The emerald lie

Soon as I got to my door, I sensed something off. Bracing myself, I pushed it open. Sitting in my armchair was a woman, dressed like Annie Hall, smoking a thin cheroot. I kid thee fucking not. Emily. I said, "Jesus wept." She gave that radiant smile, asked, "Miss me, Jack?" Already I was off balance, which is what I'd always been with her. No matter what tack I took, she was always out of left field. All you could do was hope the damage would be short. I said, "See you made yourself at home." She shook the glass in her hand, said, "I'm about ready for a refill." The dog gave me a delighted greeting then, the treacherous bastard, bounded on to her lap. She asked, "What did you name him?" I grabbed the bottle from the table, poured one and refreshed hers. I said, "Storm." She rubbed his ears, then, "How very you." Excerpted from The Emerald Lie: A Jack Taylor Novel by Ken Bruen All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.