Tired of the cruelty she sees as a police investigator, Savannah Gray opts out of the life, sells everything she owns, buys herself an island, a houseboat and a Harley to start a new life. But the life she leaves behind doesn't stay put. People needing help still find her. Her sense of justice won't allow her to turn them away. And now she's embroiled in a madness she may never recover from.

Okay, it’s not really a hellhole. It’s my life.

And it’s not as bad as I make it out to be. But it’s a life that has worn me thin.

A life which has seen too much bloodshed and gore and I’m sick of seeing the cruelty humankind can conflict on another.

I am a homicide investigator for the Rockford Police Department. Or was. I threw in the towel after an especially horrific sexual assault on a child. My heart just couldn’t take anymore.

I was told by many that what I was doing was crazy, just short of lunacy. Isn’t there a little crazy in all of us, though?

Friends and family weren’t the only ones who thought I should rethink my decision. I sold my house, my Mercedes, all my personal belongings, except what clothing I thought I would need and a few items I couldn’t part with. Like special gifts from those I love dearly. Parents. Siblings. Friends.

I chucked it all and bought an island. Yes, I said an island. Then I bought a houseboat, such as it was, to get me from here to there. And a motorcycle to get me from the water’s edge to wherever I was traveling on land. A Harley, of course. And the wave of objections rang loud and long over the land.

First, let me explain. I am a thirty-three year old woman. That was the main complaint. But you’re a woman, they said. You can’t be living all alone on an island. You can’t be sailing all over the place in a houseboat. Alone. It’s unheard of.

And, you certainly can’t be riding a motorcycle. Don’t you know how dangerous they are?

Why not? I asked. Besides, I am not alone.

I have a bull mastiff the size of a small horse who may look like a lazy mutt but given a command from me would and could rip your throat out. I call him Winston.

Then, there’s my weapon. A Glock. It’s perfection in itself. Fits my hand like a glove. Plus, I’m a crack shot. Missing a target is not an option. Living or no.

Then I have a Taser. And I don’t hesitate to use if the situation warrants it.

So, what else would I need, I ask you?

If I was a man, would there be any objections at all?

That answer would be a definite no.

But I did exactly that.

I bought my island.

And my houseboat.

I gave her a name. Saving Grace. Just like my island and my motorcycle. And Winston. She was mine.