[Without twitching Gwen reaches for her back pocket, one swift movement, to find nothing there. No gun, nothing to help her. And she'd rather not press this man up against the nearest stall to hurt him. Or rather, she would love to, but knowing John Hart he would to.]
Alright, spill it Blondie. You know Jack and you're the copy of John Hart, but you say you're not him. I call bullshit.