Rights Act under review, black men hunted like animals and gunned down in streets across the country by police, was to him worse than anything he’d witnessed abroad.
He folded the newspaper in half and stuck it inside the pocket of the seat in front of him. He adjusted his seat and leaned back, finally shutting his eyes to rest. The plane was due to land at Ronald Reagan International Airport in two hours.
It would be good to be back home again. See everyone again. Inwardly, he smiled—Simone and Samantha. They made a formidable team. And he would need all of their skills, all of their energy and resources for what he had in mind.
Justin Montgomery paced, panther-like, across the polished hardwood floors of his artfully designed office. His wife, Vaughn’s, distinctive touch was everywhere, from the placement of the original artwork by Basquiat, Catlett, and Biggers, to the crystal glasses and decanters that glistened like diamonds in the small wet bar on the far side of the spacious but comfortable office. He had to put his foot down when it came to his desk, however. She wanted him to have something contemporary; he insisted on something customary and impressive. So they settled for a rectangular oak desk with a cherry lacquer finish. Women, they had totally taken over his life, he mused not unkindly. And now his daughter Samantha was at it again, and he didn’t know if he wanted to burst with pride or turn her over his knee and give her a good spanking.
He turned toward her, his expression a mixture of anger and frustration. His brows drew together. “Did you read this?” he barked, barely containing his ire, not so much at the comments that his headstrong daughter made—once again—but at what could have happened to her as a result of them.
Samantha crossed her long legs and stared at her father head-on. “Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong?” she challenged, loving to duel with the razorsharp mind of her father. In court, she watched him run circles around the prosecution, hypnotize juries, and simply charm the media. He embodied everything she looked for and respected in a man: integrity, brilliance, a generosity of spirit, loving, funny and handsome. Any man coming into her life would have large shoes to fill.
Justin halted his pacing. “Sam, we’ve been through this a million times. Spouting incendiary comments in the middle of a high-tension situation is not only dangerous, it’s foolish! What if a riot had broken out? You could have been hurt,” he added, “or arrested—again.”
Samantha bit back a smile, not wanting to incite him any further. She released a sigh, then stood. “Dad,” she said as she walked across the room to stand in front of him. She slid her arms around his waist. “You worry too much. I’m a big girl. And you should know me well enough by now to know that I’m going to speak my mind and if it upsets a few people, well…” She shrugged her shoulders. “I get my name in print,” she added, teasing him with a smile.
“This isn’t a joke, Samantha,” he returned, trying to keep a straight face. But the truth was his daughter had the uncanny ability to wrap him around her finger with a simple smile. He knew he overindulged Samantha, but it was only because he’d missed so many years of her life when his ex-wife, Janice, her mother, disappeared with her. He’d been so devastated by the loss of his daughter that he’d single-handedly launched Child-Find, an organization dedicated to finding abducted children and reuniting families who’d been separated. But it was Samantha’s determined spirit that brought them together. The same defiant spirit that kept her name and provocative actions on the front page of the newspapers.
Coincidentally, it was Child-Find that reunited his stepdaughter, Simone, with her mother, Vaughn. His and Vaughn’s marriage had not only united them as man and wife, but made sisters of Samantha and Simone—the two most willful, stubborn, single-minded young women he’d ever run across, barring his beautiful wife, of course. He was surrounded by them, and if he didn’t stand his ground, they’d likely railroad him into anything, with their sweet smiles and sparkling eyes. And he loved them all, madly. He hoped that, with Chad returning to the States and back at the law firm, the two of them could manage to level the playing field just a bit. Chad did have a way of keeping Simone on simmer. Samantha, however, was a different story.
Justin kept his poker face, eased away from Sam’s embrace, strolled toward his desk, and sat down in the leather chair he’d spent years getting to conform perfectly to his body. Vaughn begged him to get rid of “that ratty old chair,” but it was the one concession he would not budge on. A man had to have something. Besides, it felt too good, especially after a grueling day in court.
He swiveled his chair so that he faced his daughter. He stroked his smooth brown chin. “What are you planning to do, Sam? You have everyone all charged up about this case. Now what?”
Samantha Montgomery pressed her lips together, thoughtful for a moment—her even, dark golden features the perfect landscape for incredible gray-green eyes, just like her mother Janice’s—and settled into that expression that boldly faced the cameras. She crossed her arms.
“I intend to take this as far as it will go, Dad. All the way to the Supreme Court if necessary. I’ll rally the people together, we’ll march on Capitol Hill, outside the precincts, we’ll have all-night vigils—I’ll do it by myself if I have to, but I will be heard. These people will be heard. I won’t sit back twiddling my thumbs when there’s open warfare on the minorities of this country. I can’t. And I don’t think you expect me to.”
Justin stared at his daughter, and he knew by the fire in her eyes and voice that she meant every word of it. And nothing in heaven or on earth would stop her.
He breathed deeply, afraid for her and incredibly proud at the same time. He and Vaughn had their hands full with their two fiery daughters. Samantha and Simone’s relationship was phenomenal. They were closer than many blood sisters, sharing everything from clothes to opinions. Nothing came between them. They fed off each other, fueled the energy that kept them both in the limelight. Now, with this latest incident, Samantha was campaigning in the street and Simone was active on the legal front, pressuring the Attorney General to launch an investigation. This was just the beginning, and he knew it. Thank heavens they were both grown and living in their own apartments. Three of them in the same house would be more than any man should be compelled to endure.
“What can I do to help?” he finally asked.
A half smile inched up the side of Samantha’s mouth. She tipped her auburn head of shoulder-length dreadlocks to the side. “Keep some money in reserve—just in case I get arrested again.”
Chapter 2
Simone maneuvered her midnight blue Mazda 626 expertly around the snakelike traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue. It was nearly six-thirty, and rush hour—truly a misnomer—continued in earnest.
A copy of The Washington Post lay folded on the passenger seat. The high school graduation picture of shooting victim Roderick Fields smiled back at her, full of hope and possibility. She could feel the anger tug at her insides and burn her throat. She’d spent the better part of her morning talking with his distraught parents and the families of the two surviving victims. It was a painful process, made more so by the senselessness of it all. Yet even more frightening was that the Roderick Fields case was not an isolated incident. The number of unwarranted police shootings of unarmed black men was making a steady and terrifying rise across the country.
Sighing, Simone tried to push the events of the day behind. She would meet with her staff in the days and weeks to come to discuss a plan of action as well as how best to incorporate her ideas of police reform into her campaign for the Assembly seat.
Right now, what she wanted was to concentrate on the visit to her parents’ home.
Simone
