal with. It's the revenge every parent hopes to visit on their children."
Shalimar felt her face turn bright scarlet.
"What?" Olivia was enjoying her daughter's reaction immensely. "Doesn't your young man want children? Or are you the one with reservations?"
"We haven't … we're nowhere near that stage. There are … complications."
Olivia shook her head.
"There always are. And if you'll allow some motherly advice – there always will be." Her tone softened, becoming more serious. "It's how you deal with them that counts. It can bring you together or tear you apart. That's the difference between a lover and a spouse, Kitten, and it goes both ways. If, as you said, he accepts you for who you are, then you have to accept him for who he is. I know you said you're not anywhere near that stage, but you need to keep that in the back of your head for when you do get there. You can't let your temper take over. Don't be so quick to assume that you know what he's thinking, or that he knows what you're thinking. You have to talk. And be honest. Focus on reaching a solution together. That's the key. If you remember that you're in this together, and to reach out toward each other, then you'll be able to weather any storm." Her eyes lowered, but Shalimar could still see the regret for the ashes of a love that once was. "It was a long time before I understood that."
"Is that what happened between you and Dad?"
"In hindsight, I think it was. We turned away from each other to deal with our grief. He focused more and more on building his business, and I pulled everything inside. Doing that created a gap between us that only widened with time, until finally it was too big to bridge." Her eyes lifted again, and she faced her daughter earnestly. "Don't let that happen to you."
They finished their lunch in silence, each woman lost in her own thoughts. After paying for the meal, they stepped out into the sunshine. A liveried doorman hailed a cab for them and open the door when one pulled up. Olivia got in and started to slide over to give her daughter room, but Shalimar hesitated.
"You know what – I think I'd rather walk back. There are some things I need to think through."
Her mother wasn't surprised. "Are you sure you can find your way back?"
The feral smiled. "I'm sure. But here – take this for me." Not wanting to be encumbered with it, she unslung her purse from her shoulder and handed it through the open door. Olivia accepted it and nodded in understanding.
"I hope you'll be back in time for dinner," she said, "Gene flies in this afternoon, and I'd like you to meet him."
"Lady, in or out," the cabbie complained.
Both women shot him a glare, which made him shut up. Shalimar stepped back.
"I'll see you later," she said, and stepped back to allow the doorman to close the door. Olivia gave her a little wave as the cab drove off.
Shalimar watched it until it rumbled out of sight, then slowly started to drift along in its wake, steering through pedestrians on autopilot, the line of shops and boutiques for which San Francisco was famous no more than a colorful blur. Her mind was too full, her emotions too tumbled, for anything so mundane to capture her attention. Even a street vendor who placed himself directly in her path elicited no more notice than an iron lamppost. She simply stepped around him and went on, not even registering his obnoxious sales pitch or the lightning changes in his demeanor as he went from oily persuasion to disgusted frustration at her inattention. It was as if he didn't exist.
Shalimar thought that she had dealt with her "Brennan issues" as Lexa termed it, last night when she finally admitted to herself that she loved him as more than just a teammate. Since then she had been riding that idyllic high, and she couldn't wait to get back home so they could take their relationship to the next level. This was the real thing; she felt it deep in her bones. She had found her true mate, and there was no looking back.
Now, though, it appeared that there were more 'issues' than she realized. Olivia had put her finger squarely on the biggest one: children. Shalimar had been too caught up in the here and now, in the immediate future, to even think about long-term things like marriage and having kids. The comment had blindsided her, and she realized she had to face it and come to grips with everything that entailed. Brennan wanted kids. Did she? The truth was she didn't know how she felt, simply because she had never seriously considered the possibility of being a mother before. That came under the realm of 'someday'; her current thoughts on the subject began and ended with making sure she kept her birth control up to date. Certainly her own childhood was enough to make anyone gun-shy about parenthood, and her chosen lifestyle was too hectic, too violent, to make it practical or even reasonable. Not only that, her missions with Mutant X, not to mention her ongoing mutation, made it all too possible that she wouldn't even be around to raise a child properly. Her kid could be stuck in some foster home with parents who had no idea what they were dealing with, or worse yet, thrown into an institution just like she had been. Her teeth set in a grim line at the thought. That was one thing that was crystal clear and set in granite – if she ever did become pregnant, there was no way she would ever allow any child of hers to go through what she did.
Her steps slowed even further. What would it be like to have a baby of her own? She and Brennan would become lovers once she returned home; that was a foregone conclusion. She couldn't wait to be with him, to feel him thrusting deep inside her, filling her with his seed. Her heart fluttered wildly at the thought, heat flushing her from the core outward, and it seemed as if every hormone in her body started leaping in excitement. There was no chance she would get pregnant right away, of course, not until she went off the pill, but if she did – and the if was what she needed to decide upon - it would be inevitable. Could she be with him, in all fairness and honesty, if she decided that she didn't want children?
It was more likely, though, that her feral nature would favor life, and the fact that it would be his child might make all the difference. She let that thought sink in. Would she know immediately when his seed took root? Her hand lifted to rest lightly on her flat belly. How would it feel to experience the slow rounding of her body, the marvel of this tiny miracle; her child, Brennan's child, moving, growing, inside her? How would it feel to give birth? To have that new life, the evidence of their love, placed in her arms? A warm glow filled her heart as she pictured the infant nuzzling at her breast taking his first meal, with Brennan wrapping them both in a loving embrace. The image took her breath away.
So caught up was she in her reverie that she didn't notice the three figures detaching themselves from the shadows of the alley she was approaching and drift into an encircling formation. In fact, she knew nothing at all until two of them seized her arms and bum-rushed her down the alley. Chiding herself for this very uncharacteristic lapse in knowing what was going on around her at all times, she restrained her immediate prey impulses and allowed herself to be hustled around a corner into a service offshoot containing a loading dock and a dumpster. One of the thugs leaned close to her ear.
"Oh, we're going to have ourselves a good time," he whispered. His hand started sliding toward her thigh. She felt her adrenaline begin to pump in heady anticipation of what would come next, and her teeth gleamed white as she smiled.
"Well, one of us is."
His pungent breath was as much of an assault on her feral senses as his hand was, and now that they were out of sight from prying eyes, she saw no reason to endure it for another second. She whirled, snapping her elbow into the man's jaw, and was pleased to hear a betraying crunch. He howled in agony and went down. The other two, surprised that their petite victim was putting up a fight when by rights she should be cowering against the dumpster, closed in. Hands dipped into pockets, and a pair of switchblades flicked open with audible twin snicts.
"You shouldn't have done that, little girl," the second one said. He was bulkier than the first, his eyes white and dilated from meth or some other pharmaceutical. "Now we're gonna do you real slow, and all the kung fu crap in the world isn't going to help you." He motioned to his partner, and the two started to close in from either side.
Shalimar's lips spread into a predatory grin.
A few people on the street saw the hoodlums hustle the pretty young woman into the alley and hovered uncertainly around the entrance. They peered in anxiously when they started hearing thuds and groans, the unmistakable sounds of a fight, but none of them were brave enough to risk injury to themselves by trying to intervene. A couple of them pulled cell phones out and dialed 9-1-1, but were left with their mouths hanging open when, before they could even give the police the location of the assault, the 'victim' reappeared, alone, unhurt, and with a satisfied smile on her face.
Shalimar strode briskly toward the mouth of the alley. There was nothing like kicking a little bad-guy ass to clear the cobwebs from one's brain. Those punks had done her a favor in more ways than one. Besides the exercise, which she thoroughly enjoyed, the randomness of their attack reminded her how quickly the circumstances of a person's life could change. There was no need for her to start obsessing about might or might not happen down the road. Though she discovered that she was more than open to the thought of making babies with Brennan, that decision didn't have to be made just yet. For now she would just concentrate on the now, enjoy becoming lovers and letting their relationship deepen and grow before worrying about the happily-ever-after. There was too much uncertainty facing them all, from the Dominion to Bishop's warning about an approaching final battle, to speculate about the future. Carpe diem, she told herself, and let the chips fall where they may.
A motherly-looking woman who looked to be about fifty approached her cautiously.
"Are you all right, honey?" She glanced fearfully down the alley, as if expecting the thugs to come boiling out of there at any moment.
Shalimar's grin widened. "Never better." She started to cut around the gathering and continue on her way.
"But honey – your hand is bleeding."
Shalimar stopped in surprise. She hadn't felt either of the knives connect, but sure enough, a trail of blood was leaking through her fingers. Turning her hand over, she saw a sizeable cut across her palm. The woman stepped forward and took her hand.
"Better let me have a look at that," she said, with a bob of her short, salt-and-pepper head, "I'm an ER tech at St. Francis Memorial."
"It's fine, really – it doesn't even hurt," Shal protested. The gash was messy; blood was dripping off her hand, but that was all it was. She started to wipe it off reflexively, but remembered her suede jacket just in time. The woman fished a travel-sized pack of Kleenex from her pocket and pulled one loose.
"Let's clean that up and see what we've got," she said. Shalimar stood passively so she could clean the wound. It was better than having to explain the blood on her clothes to her mother. Strange, though, that she still didn't feel any pain from the cut.
The woman pressed the Kleenex into her palm. Shal felt something sting, like the stab of a needle. In the next heartbeat the knockout drug hit her system like a tidal wave, roaring over her senses. Instinctively, she tried to fight back, grabbing the woman's muscular arm in a crushing grip, but it was too late. The knot of passersby before them seemed to waver, then dissipate like smoke on a breeze. All of her senses seemed to follow suit. An overwhelming weakness seized her; she felt her knees buckle. A curtain of darkness rose up, shrouding her mind in a sea of black. The last lucid thought she had before it took her was to wonder why a middle-aged woman would have the scent of a man.