On the back deck, the sounds of the port restaurants and the balmy evening breeze soothed my frayed senses. Paco sat on a deck chair holding a skinny brown cigar. A gun and a copy of For Whom the Bell Tolls rested on the table next to him.

Wait.

I spun back around so quickly, I hurt my neck. “Is that …?”

He casually glanced down. “A gun? Yes.”

I swallowed. “Okay.”

Right. Of course, someone would need to stay and guard the Pascale family. “Didn’t know that was a thing in France to just be casually packing. And Hemingway?” I arched my brows, playing off my shock.

“Sorry to be so cliché.” He chuckled.

“That’s not what I’d call it,” I said and caught Andrea’s amused expression.

Evan had finally ditched his starched uniform and was dressed in a t-shirt that hugged his impressive physique and a pair of worn chino pants. His hands slipped into his pockets and he shrugged. “I need to do a couple of things in town for an hour or so, so Paco will be guarding the fort.” I was relieved he was coming with us as I was hoping to find out what he’d discussed with Monsieur Pascale.

Chef and Rod were already off the gangplank and ambling down the pier toward the security gate that would let us out of the marina and into the throngs of the port nightlife. Apparently, they were getting along now.

I teetered down the gangplank, hitting terra firma for only the second time in a week, and grabbed Andrea’s arm. “Good lord. I have sea legs,” I moaned. “I feel like I weigh ten tons. Please tell me this is a known phenomenon and not that I ate that much pasta and baguette.”

Evan steadied me from the other side, looking concerned. “I hope you don’t have mal de débarquement.”

“Mally what?”

“It’s like reverse sea legs. People can get dizzy, their center of equilibrium is off from being on a boat for a long period. Hopefully it’s just an episode and will wear off soon. You didn’t have it at the beach club, right?”

I thought back. “I felt heavy and tired when we first arrived, but not dizzy. And it didn’t last.”

“Just hang on to one of us as we walk.”

“Wow, you’re serious. This is a thing?” I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. “I feel drunk without the fun.”

Evan left us then and hurried ahead to catch up with Chef and Rod. By the end of the pier, I felt marginally better but realized I’d missed my chance to talk to Evan.

“How’s your head feel?” Andrea asked.

“Good. Fine. So, is it just me, or did you notice Evan made himself scarce before I could ask him about going to speak to Monsieur Pascale on my behalf?”