We found Gautier’s office. Mark took out his Glock and waited until I had my Smith & Wesson in my hand, then shoved open the door. He went left, and I went right, but as it turned out, the precaution was anticlimactic. Three measured claps broke the silence.
“Mr. Vincent. Mr. Mann. It’s always such a pleasure to see professionals at work.” Dr. Gautier sat at her desk, her face expressionless. Finchley, however, stood beside her with the most obnoxious smirk twisting his lips.
How could she be so certain it was us? The makeup Ms. King had applied was outstanding. Even Mother wouldn’t recognize me. As for Mark, he’d always had a deft touch with latex.
I glanced toward him. I wouldn’t speak his name in the event he planned for us to deny our identities.
His brow was creased in annoyance. “Dunno who you think we are, but it’s not them.”