"You're not what I expected," said the man. He was handsome, with steely eyes that matched his suit, and he was as out of place in the tiny veterinary clinic as Carly Martin, D.V.M, would have been in a Fortune 500 boardroom.

His gaze moved over her, and he nodded, thoughtfully. "But now that I see you, it makes sense. That wholesome girl-next-door look must work wonders on lonely old men."

Carly sighed, and pushed the reheat button on the coffeemaker. It was clearly going to be one of those days. The man, whoever he was, had bypassed the receptionist and cornered her in the staff room where she had gone to change into a clean lab coat and gobble a few bites of cold pizza for lunch. He had walked in unannounced, set his briefcase on a chair, and then dared to call her Charlotte, which was the most reliable and efficient way to get things off to a bad start.

Morning at the clinic had begun with the frantic arrival of Gigi Beeson, society doyenne of San Francisco, whose pug had just consumed a five-carat emerald earring. Carly had used an endoscopic forcep to retrieve the jewel, and the small dog was going to be fine, but after dealing with Gigi's hysterics and a yowling, barking waiting room full of increasingly impatient clients, Carly wasn't so sure of her own chances.

And now there was a stranger blocking the doorway, saying things that made no sense. If he was a random lunatic, he was the best-dressed lunatic she had ever seen. A heavy silver watch was his only ornament, but Carly had spent two years caring for the pampered pets of San Francisco's elite, and she knew money when she saw it. That suit was Italian, tailored to an expert fit over his broad shoulders, and his shoes and belt together were worth more than her entire wardrobe. Men like him did not wander the streets looking for veterinarians to accost.

"Okay," Carly said, trying not to think about the state of the waiting room. "You have exactly one minute until I take my coffee and go back to work. Please explain what you're talking about, and how you know my name."

The stranger regarded her coolly. "Your name is just the beginning. One word from me, and my people will dig up things about you that even your mother doesn't know. Yet."

Carly didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. "You're threatening me?"

"Damn right," the man said. "The day you decided to fleece Henry Tremayne was the day that you messed with me, lady. And that was a very big mistake."

"Henry! What does Henry have to do with this?"

The man's mouth curved cynically. "Not bad," he said. "Not bad at all. The startled surprise, the innocent, mystified look... You're almost convincing. Have you been practicing, or have you done this before?"

The novelty of the encounter was wearing off. "Look," Carly said. "I'm tired, my feet hurt, and my afternoon is booked solid. I don't have time to stand here listening to you, so would you please get to the point? Who are you?"

"My name is Max Giordano. I'm the executor of Henry Tremayne's will."

"What?" In an instant, Carly forgot her sore feet and the overcrowded waiting room. "Oh, my God, Henry isn't...?"

"No. He isn't. He's alive, albeit barely. There was an accident, and he hasn't regained consciousness."

Carly pressed her lips together, trying to recover her composure. She did not want to cry in front of this forbidding man, but the news was overwhelming. Henry, barely alive? He was nearly eighty, but he had always seemed ageless to her, and he had been fine just yesterday afternoon when she had stopped by to see him. Technically, of course, it wasn't Henry who she was visiting, but the latest addition to his ever-changing menagerie. This time it was a three-week-old kitten, abandoned in a dumpster on the other side of town. Henry's reputation as a willing caretaker for any creature lost or unloved had brought the baby, special delivery, to his doorstep. Carly had left him sitting in his favorite red velvet armchair, his white head bent as he fed the tiny cat with an eyedropper.

She cleared her throat, blinking hard. "What happened?"

"He fell down the stairs and fractured his skull. He's in the ICU at Hopkins Memorial."

"Is he going to die?"

"At the moment, I have no idea."

"And you...? You're his lawyer?"

"No," Max Giordano said. "I'm his grandson."

Max's day had started at five a.m., when he had been awakened by the most shocking phone call of his life. He had stumbled into the shower and blasted himself with hot water in an attempt to clear his mind and process the incredible news: Henry Tremayne--who wasn't even supposed to know that Max existed--not only knew about him, but had left him in charge of the entire Tremayne trust.

In the year that Max had been planning his first face-to-face contact with his only living relative, he had never imagined that it could happen like this. Henry, pale and unconscious in the hospital bed, his frail body violated with tubes and monitors, had looked more dead than alive. Max had spent the next hours sitting alone in the visitors' lounge, clenching a styrofoam coffee cup and staring through the window into the chilly, gray light of the new dawn.

It was easy to brood in a hospital. The cold sterility of the place, with its utilitarian white walls and steel-framed furniture, magnified the horror he felt as he realized how close he was to losing the grandfather he had yet to meet.

Eight a.m. brought a meeting with the Tremayne legal team, confirming what had been said on the phone. Fourteen months ago, Henry had quietly rewritten all of his legal documents to name Max as his primary heir, and successor trustee.

Fourteen months. The timing couldn't be a coincidence. His grandfather had learned of his existence shortly after Max had hired an investigative firm to track down the family of the father he knew almost nothing about. Henry's lawyers were closemouthed on the subject, but it was obvious to Max that someone at the firm had leaked--or, more likely, sold--the information to Henry. Had his grandfather even believed the story at first? To suddenly be told, almost forty years after the fact, that his son Alan had fathered an illegitimate child only days before the car wreck that killed him...well, that wasn't the kind of news that you mentioned casually over lunch. Max had spent many nights staring up at the darkened ceiling over his bed, trying to come up with a reasonable plan for dropping such a bomb on an unsuspecting old man.

Little had he known that the announcement had already been made. It was lawsuit material, but at the moment, Max had a more immediate problem to deal with, in the form of a woman named Charlotte Martin.

She was staring at him now, obviously stunned. "You're Henry's grandson? I didn't think he had any family at all. Aside from the pets, that is."

"Rich, old and alone," Max said. "The perfect target."

She stiffened. "I think you'd better explain yourself."

He was pleased to see caution darkening her eyes, replacing her earlier carelessness. She wasn't feeling so confident now. She didn't know what to make of him, or the threat that he represented, which was exactly as he had intended. Confused, and on the defensive, she would be easy to read and manipulate. She could cling to the innocent, self-righteous role if she wanted to; it would make no difference in the end.

It was time to get this over with. "You've been mentioned in my grandfather's will."

"Yes," she said.

Max looked curiously at her. This was an abrupt switch. He had expected wide eyes, trembling lips. What? Dear Henry thought of me? How kind. How unexpected. How much?

"You're not surprised, Ms. Martin?" he mocked.

"Give me some credit," she said. "Anyone with the brain of a hamster could have guessed that you were leading up to that. Why else all the jabs about old, rich men? But I'd like to know what you're doing here, talking to me about your grandfather's will while he's still alive. Do Henry's lawyers know about this? Because if they don't, then you have absolutely no right to--"

"The lawyers were the ones who called me," Max replied. "And I wasn't using the word "will" in the technical sense. My grandfather's estate is actually held in something called an inter vivos trust, which means that all of his assets are under the care of a person called a--"

"Trustee. I know what a trust is. My brother is a tax attorney, and he just helped my parents set one up. You should have just said so, instead of assuming that my entire understanding of estate planning comes from the daytime soaps. So you're actually Henry's trustee, not his executor. Fine. What does this have to do with me?"

Max opened his mouth, then closed it again. This wholesome-looking veterinarian might be an unlikely femme fatale, but she was smart enough to cause trouble if he wasn't careful. "Henry Tremayne has given you custody of the animals in his estate," he said, his eyes never leaving her face as he waited for her reaction.

She blinked. "All of them? My goodness."

"You will be their caretaker in the event of his incapacitation, and their owner upon his death. They may be placed in qualifying homes, the criteria for which are outlined in a special document, but they must never be abandoned, euthanized, or given to a shelter."

He pulled a slip of paper out of his suit pocket, and consulted it. "The sum total of the animals is...twenty-three cats, eleven dogs, two birds, and an iguana. Are you willing to accept custody under these terms?"

He had intentionally avoided telling her that the pets were only the first part of Henry's bequest. It was his chance to erase the Charlotte Martin problem in one quick stroke, thanks to a trick in the wording of the legal documents. If she refused guardianship of the animals, then she would forfeit everything, and he had the disclaimer statement sitting in his briefcase, ready for her signature. He waited, concealing his impatience. There was no way that she could possibly agree to this part of Henry's plan. He knew, from having questioned the lawyers, that she lived in a tiny basement apartment with barely enough room for one animal, much less thirty-seven. She had to refuse. She had no choice.

His heart leapt as she began to shake her head.

"No," she said. "I don't think..."

Max seized the word. "No?"

"No," she repeated, more firmly now. "It's twenty-two cats, and definitely no iguana. Henry found homes for the Persian and the yellow tomcat, then adopted the new kitten, and Oscar--the iguana--died weeks ago."

She shot Max a chilly look. "Died of old age, I should add, in case you're planning to accuse me of murdering him."

Max put a hand to his forehead, and discovered that he was perspiring. The clinic was hot, or maybe the day was finally getting to him. "Answer the question. Do you, or do you not accept custody of these animals?"

"Of course I do," she said, but a wrinkle furrowed her brow. "It's the least I can do for Henry, after everything that he's done for me. I just wonder...I can't bring them to my house...and the cost of feeding all of them..."

She stopped herself and squared her shoulders. "Well, I'll figure something out," she said. "Henry loves his animals, and he's been a good friend to me. I accept."

Frustration gripped Max. What was this woman thinking? How could any sane person agree to be his grandfather's zookeeper? This proved that she already knew what else was included. "I'm sure this isn't news to you," he said, "but you'll receive a generous income from the trust to cover care of the animals."

She exhaled softly. "That will help," she said.

Max paused, hoping to catch impatience in her expression as he delayed the real news. But she didn't betray a thing.

"There's more," he said finally.

Charlotte Martin looked surprised. "Something else?"

"Yes. Something else." Max narrowed his eyes at her. He had hoped that things would not get this far, but she was turning out to be more adroit than he had expected. There was no way to delay the inevitable next step, but he reminded himself that it was only a preliminary defeat. The real battle was only beginning.

He took a deep breath. "My grandfather has given you the Tremayne mansion."

"What!"

Carly reached back to grab the edge of the counter as her knees went wobbly. "The house?" she said, her voice sounding thin and squeaky to her own ears. "Henry left me his house?"

"No." Max Giordano sounded disgusted. "A house is a little building with a picket fence. My grandfather left you a mansion with an estimated value of twenty million dollars. He left you his castle, for God's sake, and he's under the impression that you'll turn it into some kind of stray animal rehabilitation center. I assume that you know what he's talking about."

"Oh, my God. He was serious about that?"

Max nodded grimly, and she stammered, "I mean...it was something that we chatted about, yes, but never in detail, and he never said anything about putting me in charge of it. It was just an idea. I never thought..."

"Really. You never thought. Oh my." He widened his eyes in a parody of her shock. "Well, guess what, Ms. Martin. I find that a little hard to believe. I'll bet that you've been thinking about this for a long time. It must have taken some work to insinuate yourself into Henry Tremayne's life and brainwash him into making a gift like this."

Carly stared at him, finally understanding what had brought this man into her clinic with both fists swinging. Because of her, Max Giordano was not going to inherit a significant portion of his grandfather's estate, and he was angry about it. This was all about greed, and the ugliness of it appalled her. Who would have guessed that gentle, eccentric Henry Tremayne could have produced a grandson like this?

"Henry and I are friends," she said. "I make house calls to take care of his pets, and that's all. Your accusations say a lot more about you than they do about me."

"Sorry, Doc, but I wasn't born yesterday. Old men don't casually leave mansions to pretty young female friends."

"They do if they have no one else," Carly exclaimed. "Where have you been? I've known Henry for two years, and I've never seen you or heard a single word about you. Just the fact that you think he's a gullible old man who would fall prey to some...temptress...is ridiculous. He's one of the sharpest people I know, old or young. Have you ever so much as spoken with your grandfather, or are you just showing up now to collect his money?"

Max Giordano paled slightly, and Carly hoped that her question had hit a nerve. She glared at him. "When was the last time that you visited him?"

"You don't understand the situation."

"No? Explain it to me, then. When was the last time you called him? Just to say hello. I'm curious."

Max remained grimly silent.

"I think I do understand," Carly said, nodding. "And I'm not surprised that Henry never mentioned you. You had better pray that he recovers, Mr. Giordano. Your grandfather is one of the kindest and most caring people I've ever met, and if you've missed your last chance to know him, you'll have lost more than you can ever imagine."

It wasn't nice, but she hadn't intended to be nice. She wanted to slap him verbally, to see if he was capable of feeling even a flicker of shame over the way he had neglected his grandfather. Any kind of guilty reaction would have satisfied her, but what she saw was astonishing.

A shadow crossed his face; dark, naked, and saturated with a grief so great that every healing instinct in Carly's body cried out in sudden sympathy.

And it was gone as quickly as it had come. Carly blinked, feeling as if a ghost had just flitted by and touched her with one stroke of a spectral finger.

"Mr. Giordano?" she said hesitantly, regretting her harsh words. This man, for all his abrasiveness, was no stranger to pain, and she was suddenly ashamed to have added to it.

He simply reached for his briefcase, giving no sign that he had heard her. "One of the lawyers will meet you in front of the mansion at six," he said. "You'll be given the keys then, and you can come and go as you please. For now."

"For now?"

"Don't get too comfortable, Ms. Martin. You're only the temporary guardian of the animals, and the mansion. If my grandfather recovers, this will all have a very different ending. And believe me, in the meantime, I'll be watching you."