“Let’s be clear. I am not a star. I am a comet—a ball of gas, rock, and debris camouflaged in a spray of light.” My gaze narrows as if she were a lowly grip on my set. “Here’s what you don’t know, Miss Hayes, what the Enquirer has not yet uncovered . . . Browning is not my real name. It’s the make of the gun I used to kill the Nazi who pistol-whipped my father to death.”
