Skin Cognito: Maji Rios

By MB Austin

Dating when you can't tell a soul that you're a covert operator for the US Army? Not the first challenge Maji Rios expected upon being accepted as one of Delta's first women. A weekend in Durham, a hundred miles from Fort Bragg, should have been an easy way to try out her new full-time persona of Sergeant Ariela Rios, Ri for short.

Bonus: a hookup with tattoo artist and gamer geek Jonni. Too bad she's the Colonel's estranged daughter, no fan of Delta or its secrets. Maji can only play Ri with her for so long before one of them gets hurt. And a tense Thanksgiving with the family on base puts everyone's secrets on the table.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seedbomb Studio
• Release date: Dec 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393681328

Book preview

Chapter 1

Running on Fumes

Majida Ariela Kamiri Rios slowed down on the two lane road, watching for the sign announcing the official entry to the Duke Forest. At the turn, she leaned the motorcycle into an arc onto the smaller road and dropped into second gear. Last chance to skip out, Rios .

She could buzz right by, run on her own, or go directly to Durham for breakfast. The hundred-plus mile ride had given her plenty of time to work up an appetite. And why did she want to try her new identity as Ri out on strangers, anyway? They’d never know she skipped out. Chickened out, Rios.

Nothing to fear from the friendly civilians in Triangle Frontrunners, she reminded herself, picking up the pace. After twelve weeks at Fort Bragg, the very idea of arriving late made her itchy. Army time was like dojo time: on time meant at least ten minutes before the scheduled start. But the Army’s consequences for tardiness were worse than punitive push-ups or cleaning the mats after a dozen sweaty martial artists had trained on them.

Spotting the Duke Lemur Center sign, Maji leaned the bike into a softer turn on to the Center’s driveway. Near the parking lot, a gaggle of civilians in shorts and running tights milled about, stretching their hamstrings and chatting. All heads turned at the throaty sound of the borrowed bike, making her miss her own motorcycle, an almost silent, all-electric model sitting in storage, five hundred miles north. Maybe she should have it shipped down, now that she knew Bragg would be home.

Maji pulled into the half-space at the end of the row of cars and cut the engine. With the cars partially shielding her from view, she pulled off her helmet and stripped off the riding gloves and leather jacket, opening the bike's seat to stow them.

You here to run with us?

So much for privacy. Maji turned towards the woman's rich, honeyed voice. An unruly mass of rust red curls framed broad features that needed not even the hint of makeup highlighting her lively hazel eyes. Hell yeah. Maji caught herself, tamping down the reaction she hoped her face hadn't broadcast. If I'm not holding you up too much. Am I late?

The stranger gave a throaty laugh and cupped her hands to call across the lot. Is she late, George?

Oh-nine-hundred was two minutes ago, a wiry man with receding hair boomed back, a smile and a hand on one hip belying his stern tone.

No excuses, sir, Maji bellowed back at him, savoring the surprise on his face in response.

The redhead chuckled and eyed the jumble of outerwear in Maji’s hands. You wanna throw those in my trunk? Without waiting for a response, she opened the Jetta parked next to Maji's bike, rummaging for a scrunchie that she used to subdue her hair into a ponytail. Well?

Um, sure. Thanks. Maji blushed, pretty sure the helpful stranger had caught her staring at her voluptuous ass. She handed the borrowed outerwear over, trying not to graze the woman’s equally lovely front in the process. Helmet safe unlocked out here?

It's too big for a lemur to steal, the woman replied with a grin.

As if in response, a cacophony of hoots and screeches came from the woods beyond the nearby buildings. Maji cocked her head, trying to make anything intelligible from the sounds. What the hell is that?

That’s a conspiracy.

To do what?

The woman’s eyes widened in mock alarm. To steal your keys! They make a racket like that, and then while you’re distracted one slips up and lifts your keys. She laughed at the look on Maji’s face. I’m kidding. They rarely get over the perimeter fences.

Maji eyed the trunk, the woman, the now-quiet woods. Maybe she should just stuff her clothes into the rucksack she’d brought, or better yet just ride on into town for a cup of coffee. Or was the wacky sense of humor an endearing quirk? Surely worth it to find out. They who?

The lemurs, of course. A group of lemurs is called a conspiracy. Like a murder of crows, but not creepy. Imagine a pile of little monkeys conspiring to ride off with your bike. Better than a clown car.

Maji laughed, more relieved than amused, and started to unsnap her jeans. "Oh, the Lemur Center. Honest-to-God lemurs, like in a zoo. I just figured it was somebody’s last name."

Absolutely, positively real lemurs. And assorted prosimians. More than anywhere else outside of Madagascar. So you are not from around here then? It was more statement than question. An amused one, almost teasing. I'm Jonni, by the way.

Maji glanced up and noticed Jonni had turned her back to spare Maji’s assumed modesty. After years of changing rooms at gyms and dojos, not to mention the recent months of Army life, Maji wasn’t sure she had any modesty left. Still, it was a sweet gesture. Nice to meet you. And don’t mind me, I’ve got shorts under the pants.

While her motorcycle boots and jeans joined the other gear in the VW trunk, Maji pulled her sneakers from the bike’s compartment and laced them up. Ready. Hope I didn’t hold you up. Maji rubbed her hands briskly over her bare arms, chilled but not worried about being underdressed in just shorts, a T-shirt, and running bra. The morning wouldn't feel too cool once they got moving, especially if the trail had sunny areas.

You’ll warm up soon, Jonni said, falling into an easy jog by Maji’s side as they headed for the waiting group. And don't mind George. He was an actual drill sergeant in the Marines.

Up close, George looked short as well as wiry, maybe three inches over her 5'4" on a good day. Caught sizing him up, Maji gave him a nod in greeting.

Welcome. George strode over and grabbed her into a hug like a long-lost friend. She tried to not stiffen up, but hugs from strangers had never been in her comfort zone, and the last few months had only reinforced her wariness. George released her without seeming to notice any tension. What's your name and where you from?

Ri. You’re Ri now, 24/7. Ri. She paused and glanced at the guileless faces of Jonni, three more women, and two other men. No matter how welcoming they might act, she would remain Ri to them. From the moment she signed her contract, Maji had worked to make her identity match her official Army ID. Now she was plain old Sergeant Ariela Rios, the rest of her full name and family ties stored safely away back in Brooklyn. From Fort Bragg, I guess.

Hooah, George said, clapping her on the shoulder. Let's go around and give our guest a proper welcome. After introductions he asked, Run or walk today, Ri?

Run.

Good choice. Now, who's running the five K?

A tall man dressed in spendy running gear raised his hand, as did Jonni. Maji was tempted to join them, but three point two miles was barely worth the warm-up. Is there a ten?

George gave her a grin and scanned the group. Anybody up for the ten K today?

What pace? Jonni asked, the hope in her voice contradicting the skepticism on her face.

Maji mentally scaled her normal 7.5 minute mile back. A leisurely pace in good company sounded great. Nine.

When neither Jonni nor the others agreed to that, George nudged her. Just you and me, then.

The walkers headed off into the forest, on a soft trail of pounded dirt and pine needles. Maji watched Jonni and the tall man, whose name she’d already forgotten, start their 5 K at a slow trot back down the road they'd all driven in