The final text message—“We’ll be there soon.”—sent just before Addi Smith and Tawnia McGeehan were discovered dead inside their room at the Luxor Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas has become the haunting centerpiece of an investigation that has gripped the city since February 19, 2026. The message, timestamped 11:47 p.m. on February 18, was sent from Addi’s phone to an unidentified contact. Less than two hours later, at 1:32 a.m. on February 19, hotel security responded to a welfare check after the room’s Do Not Disturb sign remained on past checkout time and repeated unanswered knocks. Inside, both women were found unresponsive on the bed, fully clothed, with no obvious signs of struggle or forced entry.

Metro Police Homicide detectives have confirmed the women, both 24 and longtime friends from Henderson, Nevada, checked in together on February 17 for what was described as a “girls’ weekend getaway.” The room showed no evidence of a break-in: the door was latched from the inside, the safe was undisturbed, and their belongings—purses, phones, jewelry—remained intact. Toxicology results are still pending, but initial scene observations noted the presence of several empty alcohol bottles, a small amount of white powdery residue on the nightstand, and a single drinking glass containing a dark-colored liquid residue.

The most unsettling discovery, however, was a short note written in bright red ink on a piece of hotel stationery found tucked under Addi’s phone on the bedside table. The note consisted of only three lines in neat, deliberate handwriting:

“We’ll be there soon. Don’t wait up. Love always.”

The message mirrors the final outgoing text almost verbatim, raising immediate questions about whether the note was written by one of the women, left by someone else, or intended as a suicide pact farewell. Handwriting analysis is underway, though preliminary comparisons suggest the script closely resembles Addi’s known samples from journals and greeting cards recovered from her apartment. The use of red ink—uncommon for casual notes—has fueled speculation that it carried symbolic weight, perhaps referencing blood, danger, or a final signature.

Friends and family of both women have described them as inseparable since high school. Addi, a graphic designer and aspiring illustrator, was known for her vibrant social media presence filled with travel photos, art, and messages of self-love. Tawnia, a licensed esthetician, had recently opened her own small skincare studio and was planning to expand. Neither had any documented history of severe mental health crises, suicidal ideation, or substance abuse problems according to close contacts. Yet several friends noted that in the weeks leading up to the trip, both had seemed “distant” and “overwhelmed,” frequently canceling plans and posting cryptic Instagram stories about “needing a reset.”

Investigators are now focusing on several key angles. Digital forensics teams have recovered deleted messages and search history from both phones showing repeated Google queries in the days before their deaths: “painless ways to die,” “how long does it take to overdose on pills and alcohol,” and “Las Vegas hotel check-in privacy policy.” A small plastic bag containing what appeared to be fentanyl-laced pills was recovered from Tawnia’s purse, though lab confirmation is pending. The medical examiner’s preliminary ruling lists cause of death as pending, with suspected polysubstance overdose as the leading hypothesis.

The identity of the recipient of the final text remains unknown. The number was not saved in Addi’s contacts and traced to a prepaid burner phone purchased in cash at a convenience store in Henderson two weeks earlier. The device has not been recovered, and its last known location pinged near the Luxor shortly after the message was sent. Authorities have appealed for the recipient to come forward voluntarily, emphasizing that they are not currently considered a suspect but may hold vital information about the women’s state of mind.

The case has sent shockwaves through the tight-knit Henderson community where both women grew up. A joint memorial service is being planned at the Henderson Pavilion, and a GoFundMe set up by family members has already surpassed $180,000 to cover funeral expenses, mental health resources for grieving friends, and donations to local overdose prevention programs. Vigils outside the Luxor have drawn hundreds each night, with candles, flowers, and handwritten messages forming a growing tribute near the hotel entrance.

Las Vegas Metro Police have urged anyone who was in contact with Addi or Tawnia between February 15–19, or who recognizes the handwriting or red-ink note, to contact the homicide tip line. Chief of Homicide Lt. Jason Johansson emphasized that while the evidence currently points toward a tragic consensual act, investigators are keeping all possibilities open, including foul play or coercion.

The red-ink note and the final text continue to haunt those closest to the case. “We’ll be there soon” was meant to be reassuring—perhaps a promise to meet someone, to escape pain, or simply to end suffering together. Instead, it has become the last echo of two young lives cut short, leaving behind a city full of questions and a community desperate for answers.

For now, the Luxor room remains sealed as evidence. The red-ink note sits in a sterile evidence locker, its three short lines carrying more weight than any scream ever could. Somewhere between the bright lights of the Strip and the quiet despair of two friends in a hotel room, a story ended in silence—and investigators are determined to understand why.