“The tire pressures are perfect,” Andi said. “The bike is ready. The boat’s ready, and I’m ready. Are you sure you’re up for this? We can postpone if you’re not one hundred and ten percent sure.”
Taryn couldn’t stop her nostrils flaring at Andi recycling her own words as a challenge. She got on her bike, turned the key and revved the engine. “You make sure the boat’s in the right place, and I’ll land on it.”
Andi nodded and smiled the way she did when she knew she’d hit her mark. She tapped her watch. “Less than twenty minutes to the closing act. Let’s leave Taryn to her final preparations.” She winked at Taryn. “And we’ll talk about Vegas tomorrow.”
Andi took Gwen’s hand and led her from the roof, leaving Taryn to mutter and curse to herself. She checked her earpiece and comms with Banjo before pulling her helmet on.
“Hearing you loud and clear, Tar,” Banjo said, coming into Taryn’s ear as if she were standing right beside her. “The boss is on her way down to the boat right now, and Sally is whipping the crowd into a frenzy. The wind’s dropped to three knots with gusts up to eight. Considering the location, the conditions couldn’t be any better.”
“Perfect.” Taryn filed away the imminent Vegas conversation as something to deal with later. If she wasn’t fully focused on this stunt, she wouldn’t even be around to have that chat tomorrow. She broke into a grin as adrenaline and anticipation tore around her bloodstream, priming and pumping her up for another daring stunt. Was it a cliché when it was the truth? She’d check with Andi when they were sharing their traditional post-show bottle of Jack with Gwen.
But right now, she took the bike across the roof and stopped at the base of the long ramp that curved up into the sky. The last few feet of the TransAmerica Pyramid poked out above the ramp’s edge, providing the optical illusion that she could launch off the roof and land on its spiky peak. That feat would only be slightly more risky than the one they were about to attempt. Simulations and dry trial runs had gone well. Taryn could get the required speed across the distance of the roof and the ramp to do the spin and clear the island to land on the boat, and Andi had been able to drive the landing platform at the perfect velocity to meet Taryn and her bike. But they hadn’t recreated the stage elsewhere, and they hadn’t practiced for real here on Alcatraz. Taryn hadn’t wanted any footage to leak before the final night. She wanted her first time to be the audience’s first time, much to Gwen’s chagrin. Taryn completely trusted Gwen and the computer program she’d built; it was easily as good as a live trial, and she’d been able to run the trick hundreds of times to ensure every element of the stunt was error-free, calculated to the umpteenth decimal point of velocity, distance, wind speed, body mass—every minute detail. All Taryn had to do was maintain her weight and keep her cool.
“How’s it looking up there?”
Banjo’s voice filtered into Taryn’s consciousness, and she turned the bike toward the edge of the roof overlooking the stage and the gathered crowd. “All good.”
“Ready for your close-up? Dee and Fig are almost done.”
Taryn glanced at the closest of the many video cameras positioned all across the roof and then back down to the stage where the twins were wrapping up their BMX high-wire set. “I will be.” She removed her helmet, placed it on the tank, and pulled the visor down to use as a mirror. Then she ran her hands through her wig to untangle it before she blew a kiss to the camera. “How do I look?”
“Stunning, as always,” Banjo said. “You must be the only motorbike rider ever to be able to look that good after pulling their helmet off. I look like I’ve been pulled through an aviation engine by my ankles whenever I take my skidlid off.”
Taryn laughed at Banjo’s colorful description. “I’d like to be able to disagree, but I can’t.” She twisted around and tugged at the straps of the parachute over the back of the bike seat, but there was no need. It was snug. “Maybe if you just shaved off all your hair?”
Banjo guffawed so loudly, it nearly deafened Taryn.
“As if that’s ever going to happen. My hair is my best feature. Take my mane, and I’ve got nothing.”
“Hey, that’s bull crap. Take it back, or I’ll tell Sally what you said.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would. We’re all beautiful, Banjo. Take it back, or I tell your wife, and she will kick your ass.” Taryn knew it was easy for her to say—she’d been blessed with great genes and bone structure—but she hated the whole world’s obsession with socially imposed beauty.
“Fine. I’m just as gorgeous as you are. If the person looking has been poked in the eye with a white-hot knitting needle and is squinting through blinding sun and ruby rose-tinted glasses. You’re on in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”
Taryn gave her widest smile toward the camera. In her peripheral vision, she saw the video of her head and shoulders forty-feet high on the screens surrounding the stage as the crowd erupted into a raucous cheer and began to chant her name.
“Taryn Taylor, everyone! Give the people a big wave, Taryn.”
Sally came through Taryn’s earpiece, and she did as requested.
“Are you ready to give these lovely folks the thrill they’ve been waiting for?”
“Yes, I am.” Taryn put the bike in first gear and pulled the throttle hard. The back tire rebelled against the constraint and swayed from left to right, creating a plume of dark, pungent smoke behind her.
The volume of the crowd’s excitement ramped up a couple of notches, and their excited energy solidified to trace a soft caress along Taryn’s spine. Moments like these were what she lived for. She looked at the distance between the ramp and the Bay she was aiming for. And they were worth dying for.
The video feed switched to Sally. “Lovely audience, are you ready to have your breath stolen from your lungs?” She held her hands to her ears then covered them up when the crowd’s answering response almost shook the foundations of the old prison. “Andi Anderson, are you in position?”
Andi, at the helm of the specially made boat, appeared on the giant screens. “Hell, yeah!”
The audience clapped and stamped their feet, creating a tribal rhythm that reverberated around the island and thundered up Taryn’s soles, vibrating her core.
“Taryn! Take it away!”
While Sally continued to work the crowd to a feverish frenzy, Taryn secured her helmet and spun the bike around to head to her starting position at the far corner of the cellblock. She got into place and walked the bike back until the rear tire hit the edge of the custom-built, thirty-foot travelator and clicked into place, lifting the rear wheel from the floor. She clicked into first gear and accelerated gently to test the system.
