Solomon had met the Hellhound that Jo was sheltering. More than that, for some reason he had dug up security footage for her, put it all in a file and asked Torrie if she would be willing to play messenger. She only said yes because she didn’t want him putting himself in an even worse position if he got caught, not because she felt any need to help a Dog with anything.
She had flipped through the file once her brother had handed it over to her to pass; he hadn’t said she couldn’t. There were pictures of Ollinger and someone who looked like a Hound, the both of them looking pretty chummy. But rather than try to solve the mystery of why it mattered she put everything back in the file and stowed it in her messenger bag.
Jo’s warnings about staying away unless she was present hovered at the back of her mind, but Torrie was at least confident that the Dog wouldn’t hurt her on sight if she knew what Torrie had. But just in case she also had her gun, a knife, and a length of broken guitar string.
Instead of fear when she’s face to face with the blonde there’s only a familiar thread of annoyance. Torrie all but rolls her eyes at the tone of caution. Like she could really do a damn thing if this woman decided to attack her; even pregnant she knows the Dog would have the upper hand, close quarters isn’t Torrie’s strong suit.
“Solomon Reed sent me,” Torrie says in response. “He gave me something for you.”