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Chapter Two: Wrong Key
MacGyver paused, alarmed by the sight of someone bent over the lock on the door, trying to force it open. The person was slight of build, wearing a track suit of red and gold. They jiggled the doorknob violently, and then whacked the panel with a frustrated fist.
MacGyver realized the person was a woman as he moved in closer. Standing directly behind her, he let the key in his fingers dangle in front of her face. “This might help.”
She sucked in a startled breath and turned, hands cocked in a defensive position. Golden blonde curls framed a face that sweet even though she was scowling. “How did you get a key to my room?” She demanded in Russian.
MacGyver stepped back, raising his hands to show that he was harmless. “I’m sorry… I don’t understand. But the reason that key doesn’t work is because this is my room.” He glanced at the key she had left in the lock, the color-coded plastic badge bearing the room number dangling. “I think, if you look again, you’ll find that you’re on the wrong floor.”
She looked at the dangling key and then at the number on the door. MacGyver looked at her; the spots of color high on her cheeks contrasted with the creaminess of her skin. The red fabric of her jogging tunic made her blue eyes appear almost violet. She began to laugh, and her annoyed choler melted away to reveal a much prettier blush.
“I fear that I have made a great fool of myself,” she said, in English. Though her accent was strong, her words were neatly enunciated and clear.
“I’ll give you an eight,” MacGyver said, smiling.
She laughed, and then pretended to be piqued. “Only an eight?! I am insulted! Surely I have earned a nine or a ten!”
“Eight and a half, then,” MacGyver retrieved her key for her, placing it in her palm, “Extra credit for grace under pressure.”
Her eyes danced with pleasure at his compliment. “Too bad it is not an event for competition! I might win the gold.”
“You’d have to practice more,” MacGyver said, “and the competition would be very stiff. You should see me in action—” he deliberately fumbled his own keys and dropped them, eliciting another laugh from her.
“I see,” she laughed behind her hand. “You are very skillful at being clumsy!”
“I’ve been honing my talent for years.” He picked up his keys. He felt a great reluctance to end this conversation. “I could help you find your room,” he offered.
She gave a little gasp, as shocked by the suggestion; though she was smiling all the while she said, “I don’t think that would be proper… we have just met! And I don’t think my coach would approve of a strange man knowing my room.”
“I already saw the number. I could try to forget it…”
“But if you did that,” she said softly, “how would you know where to pick me up for dinner tonight?”
It was MacGyver’s turn to look shocked as she smiled at him and walked away. She paused briefly by the stairwell to look back at him. He waved at her, feeling both foolish and delighted.
His key opened the door easily, and he stepped inside the dark room and closed the door. Then he leaned against it and let the back of his head thud on the panel. “MacGyver, you dummy. You forgot to ask her name!”
The lights flicked on without him touching them; he was not alone in the room. A man sitting in a chair beside the lamp. With a pistol in his hand.
~~~tbc
 Everyone, sometimes, needs a camel.
Old troubleshooters never die...
They just wait til the last moment and then rescue themselves!
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Thanks, BeBe! I'm glad you're enjoying the story! 
you are very kind! I hope you enjoy the story so far...
