Exiting the hotel, Marcella was totally preoccupied with her numerous distractions; so much so that she failed to detect the immediate danger congealing right there on her own doorstep. She hesitated on the landing, dissuaded by the vast gloom that seemed to have settled over Hyde Park. It wasn't quite dark, but the grounds were vast, with dense foliage and swaths of unwelcome shadows. She could stick to the open spaces...or better yet, maybe a quick stroll along Oxford would equally suit her purposes. Looking up and down the street, she took note of the congested pace of traffic. On both sides, vehicles were stacked nose to tail, like an unbroken line of colorful, metallic beetles, each waiting in turn for sufficient space, or some otherwise detectable signal that it was time to decamp from their sidewalk moorings. An uneasy feeling washed over her then, but not caring to hyper-analyze its meaning, Marcella simply decided she would not be venturing inside that park. She descended the remaining steps, pausing briefly before turning and moving North on Park Lane towards the shops and welcoming lights of Oxford; and as she did, the occupants of one of the shiny, Black Beetles snapped to attention. A hush fell over their proceedings as the conversation died and three pulse rates quickened. One man licked his yellow-stained teeth while another's hand moved instinctively to the Glock strapped beneath his seat. Glassy eyed, they watched their quarry in lustful fascination, anticipating the moment when they finally took her down; especially their leader – the one on whose orders they'd been following and evaluating her movements for the past forty eight hours. The one who more than any other had fallen completely under her spell...and was now hopelessly consumed by the vivid detail of his uncensored imagination. Before the week was done, he would see to it that a river of blood flowed through Brixton...and the prissy gal from St. Mary would be its source.