Angie rolls her eyes. "Probably about what my reaction is," she tells the agent. "Stupefied disbelief that anyone could think I was that gullible. What am I, five?"
"As for blood, we have plenty. Nothing that belongs to the attacker though, unless..."
The fear-driven anger in her face eases as she latches onto this new puzzle. She crosses over to the couch and says to herself, "Okay, I was here...the attacker was here..." She peers at a pair of divots in the carpet from where its feet were, then points at Jericho.
"You jumped in front of it...shot at it, and it barreled into you..." she turns around to look at where the two had ended up.
"And it was bleeding from the gunshot wound...so there should be..." Slowly she looks back at Jericho, as if seeing him for the first time.
"...is any of that your blood?" she asks him. Referring, no doubt, to the large red stains over his shirt and jacket where the...thing...had bled all over him.