Page 74 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

“It’s my alibi, and I want to see him die with my own two eyes. My family has a history of faking our own deaths. When you’re born as the O’Shaughnessy, the first thing they teach you is how to fake your own death.”

I suppress a smile as I pull Liam’s bow tie into place. “Freddie will be gone by midnight,” he says, looking down at his watch.

“The world will be a better place with Freddie gone.”

“Harry used to say that. She hated him.”

I suppress a cough, but it’s too late. It grips me, pulling me into its hold. I wasn’t able to take my medication last night or today.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Liam says, rubbing my arm. “Take a deep breath. You are having a panic attack. I used to get them as a kid.”

I’m choking on part of my lung and he thinks this is a panic attack.

I’m whooping desperately, willing my lungs to steal a breath. Liam crouches down in front of me.

“You’re just a single breath away from freedom.”

Hearing him repeat Harry’s words makes me think he did love her. He remembers so much of what she said and he’d only known for all of three months.

The thought makes my cough subside. I take a few quick breaths urgently. Grateful that my lungs are rising and falling.

“You’ll see my doctor tomorrow,’’ he says, stroking the top of my hand.

“It’s nothing. Probably the smoke machines from the club.” I lie.

His phone bleeps.

“Another hitman confirmed on the hunt for Freddie?” I ask.

“An armoured car has been checked for explosives to take us to the casino. It’s standing outside.” Says Liam ignoring my question.

I stand-up from the bed. Liam twirls one of the hairs that have fallen from the braid I’d tied at the nape of my neck around his finger.

“I want to tell you something,” he says. I press my finger to his lips.

“Ciara,” he says, pulling away from me. “I need to tell you this, in case something happens to me tonight.”

“Don’t,” I say, “because I’m not going to say it back.” Liam looks down at his polished black brogues.

“I don’t need to hear it back. I just need to know that I’ve said it. Ciara Connolly I love you.”

His phone bleeps. “Saved by the bell,” he says. “Come, let’s go.”

He offers me his hand and we walk in total silence to the car, which is parked outside the delivery bay at the back of the hotel.

Two stocky guys are riding up front.

Liam opens the door for me, his head swivelling around the dimly lit deliveries area.

“What’s the specs on the glass, lads?” He asks climbing in.

“Level illA” says the man driving.

“The best,” he says to me.

We sit in silence, Liam holding my hand for a painful fifteen-minute ride to the casino, passing row after row of townhouses with black-and-white chequered entrances.

The words he just spoke have torn a gaping hole in my mind that I’m eagerly trying to fill with logic.

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