Hardison couldn’t believe just how fast the whole plan turned to shit. One minute everything was going alone all honky-dory and the next, the warehouse had been filled with punks attacking Eliot from all sides. He was too far away to get there in time, the vehicle waiting six blocks away to use wireless signal for the video feed. All he could do was grab the handheld and jump from the van, watching on the tiny monitor between steps and listen as fists connected to Eliot’s body in dull thuds. It was a serious beatdown that would end up with Eliot dead at the end of it, he knew that without a doubt.

Without warning, he saw one of the bad guys jerk in response to something Hardison couldn’t see and drop to the floor. Startled, he stumbled over a bottle and staggered to a halt, looking around the screen, but didn’t spot anyone else in the room. Another one went down and this time, Hardison saw the blood splatter and knew the man had been shot in the back.

And then he saw the one thing he’d never thought to see in his life…Nathan Ford, calm and composed as he took deliberate aim to shoot people in the back. It was like he wasn’t even there, there was absolutely no expression on his face. Eliot was on the ground getting kicked repeatedly before the remaining four realized that the rest of their posse had been killed.

There was enough time for panic to appear on their faces before Nathan shot each of them in either the chest or head. They dropped like stones and, when one of them tried crawling away, Nathan shot him again.

None of the blood had touched Nathan, like he’d been on some kind of holy mission in his quest to save Eliot’s life. He stood calmly in the midst of all that death and untwisted the silencer, putting it in one of his long coat pockets and the gun in the other.

Hardison watched as Nathan strode the short distance to where Eliot lay unconscious and crouched beside him. A black, leather glove came off and he reached for a pulse, two fingers on the younger man’s throat.

In a cold voice, Nathan ordered, “Hardison, get the backboard and get in here, he’s alive.”

Gulping, more scared of Nathan than he’d ever thought to be, Hardison hesitated.

“Now, Hardison. And don’t step in any of the blood when you get here. I don’t want the cops to have any leads.”

Feeling a little sick at the calm command, Hardison ran back to the van and jumped into the driver’s seat, burning rubber to get to the warehouse. He parked directly in front of it and grabbed the backboard from the ambulance they’d stolen before jumping out the back with it. He jogged the short distance inside and stopped at the first blood pool, stepping carefully around it.

Nathan’s eyes were just as cold as his voice when he gestured for Hardison to hand over the backboard. It took only one try to get Eliot on the board and lift him up and out of the massacre. Despite the frozen, twisted lump of nausea that used to be his stomach, Hardison kept focused and didn’t step in any of the blood. No way did he want to be traced to any of this. If he hadn’t worn gloves installing the camera, he would’ve come back to wipe them off.

As it was, he wanted to get gone more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life.

They carried Eliot into the back of the ambulance, settling him on top of the gurney in the midst of all the surveillance and medical equipment.

“Hospital on the other side of town. Turn on the lights and don’t spare the siren,” Nathan commanded.

Hardison nodded silently and hurried into the driver’s seat. He sped away, careful not to burn rubber out of the lot, and then flicked on the sirens as soon as he hit a main street. Driving took all his concentration in the mid-sized city’s afternoon rush hour, for which he was thankful. He didn’t even want to look at Nathan.

He pulled up to the hospital with a screech, no longer caring about the tire tracks. Hardison was in the back a split second later to find that Nathan had changed into an EMT jacket to match Hardison’s. They had Eliot out of the ambulance and inside the hospital in twenty second and doctors took over five seconds later.

Back outside, Hardison froze when Nathan put a hand on his arm to stop him entering the ambulance. Swallowing against a dry throat, Hardison met Nathan’s gaze to find it cold and fierce all at once.

“Not a word of this to Eliot or the girls,” Nathan stated flatly. “As far as they’re concerned, your cameras went on the fritz and you don’t know what happened. You have no idea how Eliot got out.”

Hardison instantly agreed, “Camera? Nah, that camera was faulty from moment one. Thought I fixed the damn thing, but I guess not.”

Nathan continued to gaze at him a long, fraught moment and then nodded slowly. “Good. Get rid of the ambulance and find the girls. Tell them you tracked Eliot down and I’m on the way.”

“Got it, Boss,” Hardison assented.

It wasn’t until Nathan released him that Hardison turned to open the driver’s door and climb in.

It wasn’t until Nathan walked back into the hospital that Hardison let out a long, shaky breath.

It wasn’t until he drove away that Hardison let the shaking and reaction take over.

People who thought Nathan Ford was Mr. Nice Guy through and through, were very, very mistaken.