Dawn Meadows slumped onto her side with all the fight taken out of her. Her molten golden hair pooled around her. The toxin ran its course, finishing the tour of her hospitable veins, sufficiently knocking out the lithe girl.
The shooter approached his quarry noting the nearly imperceptible cream colored coating dressing her long slender legs. Pantyhose. In August? He would never understand the foolishness of women. The ridiculous garment might attract the lustful eyes of men, but unfortunately they also attracted their tranquilizer darts, he thought with a grim chuckle to himself.
If Dawn weren't enjoying a forced sleep, she would have scrambled to grab at the hem of her skirt, shrinking under the unwanted examining eyes of her hosiery. It wouldn't be the first time that she regretted her attire on an investigation and wish that she had chosen a more practical pair of slacks earlier that morning!