A Chip and a Chair (Seven of Spades, #5)(72)

And he was not going to think about what they might be doing to Levi in the meantime.

“How’d you get Rebel in here?” he asked to distract himself.

“Jasmine convinced the staff that Rebel’s an emotional support dog trained for combat veterans with PTSD. She had them all believing you might fly into some sort of violent flashback if you woke up without Rebel here.”

He managed a faint chuckle. Though Rebel was trained for personal protection, not emotional support, in truth she fulfilled many of the same functions-even if PTSD wasn’t one of his personal demons.

While he stroked Rebel’s head, he took stock of his physical condition. His entire body ached deep into his bones, like-well, like he’d been in a bad car accident-but none of the pain was sharp or stabbing. The worst of it was in his head, mostly on the left side. The nausea and fatigue were significant yet manageable.

His unoccupied hand had an IV line taped to the back. He raised it to feel out the edges of the bandages on his head. “How badly am I hurt?”

“Nothing life-threatening, by the grace of God. The head injury is the worst of it. You have a concussion, and between that wound and some other lacerations, you lost a lot of blood. They gave you a transfusion.”

“Broken bones? Internal bleeding?”

“No.”

A vague memory of entering the hospital flashed through his mind. “Is there anything wrong with my spine?” He doubted it, since he could move all his extremities, but he had to ask.

Though Rita choked up when she spoke again, she was holding it together pretty well. “We were afraid there might be, but the doctors said everything looks fine.”

Dominic took away one thing from this assessment: mobile. He eased himself into a sitting position, fought through the brief dizzy spell and surge of nausea, and reached for the IV line.

“Hey!” She grabbed his hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He met her eyes. “I’m not going to sit on my ass in a hospital bed while Levi’s being held prisoner by Nazis.”

“I never thought you would,” she said tartly. “You think I don’t know my own son? But there’s no need to go ripping out your IV and charging out of the hospital like some kind of barbarian.”

He ducked his head, shamed in a way that only his mother could manage.

“They can’t keep you here against your will. You’ll sign the paperwork to leave against medical advice, treat the staff with respect, and be discharged properly like a grown man.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

She ran her fingers through his hair on the uninjured side of his head, a wistful smile crossing her face. “You’re so much like your father. He’d be proud of you.”

Dominic cleared his swelling throat. Rita patted his cheek, much more gently than she normally did, before standing.

“I’ll go down to the nurses’ station. You don’t leave this bed until I get back, you hear?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Ma.”

After she left, he raised the top half of his bed and slumped against it, grimacing. This concussion was even worse than the one he’d gotten when he’d been pistol-whipped protecting Levi last year. At this rate, the hospital should give him a punch card-your fifth concussion and your CAT scan is free.

Alone in the room save for Rebel, there was nothing to keep his mind off Levi, so he didn’t try. As much as he hated to admit it, Levi’s greatest hope right now rested with the Seven of Spades. Dominic couldn’t believe the Seven of Spades would take this provocation lying down, and between their underworld connections and Carmen Rivera’s technical assistance, they could find Levi faster than anyone else.

But if Sawyer really was the killer, he might still be stuck in police custody. Or, if he’d been released, he might have trouble slipping the tail the police would be sure to put on him. Once Dominic left the hospital, his best plan might be to track Sawyer down and lend his aid. He wouldn’t hesitate to ally with the Seven of Spades if that’s what it took to rescue Levi.

He was mulling that over, absently petting Rebel’s head, when a shrill ringing drove spikes of pain through his skull. Glancing around, he saw his cell phone in a tray on the bedside table, snatched it, and immediately silenced the ringer.

The phone was scratched and dinged from the accident, with a nasty crack across the screen, but it obviously worked. He squinted at it before he answered, not recognizing the number. “Hello?”

“Dominic?” said an anxious voice. “Hi, it’s Ezra Stone.”

“Ezra? Um . . . hi.” Dominic was taken aback by the call until he remembered his mother saying the police had lied about Levi’s capture. Chances were, Ezra had no idea that Levi had been kidnapped or that Dominic was in the hospital.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been calling everyone I know. Natasha never came home from her volunteer assignment today, and she hasn’t been answering her phone. Nobody seems to know where she is. With everything going on in the city, I’m worried something terrible may have happened to her, and I know how good you are at finding people.”

Ezra’s voice became faster and more panicked with every word, aggravating Dominic’s headache. “Whoa, slow down,” Dominic said. “When was the last time you spoke to her?”