**Trigger Warning: This chapter mentions suicide. Please skip if this bothers you in any way**
I make it all the way to Vegas when I start to doze off behind the wheel. I'm too tired to drive another mile, but Vegas is the last place I want to be. It's no better than Los Angeles. As a matter of fact, it's probably worse.
I pull over to the side of the street and grab my phone to look up hotels on the outskirts of town. I notice I have a couple of calls from a number I believe belongs to Detective Conway. There's also a voice mail.
Wondering if this has something to do with my missing camera, I play the message.
"Alexa, this is Detective Conway. We've tracked down Harry, but we've run into a problem. Give me a call back as soon as you get this message."
There's no telling what
