Free The Breaking Point by Karen Ball Page B

she’d just written: Was she injured? What direction did she go when she left the truck? What time did she leave? How long would she give herself to find help before coming back to the truck? What supplies did she have with her …?
    Details. If there was one thing Gabe needed, it was details. She reached into the glove box again and pulled out her compass. Thank heaven for the training they’d received inSearch and Rescue. They’d always assumed that training would help them save others.
    Now it might very well save their own lives.
    Renee glanced outside. If she was going to give Gabe an accurate reading, she couldn’t do it in the truck. She had to go out and get her bearings. She grabbed the passenger door handle and pushed, grateful when the door opened easily. She slid outside, catching her breath against the driving cold. If anything, the storm was getting worse. Dread seeping through her, she struggled against the buffeting wind, securing one end of the rope to the door handle. She looped the rest of the rope over her shoulder, then planted her feet against the gale and took a reading on her compass.
    West. She needed to head west.
    She climbed back into the truck and wrote a more detailed note, because she knew one thing for certain: If Gabe came to and found her gone, he’d try to find her. So it was best for both of them to let him know as much as she could.
    Gabe, I’m not injured. I’ve gone for help. I’m going to try to find the river and follow that to a cabin. I tied the yellow rope to my door handle and will hold on to that as long as I can. That will let you know what direction I’ve gone.
    She wrote down the time and the compass heading she would follow, then put the note on the console, securing it under Gabe’s heavy flashlight. She started to put the pad of paper back into the glove box, then stopped and stared down at the fluorescent pink paper. Gabe had shaken his head when she bought it.
    “What’s wrong with plain old white paper? Or even yellow?”
    She’d wrinkled her nose at him. “Bo-ring!”
    “Yeah, well, you’re not putting that thing in my truck.”
    Renee smiled now as she looked down at the pad. Good thing Gabe had given in. She might need to leave him a note out there. A piece of white paper stuck on a tree branch would never catch his eye, but this paper? No way he’d miss it.
    She zipped the pad and the pen into a coat pocket, then tied the yellow rope to the stick shift. The outer door handles weren’t the kind you could tie anything to, but this should work. And closing the rope in the door would ensure it would stay in place.
    That done, she turned to stuff supplies into a fanny pack. Not too much—she didn’t want to be weighed down as she walked. Just the necessities. A small bottle of water. Protein bars. Heat packs. Her leather billfold with her driver’s license and emergency cash. Waterproof matches. Paper and fire starters. A small flashlight, just in case she ended up out there after dark …
    She slid the fanny pack under her coat and snapped the latch, then turned to Bo. He hunkered down, clearly ready to go with her. “Down, boy.” He hesitated, then lowered himself to the seat. “Good boy, Bo.” Renee knew that
down
was the easy part. He’d hate this next command. “Stay.”
    He blinked at her, then voiced his protest in one of his low yodels. Renee stayed firm, repeating the command, her voice low to show she meant business. Bo flopped his head onto his front paws, his ears flat against his broad head. Renee shook her head at the picture of pouting obedience he made.
    So that’s what I look like.
She leaned between the seats to slide her arms around Bo’s neck and hug him. The dog’s bushy tail
thwap-thwapped
against the side of the cab, and he craned his neck until he could deliver imploring licks to her cheeks. Renee chuckled and sat back, wiping at her face.
    “Sorry, my boy, but you can’t go with me. You have to stay here.