Paging Dr. Hart by Melissa Dymond EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Melissa Dymond
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 4.7 MB
- Price: Free
PRESENT, COLUMBUS, OHIO
Everyone’s staring at me when I get the first mysterious text message.
Because of course that’s when it would happen. Not when I’m home
alone or in my car or studying at the library.
Nope.
It has to be right then, when I’m about to start my presentation. The Mercy
Hospital medical staff gathers in our auditorium every day at 8:00 a.m. for
our morning educational conference. We take turns giving lectures about
interesting cases, using them to teach the medical students and younger
residents about disease processes and how to treat them.
Today it’s my turn—my very first time. I’m not nervous, though. I mean,
sure, my mouth is the Sahara Desert and my heart has crawled up into my
throat, but I’m fine. Totally fine. At least that’s what I tell myself as I gaze
out into the sea of doctors. They look back with expressions that range from
vague interest to frank boredom.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I begin. Heads swing my way, and conversation
hushes. I’ve set my phone to silent. It sits on the podium, next to my laptop.
I take a deep breath, about to continue my lecture, when the phone screen
flashes and the phone vibrates so hard it skitters across the wooden surface.
The noise startles me. I jolt and drop the microphone, which falls to the
ground and lets out a squeal of feedback, like it’s crying about its rough
treatment.
Shit.
Heat warms my cheeks. I let out a shaky, apologetic smile. The audience
stares back, waiting for me to get on with the show. While I’m on my hands
and knees, fetching the microphone, I wonder who the message could be
from. Hardly anyone ever calls or texts me. The phone is still vibrating
rhythmically when I stand. Acutely aware of the crowd, I peer at the tiny
screen. The text is from an unfamiliar number, but the image is all-too-
familiar. It’s a photo of the iconic Las Vegas sign. The one you see when
you first drive into town, right before you reach the southern end of the
neon-lit Strip.
“Welcome to fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada,” it proclaims in bold, blood-red
letters.
That’s…odd.
I grew up in Las Vegas, but everyone I knew there is long gone. I scroll
down. There’s no message, no name. Nothing to explain who sent the
picture or why. A chill shivers through me, the icy fingers of the past
walking down my spine.
I inhale a shaky breath and glance around,
searching the shadows of the room, but find them empty. Nothing lurking.
Still, foreboding settles low in my stomach, weighing me down.
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