Chapter Twenty-Three
Lizzie turned her head to look at the clock by the bed in Tank and Renee’s guest room.
Four a.m.
Way too much time to think before Tank’s memorial service at nine, she acknowledged, and sighed quietly.
She got out of bed, then slipped her robe on over her pajamas and went to the kitchen.
“Hey,” Renee said gently from her seat at the table where she was feeding Tucker his bottle. “You can’t sleep either, huh.”
“Nope, not really,” Lizzie said, and paused behind the chair adjacent to her friend. “Are you hungry? I can make something.”
“That casserole that Sergeant Wright’s wife made was pretty good. I vote we heat some of that up.”
“You got it,” Lizzie said, and busied her mind and her hands with making sure Tank’s widow ate enough.
That had been their mission si
