Chapter 73: Grant's Return
The night was calm in New York. The overcast sky made the air slightly heavy, but to Isobel, the mood reflected her anticipation. Grant was finally returning from his mission in Los Angeles. The last few days had felt like months.
She had spent the day trying to distract herself with work and meetings, but now, alone in the house, her heart was racing with anticipation. The memory of Grant his confident smile, his firm touch felt vivid in her mind.
Isobel stood in her bedroom, wearing a delicate black silk robe. The thin fabric left little to the imagination, showing off her curves. She paced back and forth, imagining what it would be like to see Grant again.
The sound of the lock turning echoed through the living room, interrupting Isobel's thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly ran downstairs.
Grant walked in, carrying his backpack and with the tired expression of someone who had spent a busy day, but his eyes lit up when he saw her.
"You're back," Isobel said, a smile forming on her face as she ran toward him.
Grant dropped his backpack on the floor and opened his arms. "Yeah, and I couldn't wait to get back to you."
They hugged, and Isobel felt the warmth of his body and the familiar scent of Grant a mix of cologne, leather, and something purely his. She sighed in relief, feeling complete again.
"I missed you so much," she whispered against his chest.
Grant smiled, lifting her chin with his fingers. "Me too, darling. But now I'm here."
Without another word, Isobel pulled him into a deep, almost desperate kiss. Her hands wrapped around his neck, and she pressed her body against his, as if to reassure him that he was really there. Grant responded with the same passion, gripping her waist firmly and deepening the kiss.
He murmured against her lips, "You're… different. Full of fire today."
She smiled, pulling him toward the stairs. "You've kept me waiting too long."
Grant followed her, letting her energy guide him. When they reached the bedroom, he noticed her robe and raised an eyebrow.
"Did you get ready for me?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.
Isobel gave him a small, teasing smile. "What do you think?"
Without waiting for an answer, she slid the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, revealing the black lingerie that seemed tailored for her. Grant held his breath for a moment, his eyes roaming every inch of her.
"You're... perfect," he said, slowly approaching.
Grant pulled her into his arms, lifting her easily and laying her gently on the bed. He cupped her face, looking into her eyes.
"I've missed you in a way I can't even explain," he said.
Isobel smiled, caressing his face. "Me too, Grant. Every second without you felt like an eternity."
Grant leaned in to kiss her again, but this time he went slower, exploring every moment. His hands roamed her body as Isobel tugged at his shirt, eager to feel him closer. The passion between them grew quickly, and the room was filled with murmurs, soft laughter, and the sound of two bodies connecting.
For Isobel, this moment wasn't just about desire; it was a reaffirmation of her connection with Grant.
Afterward, as they lay side by side, Grant took her hand, intertwining their fingers.
"You know you mean the world to me, right?" he asked.
Isobel smiled, turning to him. "I know, and you mean the world to me, too."
Grant kissed her forehead and murmured, "I promise I'll always come back to you, no matter where work takes me."
Isobel cupped his face, looking into his eyes. "And I'll always be here, waiting for you."
The moment was calm now, but the flame between them remained alive, promising even more passionate and memorable nights in the future.
Chapter 74: A Danger in the House
The house was quiet that night, but Grant was alert. He knew something was wrong with the case Isobel was leading. The serial killer they were hunting was no ordinary criminal; he was meticulous, cold-blooded, and vengeful. Even after Grant and a BAU agent had warned Isobel not to release information to the media, she had decided to hold a press conference.
Grant understood why she did it: it was a strategy to pressure the suspect. But he also knew it could put a target directly on her.
Hours earlier, Isobel had stood before a group of reporters.
"This man, who we will simply call 'the suspect,' is a coward who uses the pain of others to feed his sick ego," she said, looking directly into the camera. "But we will find him. And he will pay for his crimes."
Grant watched the press conference on TV in the apartment. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, feeling anger mix with worry.
When she arrived home later, he tried to talk to her.
"Isobel, you shouldn't have done that. We warned you this guy is dangerous."
"Grant, it's my job. I'm not going to let a killer dictate how I do it."
"Your job doesn't include putting a target on your back," he replied, his voice low but filled with frustration.
"I can take care of myself," Isobel said, trying to end the argument.
The Surprise Attack
It was after midnight when the sound of breaking glass echoed through the house. Grant was on the couch, reviewing case documents, while Isobel slept in the bedroom. He immediately stood up, his hand automatically going to the pistol he kept close to him.
He moved silently, approaching the kitchen, where he heard soft footsteps. When he saw the silhouette of a man armed with a knife, his heart raced, but his mind remained calm and calculating.
The serial killer had managed to find Isobel's address, but he didn't know Grant was there.
Grant acted quickly, pointing his gun. "Stop now!"
The man spun around, surprised, but lunged at Grant with his knife in hand. Grant dodged at the last moment, disarming him with a solid blow and throwing him against the wall.
The fight was intense. The man was strong and fought desperately, but Grant had years of training and experience. He overpowered him, punching him hard until the killer lay motionless on the floor.
The sound of the struggle woke Isobel, who ran out of the room.
"Grant! What's going on?"
Before Grant could respond, the killer scrambled to his feet and lunged at Isobel. Grant reacted instantly, pulling out his gun and firing two quick shots, hitting him in the chest.
The man fell to the floor, his breathing becoming ragged. Isobel, shocked, froze.
Grant approached her, holding her shoulders. "Are you okay?"
She nodded slowly, still shaking. "I... I didn't know he was coming for me."
"I told you, Isobel," Grant said, his voice serious but full of concern. "This guy had no boundaries. You could have died."
Minutes later, sirens wailed in the distance. Grant had called OA and Scola shortly after neutralizing the killer, and emergency personnel arrived quickly.
As the paramedics confirmed the suspect's death, Isobel sat on the couch, still processing what had happened. Grant stood beside her, holding her hand.
Jubal was the first to enter the house, followed by OA and Scola.
"Are you okay?" Jubal asked, clearly concerned.
"We are," Grant replied. "But it was close."
OA looked down at the body on the floor, then back at Grant. "You caught him before he could do anything worse. Good job, man."
Grant just nodded, but his attention was completely on Isobel.
After the crew had cleaned up the scene, Grant and Isobel finally had a moment of privacy.
She looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. "You saved my life, Grant. Again."
He cupped her face, looking at her intently. "I would do it a thousand times over, Isobel. You mean everything to me."
She smiled, but her voice was thick with guilt. "I should have listened to you. I was reckless, and it almost cost us everything."
Grant shook his head. "The important thing is that you're okay. But you have to trust me when I say that some things aren't worth the risk."
She nodded, laying her head against his chest. "I promise I'll try to be more careful."
Grant hugged her tightly, kissing the top of her head. "I just want you to be safe. Always."
That night, as Isobel finally fell asleep in his arms, Grant lay awake, thinking about everything that had happened. He knew that life with her would be full of challenges, but he also knew that he would do anything to protect her. And in that moment, he decided that it didn't matter, he would always be by her side, as her protector, partner and eternal love.
Chapter 75: The Hunt for Tamir
OA was sitting at his desk in the FBI office in New York, reviewing reports when he came across something that made his heart stop for a moment. A snippet of a conversation intercepted in a recent operation mentioned the name "Tamir."
Tamir was a terrorist OA had believed dead for years. He had been held responsible for a devastating attack in Baghdad, and his death had been confirmed by intelligence agencies. But now, that name was back, and OA couldn't ignore the possibility.
He glanced at Grant, who was standing nearby, reviewing documents.
"Grant, do you have a minute? I need you to look at this."
Grant walked over, taking the paper from OA's hands. He read it carefully, frowning.
"Tamir?" Grant asked. "I thought he was dead."
"Me too," OA replied, his voice tight. "But what if he's not? What if he's here, in the States?"
Grant shook his head slowly, considering the possibility. "If he's alive, then we need to find him before he does anything. But that won't be easy. Every agency has confirmed his death."
When OA and Grant presented the idea to the rest of the team, they didn't get the support they'd hoped for.
"Tamir's dead," Nina said, flipping through old reports. "The body's been identified. There's a record of that."
"Then how do you explain that?" OA replied, holding up the document that mentioned Tamir's name.
Maggie, still reeling from the sarin gas incident, intervened. "It could be someone using his name. It wouldn't be the first time that's happened."
"Or it could be him," Grant said, his voice steady. "What if they're wrong? It wouldn't be the first time a death has been covered up or misconfirmed."
Jubal looked at them, trying to keep the team together. "Okay, follow this lead, but don't get carried away. If you find anything concrete, we'll act."
Grant and OA dove into the case, reviewing old records and cross-referencing recent information. As they investigated, they discovered that Tamir was connected to a recent disappearance of a TSA agent's family. The agent's wife and two children had been kidnapped, and the modus operandi matched Tamir's style.
"That's him," OA said, holding up a photo of the kidnapped family. "It's exactly the kind of thing he'd do to manipulate and gain an advantage."
Grant agreed. "If he's using hostages, then he's vulnerable. We need to find him before he kills them."
The clues led Grant and OA to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. They discovered that the location had access to a sewer system that could be used as an escape route.
"He won't be here long," Grant said, as they studied the sewer maps. "If Tamir is alive, he knows the FBI is after him."
"Then we have to act now," OA said, grabbing his gear.
Grant and OA entered the sewer system, moving carefully through the dark, dank tunnels. The distant sounds of rushing water were the only sounds, other than their own footsteps.
Finally, they heard voices. Grant signaled for OA to follow quietly. They approached slowly, seeing Tamir with the TSA agent's family, tied up and scared.
"Tamir!" OA shouted, pointing his gun.
Tamir whirled around, surprise on his face. He pulled out a pistol and pointed it at one of the hostages.
"Don't come any closer, or they'll die!" he shouted.
Grant took a step forward, keeping his gun steady. "You're not getting out of here, Tamir. Let them go now, and maybe you'll live."
"You should never have underestimated me," Tamir replied, his tone filled with hatred.
The tension in the tunnel was palpable. Tamir tried to retreat toward the exit, but Grant and OA blocked all his options.
Suddenly, Tamir fired, and OA and Grant responded immediately. Grant hit Tamir in the shoulder, while OA shot the terrorist in the chest. Tamir fell to the ground, his breathing ragged as blood spurted.
Grant walked over, checking on the hostages. They were scared but unharmed.
"It's okay," Grant said, helping them to their feet. "You're safe now."
OA stood over Tamir's body, looking down at the man he believed he had killed years ago.
"It's over," OA said, his voice thick with relief and exhaustion.
Grant placed a hand on his shoulder. "You did what needed to be done. He's not going to hurt anyone else."
When OA and Grant returned to the office, there was a mixture of shock and relief among their colleagues.
"Tamir was alive," Jubal said, shaking his head. "Good job, you two."
Nina looked at OA, a sheepish smile on her face. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."
"It's okay," OA said. "The important thing is that he was stopped."
Grant just smiled, turning his attention to Isobel, who was waiting for him in the hallway.
"Another day in the work, huh?" she said, hugging him.
"Always," he replied, kissing her softly. "But now, it's time to rest."
Chapter 76: Isobel's Uncontrollable Desire
It was a quiet evening in Grant and Isobel's apartment. The city lights twinkled through the windows as the couple enjoyed a rare night off together. Grant was on the couch, wearing a tight T-shirt that showed off his muscles and comfortable pants, flipping through a book on crisis negotiation strategies.
Isobel was in the kitchen, washing the dishes from dinner. Grant's every move captured her attention. The way he focused his gaze, the way his fingers glided over the pages, the casual, confident way he existed… Everything about him seemed to exude power and assurance, and Isobel felt her heart race.
She dried her hands, pausing for a moment to study him more closely. Heat began to rise on her skin, and an uncontrollable desire took hold of her.
"Grant," she called, trying to disguise the intensity of her voice.
He looked up, a lazy smile on his lips. "What is it, darling?"
"You look… amazing," she said, biting her bottom lip.
Grant raised an eyebrow, setting the book aside. He could hear the tone in her voice immediately. Standing up from the couch, he slowly approached her, his eyes fixed on hers.
"Just amazing?" he asked, teasing her as he stood in front of her.
Isobel stepped forward, touching his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath his shirt. "You know what you do to me, Grant. It's like I can't think of anything else when you're around."
Grant tilted his head, his smile widening. "Oh, yeah? Why don't you show me what you're thinking?"
Isobel didn't hesitate. She pulled Grant by his shirt, pulling their bodies closer until there was no space between them. Her lips met his in a heated, passionate kiss.
Grant gripped Isobel's waist, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. He lifted her easily, placing her on the kitchen counter.
"You're wet with desire, aren't you?" he asked, his voice low and husky.
Isobel gasped, cupping his face in her hands. "Grant, you're driving me completely out of control."
Grant's hands slid down her thighs as he explored her with care and intensity. She moaned, arching her back, completely surrendered to the moment.
"You're mine, Isobel," Grant murmured against her skin, kissing her neck. "And I'm yours. Always."
Isobel gripped his shoulders, pulling him even closer. "Always," she replied, her voice cracking with the intensity of the moment.
The passion between them took over everything. The outside world disappeared as they gave themselves to each other, in a moment of complete connection and desire.
Later, lying on the couch, Isobel was snuggled against Grant's chest, her fingers tracing soft circles on his skin.
"You know it's completely unfair, the effect you have on me, don't you?" she teased, looking up at him.
Grant smiled, kissing her forehead. "If it's unfair, it's mutual. You drive me crazy, Isobel."
She laughed, stroking his face. "I think we're perfect for each other."
Grant cupped her face, his eyes fixed on hers. "More than perfect. We're everything."
Chapter 77: Babayaga's Return
Grant's phone rang in the quiet early morning. He got out of bed, careful not to wake Isobel, who was fast asleep beside him. It was a call directly from the director of the FBI.
"Shawn," the director's firm voice came on the other end. "We need you. It's critical."
Grant listened in silence, his expression hardening as the details were explained. A high-level terrorist, Vladimir Morozov, had compromising information about the FBI's intelligence and counterintelligence operations. He was hiding in Russia, operating under the indirect protection of the local government.
"What about my cover?" Grant asked, already knowing the answer.
"None. You're on your own. If you get caught…"
"I know," he interrupted. "It's just like old times. I consider it done."
The director hesitated. "Grant, be extremely careful. Putin has issued a kill order for you. If he is discovered on Russian soil…"
Grant smiled slightly. "I've survived impossible missions before. Babayaga is still in shape."
Grant left a brief note for Isobel, explaining that it was a top secret mission and that he would return as soon as he could. He knew she would understand, even if it broke his heart.
At the secret base, he reviewed Morozov's files. The target was a strategic genius, but also a man of predictable habits. He frequented a safe house on the outskirts of Moscow and had a set nightly routine.
Grant donned dark clothing and checked his equipment: silenced weapons, a custom knife, night vision goggles, and a small amount of explosives. He was alone, but that never scared him.
Under cover of a cold, snowy night, Grant landed in a rural area outside Moscow. Moving like a shadow, he avoided surveillance cameras and local patrols. Silence was his weapon, and every move was calculated.
Morozov's safe house was surrounded by armed guards. Grant watched for hours, mapping patrol patterns and identifying weak spots in the security.
"If I were you, I'd reinforce the rear," he muttered to himself, noticing a neglected entrance near a fire escape.
With precise movements, he silently eliminated two guards. Their bodies were hidden in the snow as Grant advanced further into the building.
On the third floor, Grant found Morozov in his office, reviewing classified documents. He entered silently, his gun pointed directly at the terrorist's head.
"Morozov," Grant said calmly.
The man froze, raising his hands slowly. "Who are you?"
"Babayaga," Grant replied, his voice cold as the winter outside.
Morozov's eyes widened. He had heard stories about the legendary agent, but he had never believed he was real.
"You're making a mistake," Morozov tried to negotiate. "I have powerful connections. Putin will—"
Grant fired, the sound of the silencer muffling the shot. He knew Morozov couldn't be left alive. The information he held was too valuable to fall into the wrong hands.
The guards downstairs heard the faint noise and began to rush upstairs. Grant acted quickly, planting explosives at strategic points in the building as he moved to escape.
As the first guards reached Morozov's office, an explosion shook the building, creating enough chaos for Grant to disappear into the night. He ran through the snow-covered forest, using his knowledge of the terrain and advanced equipment to lose his pursuers.
After hours of running, he reached his extraction point.
Two days later, Grant was back at his apartment. Isobel was waiting for him, worried but relieved to see him. She ran to hug him.
"Are you okay?" she asked, cupping his face in her hands.
"Mission accomplished," Grant replied, kissing her softly.
As he settled back onto the couch, Isobel noticed the weariness in his eyes, but also the unwavering determination that defined him.
"You're amazing, Grant," she said, sitting down next to him.
He smiled. "And you're the reason I always come back. No matter what happens out there, I always come back to you."
Chapter 78: The Name That Will Not Die
In the Kremlin, the underground conference room was filled with an almost palpable tension. A long dark oak table filled the center of the room, surrounded by high-ranking officers from the FSB and SVR. At the head of the table, President Vladimir Putin sat, his hands clasped in a gesture of deliberate calm, but his piercing gaze made it clear that he was far from pleased.
"Report," he ordered, his voice low but charged with authority.
General Ivanov, the head of the FSB, was the first to speak. He adjusted his glasses, trying to maintain his composure.
"Mr. President, the target, Vladimir Morozov, has been neutralized in his secure residence outside Moscow. The operation was carried out with surgical precision. Our agents found clear evidence of an infiltration. Explosives were used to cover the removal of the perpetrator."
Putin leaned forward slightly, his fingers drumming on the table. "And who was responsible? Where were our security forces?"
The general sighed. "With all due respect, sir, whoever did this is highly trained. The guards were eliminated silently, with no signs of a struggle. It was a professional job."
The SVR director, Andrei Volkov, intervened. "Mr. President, we believe that this incident is not an isolated act. The execution corresponds exactly to the modus operandi of an individual who, in the past, operated under the codename… Babayaga."
The room fell silent. Even Putin, known for his unflappable demeanor, narrowed his eyes.
"Babayaga?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper but thick with disbelief. "I thought this ghost was dead."
Volkov pulled a thick file from his briefcase and placed it on the table. The cover was marked with a red "Classified" stamp. He opened the file, revealing pages filled with reports and blurred images.
"Sir, there have been rumors about this individual for the past few years. He is a legend among intelligence agencies. The FBI, CIA, MI6… all recognize his code name, but no one knows his true identity. All we know is that he is an elite, highly trained operative with a history of special operations forces."
Putin frowned. "And how are you sure it was him?"
Ivanov replied, pointing to a zoomed-in image of one of the scenes of the explosion. "The signature of the attack is unmistakable. Explosives strategically placed to cause maximum destruction while ensuring a clean retreat. We also found traces of custom weaponry that match the old reports about the Babayaga."
Putin leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the table as he processed the information. He finally spoke, his voice cold.
"You mean to tell me that a man entered Russian territory, eliminated one of our protected personnel, destroyed our security, and left as if nothing had happened? Are you telling me that he made a mockery of our sovereignty?"
Volkov hesitated before answering. "Yes, sir. And if it really is Babayaga, that means he was never dead. He just disappeared, like a shadow."
Putin stood up, his eyes shining with determination. "This is unacceptable. I want you to use all our resources to find out who he is. If he dared to enter our territory, then he left traces. Babayaga or not, no one challenges Russia like that."
Volkov and Ivanov exchanged worried glances. "Understood, sir," they replied in unison.
As the directors began to discuss strategy, Putin interrupted them. "And one more thing… if you find out who he is, I want it to be treated as a top priority. Mobilize our best units. He must be eliminated."
After the meeting, Ivanov and Volkov walked through the Kremlin corridors, their voices muffled to avoid being overheard.
"Do you think it really was Babayaga?" Ivanov asked.
Volkov nodded. "If it wasn't him, then it was someone he trained. But honestly, I don't see any other candidate with the skills and audacity needed for something like this."
Ivanov sighed. "If he's alive, that means our data is out of date. We need to review all the reports, all the past operations where Babayaga was mentioned."
Volkov paused, looking directly at his colleague. "And if we find out who he is?"
Ivanov smiled darkly. "Then it will be our turn to hunt him down."
Meanwhile, in a New York apartment, Grant sat silently, staring into a glass of whiskey in his hand. He knew the mission in Russia wouldn't go unnoticed. There was a reason he was always called Babayaga.
Isobel walked into the room, sitting down next to him. "You're thoughtful," she commented.
Grant smirked. "Just remembering that old ghosts never completely disappear."
She frowned. "Do you think they know it was you?"
"They've always known who I was," he replied, his tone enigmatic. "They just don't know how to get to me."
New stories in my Patreon News stories there: " I won a Oscar when I was 19 " , " NCIS HAWAII: The Captain " , "SUITS: The Lawyer " and " The Lawyer and Policeman " This story is already complete there [email protected]/SHADOWGHOST07 Just replace the @ with an a