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almost hit,” she accused.
    Phillip shook off his line of thinking. “But we weren’t,” he pointed out. Something zinged by them at the same time that a bullet hit the trunk with a loud splintering.
    Phillip bit his lip as he glanced out to survey the final leg of their jaunt. There was nothing but open space between the trees and the ship. Once they set out for the gangway, they’d be completely exposed. If the Intrepid’s crew didn’t get to the cannons soon, this could be the shortest run of his life.
    A bullet hit the tree just above them causing her to yelp and shrink into him. “This is suicide,” the young woman shivering against him said, echoing his own thoughts. She angled her head to look up at him. “We’ll never make it to the ship.”
    He was about to snap at her that they wouldn’t survive long hiding behind a tree when he noticed her bottom lip was quivering. Something about seeing that hint of vulnerability from this steely woman softened his response. Stroking a flyaway lock from her temple, he said softly, “As soon as the cannons fire, we’ll start our final run. Kolton has never let me down. We’ll make it, sweetheart.”
    Another bullet spit up sand next to their feet and they hunkered tightly against each other. When they both relaxed, she turned to study him. “My name is Isabella,” she said finally. “Bella, if you prefer.”
    She must have misread his look of interest as confusion because she explained sheepishly, “Forgive my forwardness, but considering you may be the last person I ever speak to, I thought we might dispense with formality.”
    Phillip felt his lower lip twitch in spite of himself. “You chain me up and shanghai my ship without a by-your-leave, but you don’t wish to offend me with poor manners?” He shook his head. “I think you’re more of a pirate than I am.”
    Her mouth seemed to quirk, as though fighting a smile, and Phillip felt his pulse skip at their sudden rapport. In the volley of fire around them, another bullet hit the tree—followed by another and another—and he forced his mind back to the task at hand.
    “We can’t wait for the cannons,” he muttered, helping her to her feet and pushing her backside down to keep her low. “These trees will be shot to kindling before long. Our best chance is while they’re reloading.”
    Bella tightened her lips but nodded. Phillip squeezed her hand. They waited for another volley of fire then darted out from the trees and tore across the beach as though the hounds of hell were nipping at their heels. Phillip tried to keep Isabella alongside him as much as possible to make it difficult for her to be seen from the road. He was better coverage than nothing, he supposed. As he’d feared, one of the shooters had waited patiently for their quarry to appear, because he heard the crack of a shot. The air whistled in front of him and he knew he’d been lucky enough not to take that shot in the face.
    The familiar sound of a crack, followed by an earth-shaking boom, made him grin. The
Intrepid
was firing her cannons! With a renewed sense of confidence, Phillip grabbed Isabella by the elbow and pushed her to go faster than she was capable. Sprinting headlong down the beach, Phillip ignored the cannon fire and bullets whizzing around him and began shouting orders to cast off the lines. Then he ordered anyone onshore to fall back to the ship.
    They were almost to the gangplank. Another cannonball ripped through the air in answer to a volley of fire from the beach. Two of the crew, a crotchety old tar named Cyril Boggs and the quartermaster’s assistant—a sailor everyone called Brownie—dashed out to them, brandishing pistols in both hands. Boggs tossed a firearm to Phillip.
    “We’ve got ’em pinned down, Cap!” Brownie called as he and Boggs crowded close. “We can overtake them!”
    “Get aboard,” Phillip barked, discharging the weapon as he pulled Isabella toward the gangplank. “No heroics