“The Mediterranean, the South Pacific, the Indian Ocean, the Persian Gulf. Froze my…fingers off in the North Atlantic and watched sharks feed in the Coral Sea.”

Both fascinated and amused, she propped her elbows on the table. “Did you know you didn’t mention one land mass? Doesn’t one body of water look pretty much like another from the deck of a ship?”

“No.” He didn’t think he could explain, knew he wasn’t lyrical enough to describe the varying hues of the water, the subtle degrees of the power of the deep. What it felt like to watch dolphins run, or whales sound. “I guess you could say that a body of water has its own personality, just like a body of land does.”

“You do miss it.”

“It gets in your blood. How about you? Is the law a Stanislaski family tradition?”

“No.” Under the table, her foot began to tap to the beat of the bass. “My father’s a carpenter. So was his father.”

“Why law?”

“Because I’d grown up in a family who’d known oppression. They escaped Ukraine with what they could carry in a wagon—in the winter through the mountains—eventually reaching Austria. I was born here, the first of my family to be born here.”

“It sounds as though you regret it.”

He was astute, she decided. More astute than she’d given him credit for. “I suppose I regret not being a part of both sides. They haven’t forgotten what it was like to taste freedom for the first time. I’ve never known anything but freedom. Freedom and justice go hand in hand.”

“Some might say you could be serving justice in a nice, cushy law firm.”

“Some might.”

“You had offers.” When her brows lifted, he shrugged. “You’re representing my brother. I checked on you. Graduated top of your class at NYCC, passed the bar first shot, then turned down three very lucrative offers from three very prestigious firms to work for peanuts as a public defender. I had to figure either you were crazy or dedicated.”

She swallowed a little bubble of temper and nodded. “And you left the navy with a chestful of medals, including the Silver Star. Your file includes, along with a few reprimands for insubordination, a personal letter of gratitude from an admiral for your courage during a rescue at sea in a hurricane.” Enjoying his squirm of embarrassment, she lifted her glass in toast. “I checked, too.”

“We were talking about you,” he began.

“No. You were.” Smiling, she cupped her chin on her hand. “So tell me, Muldoon, why did you turn down a shot at officer candidate school?”

“Didn’t want to be a damn officer,” he muttered. Rising, he grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet. “Let’s dance.”

She chuckled as he dragged her onto the crowded dance floor. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not. And shut up.”