The Disappearance of Grace by Vincent Zandri Page B

should.
    Releasing my hand, Graham grows a big smile. I can see that he is an expert at making smiles, no matter his mood.
    â€œSo how do you like Venice so far, Captain?”
    Is he kidding me?
    â€œIt would be a hell of a lot better if my fiancée hadn’t disappeared this afternoon.”
    His smile dissolves. It’s another good trick he’s acquired: the ability to shift his moods in a half-second, flat.
    â€œI understand there was some trouble at the café near the cathedral in San Marco earlier today.”
    I lean forward, to add emphasis to what I’m about to tell him.
    â€œListen, Mr. Graham,” I say. “My wife was abducted by a man wearing a long brown overcoat. He has short cropped black hair and a black beard. He was wearing sunglasses and staring us down. He approached our table and then, just like that, Grace was gone. I have reason to believe this same man has been following us for some time and placing calls to my apartment. He whispers ‘I. See.’ into the phone before he hangs up.”
    Graham bites down on his bottom lip, nods.
    â€œI understand you are just back from the Afghan war,” he says. “Must have been hard out there in the field.”
    â€œYeah, it was hard. But I had a job to do and I did it. No questions asked. I’m a good soldier. I’m a patriot. My country called me and I heeded the call. Now my fiancée is gone.”
    Clasping his hands together, Graham nods once more, and peers at the tops of his polished patent leather lace-up shoes.
    â€œI further understand, Captain Angel, that you’ve had your share of trouble with PTSD and that you are here in Venice to recuperate at the direct mandate from your company commander.”
    â€œThey assume that a month in Venice with Grace might lift my spirits and my morale. But I think they’re more afraid I’ll turn my back on the red, white and blue…that their go-to toy soldier will actually want to get back to his writing career one day.”
    There’s the big public relations smile again. Graham is like a light you can turn on and off.
    â€œHave you written anything I’ve read?”
    As a writer, that’s the one question that makes me want to howl. If you have to ask the question, you obviously haven’t read anything.
    â€œA thriller called Retribution . Another called Pay Back . There would have been more but the wars keep getting in the way.”
    â€œI’ll have to check them out,” he says, while standing. “Love to read…love, love, love it. But never enough time, you know? I get into bed and the eyelids come down. Oh, and speaking of eyes, how are those eyes of yours? You’ve been suffering from temporary bouts of blindness I’m told. How have you been dealing with that?”
    I’m staring at him standing inside the room. A few feet behind him is the picture window with that amazing view of the Grand Canal I was informed about earlier. I could also stand up and get a look at it, but I’d rather focus on him while I have the chance.
    â€œGrace has been my eyes while I’ve been here. She helps me. She guides me. She loves me.”
    â€œMust be especially tough on you now that she’s gone.” Pursing his lips. “Of course, you can always head immediately back to your base hospital in Germany. We would take care of working out your safe transport.”
    Just the sound of him stating the reality of it all in quite that manner and tone is enough to send my insides on a nosedive south.
    â€œCan you help me find her, Mr. Graham? And can you promise me you won’t tell the army what’s happening? Not quite yet anyway.”
    He turns to peer out the window onto the canal.
    â€œI understand your frustration in the matter, Captain. But it’s really a police issue now. Had you come to me first, I would have sent you here. Should she become detained by the police for any reason,